I have to admit I was pretty stoked about hitting the lake. Everything was going great at the gym but after a few months in the pool I was really looking forward to being outside. Since I’m a poor swimmer at best, I thought it would be nice to get to the swimming hole early and have the lake to myself. I packed up the night before and had my old pickup cruising to the lake just after daylight.

The pier extended some seventy or eighty feet out over the lake to where the water was deep enough to dive into. I climbed down the ladder to check to temperature before easing myself in slowly. The water was chilly being early March and I still hadn't gotten a wetsuit yet so it took a minute to get accustomed to it. All things considered it was a beautiful morning and with no one around I began my version of freestyle (basic flailing). After a while I made it back to the pier and panted as I hung from the ladder still floating neck deep.

As I contemplated whether to get out and warm up or be a die-hard and do a few more laps it suddenly hit me. A small mouth bass hit me. I know I needed a tan but I never realized how appetizing my nipple looked to a fish. He struck incredibly fast and latched on tight while I grabbed frantically at his tail trying to get him off. The ensuing battle seemed to take an eternity as we both flopped around near the pier. Finally I managed to grab the ladder and as I began climbing the bass decided he couldn’t swallow me whole and relinquished his grip.

Once back on solid ground I examined my wound and found it bleeding from the bite mark that encircled my nipple. It looked worse than it was but as I walked back toward the truck a fisherman had just driven up and was unloading his gear. He noticed the blood running down my stomach and a puzzled look crossed his face. “You should do great today,” I quipped, “they’re really biting.”

When I explained the bite mark to my wife she looked at me strangely for a second before deciding this was not too far out of line from the type things that usually happen to me. “You could have at least brought it home,” she said, “you know I like fresh fish.” I bit my lip and went about finding a Band-Aid to cover the marks.

I’ve often wondered if the bass was as traumatized by the experience as I was. Think about it, how bewildered would you be if after biting into a nice leafy salad the table screamed, stood up and started slapping you around? Not a pretty picture I assure you. With this in mind, should you ever hook a small mouth bass with deep fingernail scratches along his tail please let him go, he’s been through enough.