In the course of seven years filming his “Fishing Across America” show, Dave Maynard visited most of the glamour spots in the Western Hemisphere while landing the largest of the most desirable fish species.
So what was he doing on a day late in April at a small pond in southern Colorado tossing light tackle for bluegill and teacup bass?
“We’re just doing whatever it takes to get a bite,” Maynard said, smiling over a bluegill the size of his hand. “We’re out to fish as much as possible, or die trying.”
Which is precisely the reason for the title Maynard chose as a pilot for his latest syndicated film adventure. He calls it “Terminal Angler,” a name that has nothing at all to do with what his subjects tie on the end of their line.
“The notion is that we get this bug early in life and never get over it. We die with it.”
At a time when the chill grip of a late spring extends over much of Colorado’s Front Range, he had come to this small pond simply to get that all-important fishing fix. A day earlier, at Pueblo Reservoir, he and a partner cast and cranked for hours without much success.
“We had three bites and one follow, nothing else,” he said of that futile effort at the lake’s bass and walleye.
The reason, of course, is that the big impoundment, stuffed full of water, has been slow to warm during a series of cold snaps that clung to the lake’s surface like a vampire. When Pueblo finally gets cranking, Maynard expects a great season, further hyped by the fact that fish will flock to many fresh acres of flooded vegetation and rubble.
“There are places with big trees in the water that we haven’t been close to in years,” the Monument resident said. “This could be amazing.”
Even without a fish in the boat last Sunday, Manyard regretted his trip to Pueblo not in the slightest. It’s all fishing. It’s all good.
Now, with redwings rasping a three-part harmony in the cattails, this was altogether different, a return to basics and the fish of his youth.
“I love fishing for bass. It’s not about the size, but all ways to catch them: surface poppers, crankbaits, spinnerbaits and everything in between.”
On Monday, his favorite was the 2-inch-long Splasher, a surface popper by Sebile that yearling bass, along with a number 2 pounds and larger, simply couldn’t resist. The noise also proved irresistible to several bluegill that pulled it down with a soft sucking sound that brought echoes of his youth.
“This reminds me of the same joy I got from this when I was little,” Maynard’s thoughts wandered back to a Florida upbringing where sunfish were bigger, at least in a boyhood memory.
All of which brings us to the point that places with panfish form the paving stones for the path most Americans follow toward that lifetime of fishing. It’s where we take our children to catch the easy fish, the ones that cement that lifelong fixation that becomes as much a part of our being as inhaling and exhaling.
That so many of these places exist, in varying degrees of desirability, is cause for wondering why people fail to take advantage. Part of the reason is that they lie hidden, or at least not adequately marked. People shy about access issue often are stymied in not knowing whether they can use these ponds.
A prime source of information is the Colorado Division of Wildlife’s “Fishing Close to Home” brochure, available for a nominal fee at agency offices and most tackle shops. Part of the fun comes from the sense of exploration one gets in prowling about the urban jungle. Finding a juicy panfish pond for whiling away a few hours after work or school can be a delightful discovery.
These finds become ever so much more meaningful when we share them with a child, extending that fixation out through yet another generation of terminal addiction.
