Seeing them is horrible, breaking them off is traumatic.
When I first got into bassing as an adult, the stick worm was the only bait worth throwing for me. I caught bass everywhere with Yamamoto Senkos and then YUM Dingers. One day after work, I walked to a pond I had no business being at and caught two small ones in quick succession. The next hookup was in an open part in pads, and I'll never forget it.
When I set the hook on her, she did not move, I was entirely sure I was snagged. Then that zzzzzzt of sweet drag music started playing, and this behemoth made a move for deep water. She had her way with my 2/0 EWG, 10# fluorocarbon leader, and 20# braid.
I was entirely sure there was no way she was a bass -- I was hopeful, but my biggest bass before that was a seven pound Ogeechee river fish I had caught with my grandfather when I was eleven. I had no idea how powerful one of that magnitude could be. She finally tired, and a I started to regain line. I then saw a colossal white belly and the telltale lateral line and dark green.
This was no turtle, nor catfish, no. This was a bass, and this is a personal best on an epic scale on the end of my line. I became nervous and seconds turn into minutes. I got her to the line where the pads begin, but she had regained strength and gave me a second run.
I've got her this far, as long as she tires herself, she's my fish. I can land this fish. Her second run was considerably shorter and I've got her belly up, coming to me over the pads. Everything is going according to plan. I've already thrown my phone and wallet out of my jeans, you know, in case I need to wade in for her.
I had that fish so close I was reaching down to get my thumb around her massive jawbone and she does one last thrash, my hook comes out and she turns and swims away.
I'm glad my "lost fish" scale is deadly accurate, because I am the reason the bass world record of 32 pounds is still held by a Georgian.