If you look up Bum in the dictionary, you will see the definition: “good-for-nothing: somebody regarded as irresponsible or worthless.” Oops, sorry, wrong definition. Skip down a few lines, there we are… “devotee; somebody who is excessively devoted to a particular activity or place.”  Devotion is like obtaining a fresh rose in a garden. First, the rose lures you in with it’s vibrant bait that says “yes, I am the symbol of all that is romantic and seductive, and you must have me”. Then, as you reach for it, you try ever so strategically to avoid the sharp pricks on the stem. Dodging and ducking in and out of other stems, working to stay out of the red zone. But, one sudden pinch of the finger stuns you and you are compelled to grab hold of that obsessive flower and keep it in your hands. Ignoring your throbbing finger and blind to your threshold of affliction as all that clouds your judgment is the act of possession. All caution is thrown to the wind as your heart falls in its predestined pit of the despair and demise known as devotion. Oh, devotion, how cleverly cruel you are.

 But now you have the rose and it embeds itself so comfortably into your hand, familiarizing with your every move, thought, and desire. So that all you eat, drink, sleep, and breath is that devotion. That devotion. So, it is with our rods held high that we proudly carry the name as Riverbums. Destined to devote ourselves to the sport nay the ritual of hope, faith, and hook. Where every river carries a locket of our wade, where every fish carries a symbol of our cast, and where every witness carries an image of actionable true love. For we truly love to fish, to wade, to walk, and to cast where only our devotion holds us like the hand and the rose. 

But, where there is devotion, sorrow is close behind. You can see it on the face of the old man standing in front of his wife’s coffin or in the eyes of an Olympian when she misses the hurdle. Call it loss, let down or just pure deny of destiny. Devotion comes with its pitfalls and it is not for the faint of heart. To be devoted is to be insane. For only the insane choose to dedicate their time (busy or free), their sleep, their social life, and blood/sweat/tears(not the band) to something that may only bring an increment of happiness once and a while. Mark our words, you better be sure, (and we mean blood test, background check, the whole nine yards) SURE, before you devote yourself to a person, place, or hobby. Cause, we guarantee you one thing, it’ll slowly kill ya. But hey, at least it’ll feel good as you go… 

Fortunately, the Riverbums have had more than a few “once and a while” happy moments. Honestly, we’ve had a bunch. But, that’s because we devoted ourselves to fishing and not some woman who promises to try new things and watch baseball games with you when really she forces you to cut your hair and spend all Saturday night with very berry mojitos as you finish off all 9 seasons of Dawson’s Creek. Ok, seriously, you need to get out of that one! Save yourself man, save yourself. Yes, my friends, we live to fish and fish to live. 

So, we devoted our weekend to reeling in the smallmouth bass on our favorite reservation in Northern Wisconsin where we used nothing but yellow twisty tails (2 inch tail) and round green jig heads. Yes the ************ river was more than generous. But first, a new segment of the blog that was suggested to us by many of our readers…

A total of 80 small mouth bass, caught and released over a span of 10 hours. Sporadic white fluffy clouds and a high of 75 made this one of, if not the best day on the ************ river (sorry, would have to kill ya) this summer.