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What
do you see when you look at this photo? The lake - the idyllic reflection of the
cliff line formed on the tranquil surface? Natural sunlight warming the rocks
and eliciting their true color - the iridescent colors adorning this
picture-perfect black crappie? Can you see the fluid path we took across the
lake that morning? How about the patience necessary to wait for that one bite,
or later, the clouds to break providing the illumination crucial to do the
scenery justice?
Behind every photograph lie 1,000 words and ceaseless
minutes of preparation and waiting - yes, waiting. In fact, in the world of
professional photography, we often find ourselves in a paradoxical "hurry up and
wait" mode, whereby photo subjects are beckoned to be on set and available at a
moment's notice, but often nearly nod off awaiting their final summons to the
business end of the camera.
In Arkansas, on this brisk Lake Norfork
morning the air was still but with a nip; the skies were low and grey and
sunshine shrouded with the exception of brief bursts between billows - those
sun-filled gaps would prove priceless in the end.
We left the docks of
Handcove Resort at daybreak navigating calm water through foggy coves protected
in premium FXE Stormsuit raingear and toting a wardrobe the likes of a runway
model.
Just about any sizable fish would do in the big picture, but we
had our minds set on a trophy crappie. Obstacles blocked our bringing that
special speckled fish boatside, though, first and foremost being that our guide,
Larry Olsen is an oracle to the lake but specializes in bass of all stripes, but
not panfish. However, without a hint of intimidation, he embraced the challenge
knowing that brushy crappie hideaways sprouted along his premium bass fishing
milk runs.
Larry took us to one of his money spots, a cove that kicks
out largemouth and spotted bass like a vending machine. The submerged secret to
the spot was that sunken brush zigzagged the cove's midsection, in deeper water
- 30 to 35 feet - beyond the rugged banks he classically strafes for
bass.
So we rigged up with what crappie gear was onboard, and it was
sparse at best, again, Larry licks his chops for bass not crappies. Fortunately,
we brought along a couple of panfish-weight St. Croix Rods with matched Daiwa
Reels.
Larry rummaged up a few smaller plain hooks. We found a couple of
slip-bobbers rolling around in camera bags, and thought far enough ahead to
procure a couple dozen small minnows on the drive from Blue Lady Resort around
Norfork to Handcove Resort.
Larry trolled, pulling us gingerly across
the brushpiles while floats held flashy minnows atop the wooded structure. Not
long into the campaign he clearly identified, via sonar, fish holding tight to
the tops of a brushpile. We quickly adjusted the depth of our baits to hang
tauntingly above the fish. If they were in fact crappies, which commonly feed
upwards, we'd be in business. Zing! We had our first beautiful Norfork crappie
in the livewell. Fists clenched, we did that knuckle banging celebration that
has replaced the now outdated high-five. So we were successful, and hip, at
least for the moment.
Morning surrendered to midday and what had
ascended into a productive crappie expedition stalled. It was time to go
high-tech, because we knew the fish hadn't gone and left the lake, just become
moodier, perhaps physically relocated altogether. So down went the MarCum
underwater camera to sneak peeks into untapped brushpiles.
Voila! Not
long after peering through the sunken latticework of virgin timber, did our
camera lens meet numbers of crappies, which were curiously, yet cautiously
sizing up this manmade intruder.
We reloaded with minnows and floats
figuring with fish in our crosshairs, it was now a matter of recreating the
morning mission. Not 15-minutes into the crusade, though, did we recognize that
spunky minnows weren't going to trip any triggers. Fish were there, as visually
evidenced, but "the bite" was not.
Scratching heads and scheming, we
remembered that somewhere deep in an inside pocket was a package of plastic
magic, Northland Tackle's Bro's Bloodworms. Innocuous and earthy toned in
appearance, to crappies, which feed on both things barely identifiable by the
naked eye and creepy creatures that crawl amongst the wet wood, the Bloodworms
had the appeal of snacks that are eaten on impulse not because of hunger. Bam!
The catching got back underway.
Larry's livewell now harbored a half
dozen truly trophy crappies, the smaller fish released immediately. So we jetted
toward another probable producer when what sounded like angels singing in the
distance blended with a parting of the clouds. It was show time. We had our
sacred natural light.
Like a Coast Guard vessel on patrol when a distress
signal hits the airwaves, Larry swung hard portside and pointed us toward the
nearest sunlit and out of the wind cove.
We took the beachhead, unloading
camera gear, fish, and the wardrobe in unison as if this team had trained for
months. But in truth, it was our first experience as a single-celled organism.
And at the risk of sounding overconfident, we were seamless...
Crappies
were bucketed and positioned for quick access. Wardrobes, actually logo-wear,
was donned, backup apparel kept within arm's reach. Cameras clicked. The fish
and fish-holders turned and contorted per the photographer bellowing
instructions. Backgrounds rotated. Larry raised a whopper black crappie followed
by a white. Like a pro, he, too, manipulated the fish and his body to capture
the immaculate meshing of fish, man, and scenery.
Hundreds of frames
later, bar none, this photo won the Grand Slam and Triple Crown for composition,
color, and its ability to capture 1,000 words in a single frame.
--Dena Woerner and Noel Vick











