sticksteer
New member
Twas the day before Christmas and all over the lake,
not a boat was stirring, not one single wake.
My brushpiles were marked on the GPS with care,
in hopes that big slabs would soon be there.
My BnM poles were strung with new 6 lb thread,
while visions of 3 pounders danced in my head.
Me in my insulated bibs and thick wool cap,
I powered up the GPS and checked out the Hot Spots map.
I hit the key on that old Johnson, oh how it did sputter,
its a '73 model, it don't run smooth like butter.
Away from the dock I left in a flash,
in my old tri-hull sticksteer that cost $700 cash.
The sun had just begun to rise and the wind she was starting to blow,
I turned on the Hummingbird to see what was below.
When what to my bloodshot eyes should appear,
but a big red boat full of crappie fishing gear.
The driver was a leathery old fellow that was spry and quick,
surely this wasn't old Sac-A-Lait Nick ?
He put eight poles out with minner tipped jigs,
looked like he was using HI-TEK rigs.
His poles were all different, not one the same,
as he checked each one he called them by name.
Thats Dasher, heres Dancer, theres Prancer and Vixen,
heres Comet, thats Cupid and theres Donner and Blitzen.
He looked up from his poles and smiled at me,
then said "I hear ya'll got some big ole slabs down here in Mississippi"
I said "Yes sir, in case you didn't know,
we got em' down here " As Big As They Grow!"
No sooner than I said that his poles began to jerk,
I wish you could have seen that old fat man go to work !
First one slab, then another and another,
I grabbed my GPS and marked that cover !
When his cooler was full and minners all gone,
he strapped down his gear for the long ride home.
As he fired up the motor and idled out of sight,
I heard him shout, "Merry Christmas to ya and may all your slabs put up a fight !"
Merry Christmas to all,
Stick
not a boat was stirring, not one single wake.
My brushpiles were marked on the GPS with care,
in hopes that big slabs would soon be there.
My BnM poles were strung with new 6 lb thread,
while visions of 3 pounders danced in my head.
Me in my insulated bibs and thick wool cap,
I powered up the GPS and checked out the Hot Spots map.
I hit the key on that old Johnson, oh how it did sputter,
its a '73 model, it don't run smooth like butter.
Away from the dock I left in a flash,
in my old tri-hull sticksteer that cost $700 cash.
The sun had just begun to rise and the wind she was starting to blow,
I turned on the Hummingbird to see what was below.
When what to my bloodshot eyes should appear,
but a big red boat full of crappie fishing gear.
The driver was a leathery old fellow that was spry and quick,
surely this wasn't old Sac-A-Lait Nick ?
He put eight poles out with minner tipped jigs,
looked like he was using HI-TEK rigs.
His poles were all different, not one the same,
as he checked each one he called them by name.
Thats Dasher, heres Dancer, theres Prancer and Vixen,
heres Comet, thats Cupid and theres Donner and Blitzen.
He looked up from his poles and smiled at me,
then said "I hear ya'll got some big ole slabs down here in Mississippi"
I said "Yes sir, in case you didn't know,
we got em' down here " As Big As They Grow!"
No sooner than I said that his poles began to jerk,
I wish you could have seen that old fat man go to work !
First one slab, then another and another,
I grabbed my GPS and marked that cover !
When his cooler was full and minners all gone,
he strapped down his gear for the long ride home.
As he fired up the motor and idled out of sight,
I heard him shout, "Merry Christmas to ya and may all your slabs put up a fight !"
Merry Christmas to all,
Stick
