Grandma and Grandpa, loved as family by students at SFA for the tuesday bible studies and home-cooked meals, own two ponds that are absolute gold mines for bass and catfish. Nearing that point in the semester when the stress all over campus begins to rise and students lie somewhere between a laugh and a cry, Eric, Tim, Red, and I decided it was time to get out the rods, reels, and tackle boxes.

After dragging Tim out of bed, we threw the coolers, fishing rods, tackle, and bait into Eric's truck and charged out to the ponds like armed men (and Red) ready for battle. Grandpa has two ponds; the first is almost completely taken over by algae (but with huge bass and Apalusa catfish large enough for the Texas record books) and the second is crystal clear except for the occasional lily pad (but with smaller fish). Choosing to go after the giants, Eric, Tim, and Red all piled into the bright silver skillet, I mean aluminum John boat, and paddled to a spot in the middle where the algae broke open for a suitable fishing hole. They looked like three big potatoes in a skillet baking in the open sun, and Eric was growing redder by the minute. I opted for the trees and shade along the side hoping the bass did the same and had some success tugging a grass frog along the top of the water. After several hours the crisp fishermen found they had only caught two average sized bass, a crappie, and a lot of water from the mysterious leak. Hardly the meal for a group of us after a day like this. I climbed into the boat and we all gave a desperate attempt before raising the white flag in surrender to the fish. They definitely had us beat.