frog eats lizard - bass eats frog

So the other day I went fishing for largemouth bass at my secret spot. It was a very windy day, and I had a few doubts as I struggled to paddle my usual route around the lake. But I persisted, and got to my first stop on the way to my honey hole. I tied on an 8” Big Bite Baits Kreit Tail lizard in my favorite Huisache color, a translucent brown with gold, brown, and red glitter flakes. After catching several nice fish, I started throwing my lure toward the shallows and the giant lily pads that flapped like a flock of ducks with each gust of wind. I cast the lizard into a small opening among the floating vegetation and watched as a huge wake turned toward the lizard. Then WHAM! And ziiiippp! My line was pulled deep into the weeds, twisting and jerking through the lilies as I fought to retrieve it. Then, as suddenly as the fight started, it ceased. My line went slack, the monster threw the hook, and I knew immediately I had lost the battle (but not the war…).

Disappointed and a bit forlorn, I took a break and paddled further around the lake. It wasn’t long before the wind began to die down, and I found my heart lifting. I continued to fish with my Huisache lizard, throwing it near some large woody debris, and catching a couple more decent bass. Heart restored. Not long after, I paddled toward a small tributary that runs into the lake, a beautiful spot carpeted with ferns and moss and woodland herbs, where I like to get out and stretch my legs after being in the kayak for a while. With the wind quiet now, the frogs began to call in earnest. Juggarum! Juggarum! Legs stretched and bladder relieved, I got back into the kayak and fished around the corner, nearing the far end of the lake. I caught a couple of pickerel and muttered under my breath as I extracted the mangled lizard and frayed fishing line from their mass of miniature razor-sharp teeth. But I retied my hook with a fresh knot and shiny new lizard and was on my way.

At last I made it to my secret spot, and with my first cast, threw the lizard on the bank right above the water line. But before I could even move it an inch, something leapt out of a clump of grass, lunging at the lizard in a blur of green and brown and Huisache. On shear instinct, I jerked my rod and set the hook, and in a dramatic splash, yanked a bullfrog right from the bank and into the water, lizard tail still dangling from its mouth. But not a split second after hitting the surface, ziiiiipppp! – my rod doubled over and my line sung, and I knew there was something big at the end of my pole. Without hesitation I set the hook again, and knew in that moment I had it: I’d hooked a bass on the frog on the lizard. As my heart raced and my reel spun, suddenly blploop! The frog popped up next to my kayak like a wide-eyed bobber and desperately kicked back to the shore. Then, in a bit of a shock, I reeled the bass in, took the obligatory photo, and released him too. How that frog escaped its dilemma I have no idea. But here’s the truth: All three of us – frog, bass, and I – we made it home with a fish story to tell.

The End.