The Most Expensive Fish Release in Nacimiento History
It was Monday, and apparently Albert already had weekend plans,
“Wanna roll with Compa and I to Naci on Saturday?”
Does a hobo want a ham sandwich?
And just like that, Saturday was spoken for.
This would be the final hurrah of 2026, our official farewell to our Central Coast haunt. We’d spent the better part of the first half of the year making pilgrimages to The Dragon, continuing our love affair with its spotted bass that goes back the better part of three decades.
And although we always declare this our last trip of the year, our last dance with Los Nietos, there’s a pretty good chance we’ll sneak in another couple before El Niño decides what kind of winter it’s going to deliver.
But for now, Saturday was on the calendar. The boys were assembling. The Dragon was waiting.
We don’t fish Nacimiento during the summer. It’s a perpetual floating circus out there, with boat traffic, recreational boaters, and every variety of aquatic asshole you can imagine. So by the time we return in the fall, we’re usually in for a bit of a surprise.
The lake was sitting at 33%.
To give you a good indicator, this is our trip to Naci in May, taken from the same spot from that report:
Places we’d been fishing months earlier now towered above us. The narrows, where we’d spent so much time catching fish, had been reduced to little more than a trickle winding through exposed mud and rock. Apparently, there’s a population of thirsty farmers downstream.
It’s a pretty dramatic transformation when you haven’t seen it happening gradually.
But here’s the thing about Nacimiento: it never seems to matter.
We’ve fished this place at 100% capacity. We’ve fished it at 7%. Somewhere in between, the spotted bass seem to have figured out how to make a living regardless of how much water the reservoir happens to be holding. Saturday would be another demonstration of that.
We blasted toward the narrows at first light, and Fall wasted absolutely no time introducing itself. By the time we’d reached the far end, my hands were damn near frozen. OG and Compa Chris could chuck and wind for a while. I had to defrost my fingers before I could tie on a topwater. But, I had a jig tied on!
So, given no other option, I went to work crawling a jig.
We chased a few fish around on ActiveTarget, threw some moving baits shallow, and figured out fairly quickly that these fish weren’t particularly interested in chasing anything down. Fair enough. Some days I don’t feel like chasing my food either.
So I continued crawling the jig. And pretty much didn’t put it down.
I’ve probably donated half the world’s remaining supply of tungsten to the bottom of harbor pilings this year and Naci on Saturday, but that’s the price of admission. If you’re not losing them, you’re not throwing them. Or some other bullshit I tell myself to feel better about watching nine dollars disappear into the abyss, after airfare and applicable taxes. I even lost some Evergreen T.G. Blow FACT Expert jigs, which is as JDM as you get. Not like I can go to TackleWhorehouse and get these delivered tomorrow:
And of course, my favorite pattern ended up being the one eating dust.
Everybody threw what they wanted. OG threw his fairy wand baits. Compa threw his Nuki Bug. And there were stretches where we’d have doubles, even triples, which is pretty standard business around here. What these fish lack in size, they make up for in sheer rambunctiousness and numbers.
It actually reminded me of the harbor bass and their irritating little habit of short-biting a jig. I’d bring mine to a complete stop, wait a moment, and mutter something along the lines of, “They ALWAYS come back.”
And they usually did.
Apparently, these fish have the same problem as the harbor bass. Nobody wants to leave a disagreement unresolved. They have to get the last word.
I’ll take it. I’ll even take the few largemouth that the place has too:
Around 2 p.m., we were making what would be our final casts of the day when OG hooked into what would amount to be his last fish.
Naturally, he decided this was an appropriate time for a selfie.
The rolas were playing on the boat, the fish was in hand, and OG was doing what OG does best: celebrating. Leaning back, moving side to side, throwing in a few vato (See footnote #1.) dance moves for good measure.
A perfectly reasonable way to celebrate a fish.
Then he tossed it back.
Well, most of it.
In the excitement, the dumbass had apparently forgotten to unhook the fish.
And just like that, the fish, his JDM Shimano Stella 2000S, and his Dobyns Xtasy rod all went swimming.
I watched the entire thing unfold. There are certain moments in life when your brain needs a second to process what your eyes are reporting. This was one of those moments.
My immediate thought was:
“Look at this idiotic moronic imbecile…”
OG jumped down and made a grab for the rod handle, which was already making its way toward the bottom. It was well out of reach.
He then did what any rational man would do after accidentally donating nearly two racks worth of fishing equipment to a reservoir.
He put his phone down on the deck.
And jumped in, recreating how he got into this country in the first place.
Like a tubby walrus breaching the surface, OG eventually emerged victorious, hauling himself and his very expensive fishing equipment back aboard. Rod, reel, fish, and ego all apparently intact.
And since I reeled the fish in a second time, it was both our fish. But mines was bigger.
Just another day at Nacimiento.
1. Vato: A highly social male of the Southern California urban ecosystem, commonly identified by his distinctive vocabulary, elaborate hand gestures, and an almost supernatural ability to locate a taco stand at any hour of the day. Typically travels in small groups known as the homies, communicates through a complex series of head nods, "eses," and prolonged greetings, and is particularly active in the greater East Los Angeles habitat.
