It's About Time
As a Measurment or a Memory, Time is What Matters-

”Do you have the time?” someone asked.

“No, now-a-days it seems I don’t have time for anything” I replied.

“No, the time of day according to a clock,” the someone clarified.

“No, sorry. I don’t wear a watch, but it feels like it is about 3:30,” I answered reflecting on my first reply.

Regardless of all the modern technology we have amassed as a culture, we have not been able to add hours to the day. There are still just 24, except for those daylight-saving days when they add or steal one from us. Technology only allows us to try and do more in one day than most people used to.

Three dimensional depth finders and 100-pound thrust trolling motors don’t make the sand bass school. They don’t care about daylight-saving time either. They do their thing when they want to do their thing- usually at sunrise or sunset.

For humans, time is the measurement of the earth rotating on its axis and revolving around the sun. One rotation is a day and one revolution is a year. Time as a concept is much more than a rigid measuring system. When you combine time and space with reality and relativity, there are a myriad of possibilities that we as a species haven’t even had the time to discover yet.

When you set the hook on a fish, and you feel the tug that you’ve been waiting for all day, or week, time seems to slow down. It’s probably your brain speeding up, but for that brief moment, relative to what is happening, time does seem to stop.

It had been a long time since I had been fishing with guide Dale Bestwina. Lately, we never find the time to get together, so when he called and left the message, “John, the time is right, they are on a steady pattern, call me.” I knew we would have a good time.

Good times are best when shared with good friends, so Alan Huffman and his son Garrett, along with Ben Pinnell, Steve Brigman and I joined Dale on Lake Texoma for the famous summer topwater bite.

Dale’s timing was perfect.

Before dawn, we were on the lake searching for the schools of stripers. We saw the boats first. An armada was on the tail end of a big school working the shad against the shore. We all wanted to bust right through the boats and get on the school, but that would be rude, besides Dale already had it figured out.

“I know where their going. Don’t worry,” he promised.

Everyone on the boat could feel Garrett getting excited, and we all were too. The school was coming right for us. Soon the armada would be surrounding us. While Dale was rigging everybody up with topwaters and spoons, I slyly pulled out my fly rod and sneaked to the front of the boat.

“Oh no!” Ben announced to everyone. “We better give big John the whole front of the boat, he’s a little wild with his back loop.”

I continued to absorb wise cracks from the whole crew, except for Garret who still, like me, had his eyes locked on the herd of fish making the water boil getting closer and closer to the boat.

The closer they got, the more important time and space became. The boys with the heavy spoons were able to launch the first attack. Their long casts reaching just behind the first wave of fish. Garret couldn’t wait any longer. He had to cast now. His lighter topwater bait, and less-experienced casting arm, made his bait fall short of the school.

“Don’t worry,” Dale said. “You’ll get there the next time.”

“Fish on!” Ben said with the muffled strain of setting the hook. And then Steve rang in right after him. Garrett reeled in fast and chunked the bait again. This time he splashed down in the middle of the fish. One jerk, then wham a fish took his lure. It seemed like only a second, but for Garrett everything was in super slow motion.

He couldn’t control the smile, but had a good grip on the rod and was reeling in his striped treasure. He was also getting instructions from his dad, Dale and Ben at the same time: “Don’t horse ‘em” and “Keep that rod tip up” along with “You got ‘em Garrett, you the man!”

I was slowly letting line out watching the excitement in the back of the boat, when a shad jumped right below my feet. It was time. I wanted a striper on a fly rod. I lifted my rod and started flailing.

Getting started on a moving boat isn’t exactly easy, but I only made Dale duck once before I got my fly to land in the middle of the school. I started stripping line quickly. A fish hit at the fly and I instinctively reared back on the rod. I pulled to soon and my line went limp in front of the boat.

“Aahh. I thought you had ‘em,” Steve said. “Remember Elephant Butte, wait to feel the tug.”

By now, the armada of boats was all around us, except behind me where the fly line was back-casting. By the time I got my fly back to the school, Garrett had already caught another one. There was a big splash near my fly.

Time had now slowed for me. I saw the fish hit, turned and saw their reaction, tightened my line, felt the pull and set the hook.

“This time I got ‘em.” I said as the other anglers in other boats stopped casting and waited to see if I could actually land the fish.

With 20 yards of line out, the fish started to make a run. I was lucky, this wasn’t a monster fish. I simply had a trout reel and a #5 flyrod with bigger fly line on it. But even a little striper can be a lot to handle. With no drag on the reel the only way I could stop him was to clamp my hand on the spinning handle and try to slow him down.

I stripped in line and got the fish headed back our direction. Now I had strip faster and faster. With still 10 yards of line out, the fish dove deep. When my rod tip hit the water, my life-long fishing coach couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Get ‘em up, get your tip up!” Ben barked.

“This is a cheap, old fly rod, my tip is up.” I responded almost laughing at the situation.

If I let go of the reel, it would slack the line so much I felt he would have gotten off, so I held on and let the rod change the fish’s mind and he came back toward the surface. Dale was ready and with a little luck and some good timing, Dale netted my first striper on a fly rod at Lake Texoma. Dale held up the fish and it was only a three- or four-pounder. I knew then I needed a bigger fly reel. It was also then that time snapped back to its regular pace.

The armada went back to chunking their baits, our crew started doing the same. I grabbed the camera and tried to catch my breath, already reliving the moment in my head.

The topwater bite soon ended, and we started searching for deep-water fish. Bouncing spoons off the bottom is a great way to catch stripers. But I had had my time. No matter where I put my spoon, no fish would take it. Alan and Garret, on the other hand, couldn’t keep the fish away. Even when Dale would be ready to pick up and move, Alan would have to say, “Well, you’ll have to wait until I land this one.”

As the earth rotated, the sun grew higher in the sky. Soon we were reminded that we were in Texas in August.

“Well boys, I think it’s about time to go.” Dale said.

“Yeah, it’s about time for lunch.” I said as we headed back to the marina.

On the dock we lined up the fish, most of which Garrett had caught and reflected on what a great time we had while Ben and Dale cleaned fish. Ben got to my little one and said, “Are you going to do it?” Referring to the fact that the fish was a new lake record for a fly rod, “I said no, he ain’t that big and I don’t have the time before we have to get home.”

After the fish were bagged and we started our good byes, the trip was made perfect when Garrett turned to Dale and said, “Thank you sir, I had the time of my life.”