“To everything (turn, turn, turn)…”
Dateline: Plattsburgh, N.Y., where it all began..,
“Leap and the net will appear.”
— Zen Saying
I will never forget the fireflies of Lake Champlain.
Never forget how the tiny lights lit the white bubbles on the tops of the waves.
Never forget how all those separate glows moved back and forth in some unknown harmony.
I stood on the end of a Plattsburgh dock, wrote in my reporter’s notebook what was going to be the title of my story: Lake Champlain Fireflies.
I scribbled on how cool it was that Mother Nature instilled upon the insects how to fly in perfect formation, never crossing or getting near to one another.
I scribbled how the tiny dots of light came closer as if to illuminate my notebook, as if I was a modern day Henry David Thoreau seeing the mystical wonders of nature up close.
And then…
…then the fireflies broke through the fog right in front of me and…
…and…
…there came 10 white lights on top of skinny sticks.
Skinny little sticks stuck into the back of some sort of thing called a…bass boat.
250 horsepower Merc Fireflies.
And then some little guy named Chuck, or something, walked by me and mumbled, “Welcome to B.A.S.S.…ESPN.”
“Dear Gawd,” I thought, “this ain’t Bristol no more.”
“…there is a season (turn, turn, turn)…”
It is now been 10 years, a decade, and I’m back at the exact spot where it all began, Plattsburgh, N.Y.
Some numbers:
In these 10 years I’ve been to 100 Elite events, this story will be the 500th I’ve written for B.A.S.S. In total of all events, Opens, Nation, College, High School I’m about to hit 200 B.A.S.S. events.
I’ve driven basically around the world 14 times writing this stuff: 348,614 miles.
I’ve been away from home 1,456 days…a hair over four years.
I’ve gone through two minivans, one 4Runner, one RV and have 100,000 miles on a 3-year-old Tundra.
Been at events in 25 of the 49 Continental United States.
Have almost 3/4 of a million hotel points.
Discovered sweet tea in Arkansas.
Discovered the incredible amount of foods that can somehow be fried.
Have written “astrophysics’” and “ya’ll” in the same sentence.
Now drive a truck.
And have fishing licenses in eight states.
Yep.
“…a time to be born…”
“I’ll play it first, and tell you what it is later.”
— Miles Davis
A decade ago I had never heard of you and you had never heard of me, and to be honest I was fine with that.
But in truth I was getting stale at ESPN, I had spent over a decade there chasing crooks, bad guys, sports cheaters and various scallywags in sports around the planet.
I was burnt out, disgusted with sports and humanity in general and was looking for a new career path…but not actually this one.
On my list of 10 career possibilities covering bass fishing was number…eh…none.
When my boss first told me about the chance to move over to ESPN Outdoors and write about “Professional Bass Fishing,” with some outfit in Arkansas, I said exactly this, “Next choice.”
“I don’t like the outdoors.”
“I hate fish.”
The next week I was standing on a dock in Plattsburgh.
In those seven days I quit ESPN three times rather than be on some dock watching what I thought was a couple guys with ham sandwiches and Budweisers fish with the first guy to catch something in the water being declared the winner.
I didn’t know what a “bass” was or looked like.
And didn’t care.
I didn’t know what exactly a “K…V…D…” was or looked like.
And didn’t care.
The only “tournament” I had ever been to before involved a round ball and a hoop.
I had been to two launches before but both of those involved a rocket going straight up.
And the only good thing about this was when the ESPN desk told me I had to be at the “event” at what they were told was “first safe light” which they and I took to mean…sometime around 10 a.m. after Starbucks and The New York Times.
Turned out I sort of misjudged the whole thing.
“…a time to plant…”
“Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far it is possible to go.” — T.S. Eliot
Let me be perfectly clear here, I have covered the NFL, MLB, NASCAR, NHL and NBA and never once, NEVER ONCE did I actually have to tackle anyone, take batting practice, drive 200mph in a circle, skate, or shoot a ‘tre.
I cover sports, I don’t actually do sports.
I’m all for “sidelines” and “press boxes” wherever they may be.
If I have to get on a boat I don’t want it to be a boat, I want it to be a ship with a lady in high heels bringing me a triple margarita.
I’m a writer for gawd’s sake and in my almost 40 years of writing stuff I never once had the desire to get involved in the stuff I was writing about.
That’s you know, just nuts.
And yet once again from the ESPN desk, “I don’t know they told me you were going to be something called a ‘co-helper’ or something.
Again let me repeat: I don’t like the outside and I surely don’t like fish or anything comfortable wearing slime.
“Co-helper,” what is that?
“I’m not sure I think you help someone fish.”
“I quit.”
“Oh and there will be fishing rods and stuff in your hotel room for you to use.”
“I double quit.”
What in fact has happened to America when you under your own free will can’t double quit a job.
And then what in fact was historic at ESPN of finding stuff/people in your hotel room there was in my room…fishing stuff?
That my friends, had never happened before to anyone riding in the mothership.
I stuffed it in the hotel room closet and asked for another room.
In decades of leaving stuff in hotel rooms not once has housekeeping ever called me saying “it seems you have left some items in the closet…”
Except of course, this time.
“…a time to reap…”
There is a huge difference in “meeting” 4 a.m. in the morning than it is to have 4 a.m. crawl up on you.
