P K A N R O T W 3 ® ING
By Marc Marcantonio
hoo I ks
t was a muggy summer morning of a 1974 Delaware
Federation Tournament on the Nanticoke River.
Morning fog was clinging to the water surface, and butterflies were fluttering in my gut.
This was the final tournament to qualify for the BASS
Federation Nationals, and I had to find some bass in the
coffee-colored tidal water.
Picking up my pistol grip Skyline Graphite 5.5-foot
rod with a red Ambassador baitcaster, I fired a black and
chartreuse Balsa-B crankbait alongside a fallen tree. Just as
it bumped a branch, I paused so the lure would float up over
An angry four-pound largemouth shot out of the water jumping over the log with its head shaking back and forth toward the sky. My butterflies quickly turned into a sinking feeling as Mama Pesce threw my Balsa-B back at me!
How can a bass slam a bait with six hook points and not stay hooked?