“Good Job Out There”
There’s a very specific kind of confidence you don’t talk about much in tournament fishing.
It’s not the “we figured them out” confidence.
It’s the quieter one.
The “yep… we’re not winning this” confidence.
That’s the one we had at Lake Havasu. 100+ boats. Premier fishery. Spring. Hopes were high.
And…we weighed in early, not because we thought we had something special, but because we knew we didn’t. No sense in baking in the desert sun pretending 8 pounds was about to hold up. And of course, the winners of the entire thing weighed in right before us.
“18 pounds, a new big bag!”
Followed by our bag.
“8 pounds… *pause* … good job out there.” That’s tournament speak for, “thank you for your donation.” I’m surprised they didn’t yank me away with a Vaudeville Hook. It was like following Danny Carey in a drumming contest.
The fish weren’t the only thing trying to escape at weigh-in. OG treated our weigh-in bag like it contained radioactive material. I stepped off the boat and he immediately relocated to another zip code. The second my foot touched concrete, he launched the truck toward the opposite side of the parking lot like he was fleeing a crime scene, leaving me standing there holding five flopping bass that looked like they needed parental supervision, in a leaking weigh bag that suddenly weighed about 80 pounds and was cutting off the circulation in my hands. I’ve seen getaway drivers show more loyalty.
There are no participation trophies in tournament fishing, except for the polite nod from Kyle Grover, but if there were, they’d sound exactly like that. I didn’t even get my hot dog.
Castaic: Same Story, Smaller Stage
Let’s rewind. A week before that public shaming, we had our first tournament as the West Coast Bass Anglers at Castaic Lake. Give them a visit at www.westcoastbassanglers.com.
I drew Edward, who had been putting in legit time on the lake the past 6 weeks. He called me a few days before with the kind of report you want to hear—patterns, areas, fish that would put us in the money.
Which is usually the first sign the bite’s about to go sideways.
Tournament morning rolls around, and the fish either:
- Moved
- Changed
- Or got tipped off
Didn’t help that one of our buddies—not even fishing the tournament—decided it was a great day to go run Ed’s water, the same water they had pre-fished the week before. Just out there fishing through Ed’s waypoints like he paid entry. That’s not gamesmanship. That’s just being an asshole 😂
“What’s your buddy doing here?”
“MY buddy? Didn’t you prefish this place with that vato last weekend?”
We still caught fish. Plenty of them.
- Texas-rigged Keitech doing most of the work
- Mixing in a jig trying to find something better
- Even got a couple to go on topwater (leftover Lake Nacimiento optimism, apparently)
But Castaic doesn’t reward activity. It rewards upgrades.
And we never got past the 2-pound class.
Meanwhile:
- Doc wins the first-ever club event (fitting)
- OG takes second with zero prefishing (fitting)
That’s tournament fishing for you.
Havasu: Bigger Water, Same Lesson
OK, fast forward back to Havasu.
A few days after Castaic’s shaming, I’m at Dodger Stadium, minding my business in the Loge, when I get coerced into fishing Lake Havasu. Well, coerced may be a stretch.
“Cmon. Let’s fish Havasu Saturday.”
“For fuck’s sake…… fine.”
No real pushback on my part, because let’s be honest — no one says no to Havasu in the Spring.
We did the usual psycho run:
Leave LA at 9 pm→ get there at 2 am → pretend to sleep at the ramp → fish all day → weigh in our huge bag → drive home questioning everything somewhere around Needles → Get back to LA at 9 pm
We took a nice ride and started near Parker Dam on a recommendation from a friend. Looked right. Felt right.
Zero bites. It sucked. Last time we listen to you, Japo.
We made the adjustment and slid toward Bill Williams —tules, shade, life. Run and gun, trolling motor on 11. My type of fishing.
That’s where finally, a pattern came together:
- Flipping tules with a Jackall Archelon
- Jackall Break Blade Chatterbait through the lanes
- Clean limit, no issues
And once again… all 1.5#. I catch bigger fish at Probation Pond.
At Havasu, that’s not a limit. That’s a livewell full of infants.
The Part You Don’t See
We did have our shots.
I stuck an “almost” 3-pound smallmouth late.
OG culled a largemouth on a dropshot.
I broke off a fish flipping. OG continues to tell me it was an 8 pounder to hurt my feelings. Asshole.
But looking back, I think we spent too much time in dead water early, and late, and not enough committing to what was actually working. Judging by how the Bill Williams stretch produced, it’s not hard to guess why so many guys just committed going upriver to target the green fish, instead of staying in the lake and fishing for the brown ones.
(We left before the final bags, but I’d put money largemouth carried the top 10)
Personal Highlights (or Lowlights)
- Fired a hard to find OSP Bladejig Spec2 directly into the top of the 95 bridge. Not the piling. The actual concrete above. Reeled back in just the snap like I just did a magic trick. TADA! GONE!
- Had a fish eat a GanCraft glide bait the right way… and completely missed it
- Continued developing a very expensive appreciation for glide baits
For context—my new rod, the Megabass F7-76RDti White Python came into the rotation during our old club’s Havasu tournament… the same one that basically blew that club up and led to this one forming, and made another appearance that day. I love that rod for those types of baits.
So yeah, that rod’s got some history. Mostly chaos and upheaval, but still.
Next Up
Next stop is Lake Skinner.
Same plan:
- Flip
- Frog (if it’s there)
- Try to figure out how to turn bites into something that matters
Or… we weigh in early again and get another, “Good job out there.”
