The purchase of a new bikini, smaller and brighter than the one before, is usually purchased to the delight of a fisherman, more so than the wearer. I have never seen reason for exception to that “rule,” until now.

I am fortunate enough to live in the beautiful State of Florida where fish, attractive women and bikinis are in abundance. Being an avid bass fisherman with a propensity for not fishing or being alone, I married one of the afore-mentioned and, just for clarification, not the fish.

Together we made many forays onto the lakes of Florida in search of “little green monsters” otherwise known as the Largemouth Bass. Me armed with all my tens of thousands of dollars worth of fishing equipment and she, only enthusiasm, an energizing smile and that little bikini.

Bass fishermen as a whole are a reserved and cautious lot when it comes to our angling. If asked, “Where are the fish?” We will respond, “In the water.” Secrecy is our creed, especially if that huge lunker we’ve been stalking has been landed, or we’ve located that great hidden honey hole that keeps us on the top of the local tournament charts. Heroic actions like this make us big men in the local circles, all coveting the secrets of our angling prowess.

One day I invited a client and his girlfriend for a day of fishing and the diversions offered by the Florida waters, typically sunshine and Budweiser. He and I shared a few things in common other than work and a love of bass fishing. He also was privileged enough to have attracted one of those fabulous bikini wearers.

The trip turned out to be a wonderful day revealing that we all enjoyed each other’s company. This first trip lead to many more outings, successful team tournaments won by he and I and the combined seventy-five thousand dollar purchase of two brand new bass boats, one for each of us. Sleek hulls the envy of other fishermen on the water, capturing attention as we flew by, mere inches above the water’s surface, the low sides of the boats allowing full view of our pride and joy seated beside us. (Note to bikini manufacturers: Bikini tops do not hold up to speeds above 58 miles per hour our boats run 80)(Note 2 … Thanks!)

Excursions would embark amid the cool temperatures of the early morning hours. Cool being, by a Floridians’ standards, anything below eighty. Within two hours of a trip’s start the elusive bass had been boated and feminine cover-ups stowed, bikinis blossoming in the morning sun. For my friend and I, initially, such beguiling womanly adornments decorating our vessels was akin to a badge of honor, masculine pride and other anglers’ admiration persuading us to dub ourselves “Kings of the Lake.”

With the advent of the “Tee-Back”, which by the way has nothing to do with the transom, we began to recognize, in conjunction with the subtraction of brightly patterned material, we experienced a loss in our prowess as anglers. No matter the change in technique or how much money spent on lures, our bass production continued to plummet.

Furthering our dismay, our bikini clad, infinitely more enticing and alluring, significant others invariably would catch more fishermen than we caught fish. Our conspicuous boat-mates giggling while equating each day’s catch to ours. The once “caught” anglers pacing our boats, but always keeping the bikinis at a short, yet viewable distance. We joked about the girls’ catch and release procedure, teasingly admonishing them, that once you catch them, your supposed to throw them back.

Once the laughter at our jibes subsided the “Kings of the Lake,” subsequent to much angling disquiet, finally received a lightning bolt of a revelation in the art of fishing wisdom and the key to our angling mistake. We realized, inadvertently, we ignored and violated our bass fishermen’s credo of secrecy.

Examining a chronicle of the bikinis’ creel history, usually all limits, the bikinis’ captives were not just eyeing the wares striding our decks, but entering the locations of our honey holes into their Global Positioning Units. We fell prey to the allure of the bikini and the treachery of pride’s betrayal. The bikinis, parallel to their design, exposed all our assets, and the secrets of our fishing success. Careful analysis of these outings has revealed we need another type of boat.

Thank God, nobody pays any attention to our beer drinking.

Copy of Article manuscript submitted to Smithsonian Magazine, The Last page (Humor)

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