By Louie Stout

Louie with personal best smallmouth

It began as a bet more than 10 years ago between two old guys who have been best friends since the early 1960s.

Al Tucker and I, both Kokomo, Ind. natives, had logged smallmouth weighing 6 pounds, 13 ounces. After Al caught his 6-13, the bet was made: whoever catches the next 7 pounder gets a free steak dinner.

Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago.

Jon Howard and I pushed his flat bottom boat into the chilly waters of a small, northern Michigan lake on a crisp autumn morning. The lake has no access, so it took all we had to get the boat into water deep enough to start the shallow-draft jet drive engine and scoot across the lake.

Howard, an Elkhart native, now lives in Petoskey and is Tucker’s condo neighbor. The three of us have fished together for years.

But this day, Al chose to play golf with my wife, leaving Jon and I to fish a lake where Jon has caught several big smallmouth.

Three-inch pink TRD soft plastic on a 1/16th jig head.Jon rigged up his usual weapon, a goofy three-inch pink TRD soft plastic on a 1/16th jig head. He poked the worm in the middle section to allow the ends to dangle.

“They really like this rig on this lake,” he declared.

I sneered. The bass on this lake haven’t seen the trendy lures that catch bass for the hot-shot Michiana boys, I thought, as I pulled out a chatterbait for one rod and an A rig for another.

This is going to be easy.

We eased upon a small ledge that dropped from maybe 2 to 3½ feet of water. I began rapid-firing my heavy duty artillery around the boat while Jon pitched his sissy rig ahead of the boat. It wasn’t long before Jon rocked the boat with a hookset and a big smallmouth wallowed on the surface. I dropped my rod, grabbed the net, and after a few anxious moments, I slid it under a 6-pound, 4-ounce smallmouth.

We knew each fish’s precise weight because Jon weighs and records every quality bass that comes into the boat and has kept accurate records for decades.

Meanwhile, I kept chunkin’ and a windin’ around the boat with my trendy lures that I just knew the fish couldn’t resist.

Ten minutes later, Jon rocked the boat again and I scrambled for the net.

This one weighed 5-9.

I’d seen enough.

“Um, Jon, can I have one of those rigs you’re throwing?” in my most humbling voice.

Howard gave me a quick seminar on how to work the bait while I readied a spinning rod spooled with light line.

”Cast it out there and let it fall a bit, then pull slightly on the rod tip,” he explained. “You will feel the worm ends vibrate. That’s key.”

Before I could make my second cast, Jon added a heavy 4 pounder.

I quickly got the hang of how to fish the lure and scored with a couple 3 pounders. My next fish weighed 5-4.

The wind began to pick up as it always does up north and Jon battled the bow-mounted electric motor to keep us on productive drifts. When a fish was caught, he released a heavy lead anchor into the sand/muck bottom to hold us while we fished around.

It was around 2 p.m. when I felt a little tick. I leaned into the rod and the rod leaned back. I knew it was a big fish, but shoot, they all felt big.

I hollered at Jon to get the net as the fish zipped in front of us and tried to jump and throw the bait. It got partially out of the water - enough for Jon to look at me and say, “there’s your steak dinner. Don’t mess it up.”

The fish made several runs and spun the drag on my spinning reel. I kept working it back to the boat until it finally rolled to its side where Jon could scoop it up.

I was trembling when we placed it on the scales. The digital readout locked in on 7.71 pounds, or about 7 pounds, 11 ounces.

I was still shaking after we snapped a couple of pictures and I eased the ol’ gal back into the water and watched her disappear.

Before I could pick up a rod, I texted my good friend a picture with only the words, “Steak dinner, baby!”

Waves began to crash over the bow an hour later and we knew it was time to call it a day.

What a day it was! We caught 14 smallmouth and our five biggest weighed 30 pounds, 13 ounces.

That night, Al and his wife graciously treated Deb and I to wonderful steak dinners in Harbor Springs, Mich.

The bill was a dandy, yet Al had only one regret. “I just wish I was there to share that moment with you,” he said somberly.

And so do I.