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Author Review: Tom Mann
Tom Mann wouldn't call himself an author. World renowned lure designer and manufacturer, yes. Fisherman, yes. But never would he describe himself as an author. Nonetheless he did write a memoir in 2002 called "Think Like a Fish". In this memoir he describes his rise to angling success and fame, but more importantly aptly describes some of the feelings that you might feel as an obsessive fisherman. The novel opens up with an introductory selection written by the author:
"I’m in a boat on Lake Eufaula, one of the largest bodies of freshwater in the southeastern United States, where the surface is as flat as glass and just as reflective. I feel like a trespasser as I subtly invade the tranquility, my lure marring the watery satin with little ripples.
The faint squeak of my reel, about as loud as a baby’s inhale, drifts across the otherwise silent setting. Some people forget the real world when they’re in a fishing boat. I’m personally so removed from reality that I don’t remember what I’d like to forget.
Hope springs eternal in the human soul and the mind of bass fishermen, so I intermittently jerk my top-water bait. Each snap, I hope, will be that special action that ignites an explosive strike from a largemouth bass, the most sought after game fish in the world. I have seduced him into feeding thousands of times. But each time carries the thrill of another first time.
A largemouth can be as cunning as a snake, as aggressive as a hawk, and is capable of eating small species of each. I’ve seen a bass pick up a minnow and carry him gently for yards, only to drop him so delicately that not one of his teeny scales is disturbed. I’ve seen bass hit a lead lure so hard that it was dented. I’ve seen them devour virtually any living thing that will fit into their exaggerated mouth, including birds perched too close to the water’s surface.
My lure is closer to the boat; my reel is turned for it’s final revolution. The lure now dangles before me, water softly dripping as it hangs idly in the air.
The water separates and the bass explodes skyward, engulfing the suspended bait and thrashing his head back and forth. His tail is a foot above the water. He rips the lure from the line before any part of him is again submerged.
It happens in the space of a second. My face is dripping from the gigantic splash. The lure is gone, torn from my rigging by the deep’s silent and swimming predator as stealthily as he’d tear one more baby bird from it’s mother’s nest.
The mother would only fly away. She, unlike me, cannot make another cast to try to take the bass. She, unlike me, cannot make another and another…."
-Tom Mann
I think this passage aptly describes how it feels to have the whole day ahead of you, and even though you missed that first one, there should be many more to come in the future...
"I’m in a boat on Lake Eufaula, one of the largest bodies of freshwater in the southeastern United States, where the surface is as flat as glass and just as reflective. I feel like a trespasser as I subtly invade the tranquility, my lure marring the watery satin with little ripples.
The faint squeak of my reel, about as loud as a baby’s inhale, drifts across the otherwise silent setting. Some people forget the real world when they’re in a fishing boat. I’m personally so removed from reality that I don’t remember what I’d like to forget.
Hope springs eternal in the human soul and the mind of bass fishermen, so I intermittently jerk my top-water bait. Each snap, I hope, will be that special action that ignites an explosive strike from a largemouth bass, the most sought after game fish in the world. I have seduced him into feeding thousands of times. But each time carries the thrill of another first time.
A largemouth can be as cunning as a snake, as aggressive as a hawk, and is capable of eating small species of each. I’ve seen a bass pick up a minnow and carry him gently for yards, only to drop him so delicately that not one of his teeny scales is disturbed. I’ve seen bass hit a lead lure so hard that it was dented. I’ve seen them devour virtually any living thing that will fit into their exaggerated mouth, including birds perched too close to the water’s surface.
My lure is closer to the boat; my reel is turned for it’s final revolution. The lure now dangles before me, water softly dripping as it hangs idly in the air.
The water separates and the bass explodes skyward, engulfing the suspended bait and thrashing his head back and forth. His tail is a foot above the water. He rips the lure from the line before any part of him is again submerged.
It happens in the space of a second. My face is dripping from the gigantic splash. The lure is gone, torn from my rigging by the deep’s silent and swimming predator as stealthily as he’d tear one more baby bird from it’s mother’s nest.
The mother would only fly away. She, unlike me, cannot make another cast to try to take the bass. She, unlike me, cannot make another and another…."
-Tom Mann
I think this passage aptly describes how it feels to have the whole day ahead of you, and even though you missed that first one, there should be many more to come in the future...
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