I just watched a video by Randy Blaukat. The video is three posts below.
In the video, Randy talks about the importance of being humbled. He argues that being humbled reminds us to be grateful for the fish we do catch and to treat them with all due respect. He compares being humbled on the water to being hungry, that no one appreciates food like someone who's hungry and no one appreciates water like someone who's been thirsty.
I started fishing by being humbled again and again. As a kid, my dream was to catch a 17-inch bass like my brothers caught. I never did, at least not as a child and teenager. I hooked a few, but they all broke free because my reel was junk, my rod was junk, and my line was junk. My fishing knowledge was also junk. We went to Michigan once and I bought a spoon (I couldn't afford a Dardevle spoon. It was a cheap, thinly pressed copy.). So, I cast it, let it settle to the bottom, and let it sit there, as if I were fishing for catfish with bait.
And I finished this season being thrashed and bobbed by wind in the dark. I caught two dinks to close my season and spent most of that final trip trying to not be blown into the shore.
One of my all-time favorite humbling-to-gratitude moments bass fishing was at Peninsula Point on the north shore of Lake Michigan. I'd read an old Field & Stream article about catching smallmouth at this point. So, I drove there one summer and fished it. Not a bass. I caught them in the Whitefish River, but none at the point. The next summer, I caught two powerful carp on crankbaits at the point, but no bass. I was getting hungrier and hungrier, thirstier and thirstier.
Finally, the third summer, I waded out farther than I ever had and happened to spot a rock about the size of a VW Bug just under the water. Well, that's where they were, seemingly all the bass at Peninsula Point. The waves were sloshing over the top of my waders, so I must have weighed hundreds of pounds when I finally slogged to shore, but for a few hours, my previous humblings put me in a state of glorious gratitude.
I was so deep that when the bass jumped, I looked UP at them and I had to keep my arms over my head lest my reel be underwater. I even had one bass, a four-pounder, park between my legs in mid-fight, using me like a time-out.
Got any yarns of being humbled and set up to be gloriously grateful?