No other sport on the planet even thinks of starting in the dark or the middle of the night which to me is what 4 a.m. is.
And yet there I stood on a dock that bounced up and down watching battery powered fireflies stuck into boats the thickness of a surfboard come my way of which I was supposed to get into/on and some how be a “co-helper” to someone who knew how to fish which I did not nor ever wanted to learn.
And this folks is what happened: “Diary of a Bassmaster Virgin” published on ESPN in August of 2007.
I thought it was one and done.
I was wrong.
The other night I took Elite angler James Niggemeyer, the angler in the story that I was the “co-helper” to out for Italian food. “You know db I kept looking back at you in the back of the boat and a couple of times you were asleep. I never had a co-angler do that before.”
Yeah, I never had that happen to me either James.
“Remember when I told you that you had to fish…”
I do, I picked up a rod basically stuck it in the water, swished it around for a couple of minutes, put it back down and went back to sleep since my “co-“ thing was now complete.
“I remember db you even asked me while holding the rod and the reel, ‘what am I supposed to do with this’ no one had ever asked me that before.”
To tell you the truth, and I told James this at dinner, I was a little bit worried about these bass fish things. I remembered watching a video on YouTube before I came up to the event and it showed a guy rolling around and screaming in pain on the floor of his boat as this bass thing was biting his hand.
Six months later after meeting the angler, Ike, I realized that at least the fish were harmless and that he wasn’t being bitten.
Who knew? YouTube didn’t actually explain it well.
So get this on Bassmaster.com I actually have a tournament record, here you go:
“…a time to laugh…”
“There are two great days in a person’s life – the day we are born and the day we discover why.”
-William Barclay
I never for a moment thought a day like this would come, I never wanted to be here, never imagined being here for 10 weeks let alone 10 years.
And yet it is now the thing I’m most proud of, the thing I’m most honored by, the thing I wouldn’t change for the world.
An indoor guy writing about the outdoors, nearly impossible to fathom.
500 stories not one an assignment, although a privilege.
I know now I needed you a lot more than you needed me.
I was done, kaput, put a fork in it journalist.
I had done it long enough to do it on autopilot, my friends at ESPN knew it and looked for and okayed a move to revitalize me.
To be honest I was pretty much forced on the folks at B.A.S.S. and the first couple of years were rough on both sides.
Website boards all over the place complained about me, a non-angler in the angler world. I even got a message once that said, “Don Barone you are such a retart.”
But then, slowly, what I consider a miracle happened, the family of anglers took me in, circled their wagons/boats around me and protected me, guided me, helped me.
The Shorts, Kennedys, Rick Clunn, Howells, Chapman, Martens, Faircloth, Niggemeyer, Tuckers, Skeet, KVD and on and on, and when we talked they didn’t talk about “how” they did this fishing stuff, they talked about “why” they did what they do.
“Why,” saved me.
The anglers, those who at first I could have cared less about, took me in and made me a part of the family, and now they are indeed my second family.
No one is closer to these folks than I am. I live with them, room with Paul Elias and Shaw Grigsby, no one understands them better than I do and in turn this gig I now believe to be among the best in professional sports.
Can’t imagine not doing it.
“…a time to weep…”
“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”
– Shakespeare
I have in this gig broken all the rules of journalism and you know what, it has made me a better journalist.
I know now an unseen hand sent me here so that “caring” would return to my heart. I wasn’t heartless as a reporter but I was pretty unattached, you had to be. In one year I covered 146 dead bodies, men, women, children, babies.
My wife would complain that I came home smelling of death.
You build a wall, and the longer you do it the thicker the wall becomes, the stronger the wall becomes when you stand on the doorstep of a house where a 2-week-old baby died in the worst way you can imagine.
You want to see my resume? It includes a quarter century of horror, it includes a quarter century of murders, perverts, cheaters, liars. I can’t say it was the bottom of the barrel because most of what I covered had leaked through.
And then, then came this.
The sport told me its story and I told that to you and in turn told your story to the sport.
Story.
As a journalist I would bristle at being called a storyteller but now it is nothing short of salvation.
Salvation.
“…and a time to every purpose…”
“We do not remember days, we remember moments.”
– Cesare Pavese
Thank you for these glorious unexpected moments you have placed into my life this past decade.
Let’s correct the scorecard of those 500 stories:
They don’t belong to me, they belong to you, they are the story of you, a gift you allow me to share with those who read my stuff.
As I look back I don’t remember the details I do remember the laughs, the tears, the sorrow and the joy I was allowed to put into print.
And that is what this sport is all about.
And that is what fishing is all about.
Emotions, feelings, and most importantly…love.
These folks out here who take to the water love what they do, their families love what they do and support them, you love the sport and support those who love it, and through these past 10 years I’ve come to love it too.
Not so much the boat rides, not so much touching the fish, not so much hooking myself in the butt, not so much this first safe light concept.
But love of the passion for those who do it and for those who follow it.
So all I can say is simply this: Thank You.
Thank you for your time.
Thank you for your trust.
Thank you for your support.
And thank God for Plattsburgh…
…and the dock I stood on that changed my life.
A decade ago.
db
“…under heaven.”
Turn Turn Turn
The Byrds
“May you live all the days of your life.”
– Jonathan Swift