By Vance McCullough, AC Insider

When tournament season winds down I stash a lot of the power fishing gear. Now I wade gin-clear shallows to cast diminutive offerings to small fish whose strikes I greet with the joy normally reserved for the birth of a child.

That would be ‘exhibit A’ in the case against me as a hard-core bass angler.

To keep the playing field level, I use a 6ft rod designed for lines testing between 1-and-4 pounds, paired with a gossamer thread of fluorocarbon boasting 4lbs of strength and hooks so small I frequently catch ambitious bluegill.

‘Exhibit B’.

I truly am out here for the joy of the whole experience, not just the short-lived thrill of landing a fish.

‘Exhibit C’ and likely the nail in the coffin for my case.

I do all the things I’ve always laughed at Western trout anglers for. Saltwater fly fishing is a different thing. Anyone who tames a giant tarpon or surging snook with a feather and a fly rod is cool. That’s some epic angling.

So my issue isn’t the gear involved. It’s the elitist attitudes of many trout chasers. As far as I can tell, the objective of their game is to wear as much of the LL Bean catalogue as possible in a single outing. If you catch a fish, fine. If not, “It’s about the process.” Of course, if you don’t post a selfie none of it counts.

OK – I’m kidding! Sort of. Wouldn’t want a fluff-chucker to spit white wine in my eye and try to run me over in their Saab.

But even down here in the land of eternal sunshine, there are seasons and patterns. Right now we’re in the ‘off’ season for major tournament action. All I want to do is see a fish eat and feel it fight so I take my little finesse spinning rod for a hike through the pine flats. A backpack is more than adequate to house the small selection of slinky worms and stubby minnows I’ve packed, all of which work well on a dropshot. The maximum depth I’ll fish today is three feet and you could read the label on a bottle lying on the bottom. So my dropshot is weightless. I cut the leader off completely. I nose hook a straight sliver of plastic designed for quivering over suspended bass located on electronics that cost more than a high-end fly rod. I use my eyes to find fish and the targets that may hide them. Just like my flyfishing cousins. See? We’re not that different. I even use expensive brand name eye wear. That’s 1 more point for me on the fly angler scale! I might be coming out of the closet here.

Besides, it’s all good as we’ll see.

Winter typically brings low, clear water conditions to start with and this year we’ve also had a bit of drought, so I’m adjusting by seeking out not the deepest lakes around, but the shallowest, the ones most affected by low water conditions. The ones that leave their fish no option but to crowd into predictable places where a stealthy angler can score quickly. Hence, the fly rod cross-dressed as a fairy wand spinning rod, either of which would garner much scorn should I be seen by other bass anglers. This is no small part of the reason I seek the solitude of heavily wooded ponds and shallow sloughs.

It is in these places – where winds seldom reach through soaring pines and palmetto-packed forest floor – where nothing stirs the surface to break up my approach to the transparent water, bounded by sand below and air only a couple of feet above, where there is no room for error, this is where my best is demanded of me. This is where I practice my art on the smallest scale I know. And for such extreme endeavor on these small waters I am rewarded with equally small fish, giants all of them.

You get good at fishing by fishing. It doesn’t matter what for, doesn’t matter which technique you employ, the art of pursuit is learned through experience, through feel, through stripping away all that distracts you from your game and by just going fishing.

Then there’s the scenery. I’ve always figured it to be a major draw for those who wade mountain streams. The mountains. Snowcapped and distant, shedding water that broadens the landscape you tread. Sure, there are fish. But if you didn’t catch one you’d be no worse off for the glimpse of Heaven. And so it goes when I’m on a wooded gem, small as a diamond and sometimes as hard to crack. If I catch nothing but the sunset I’ve lived a hundred years today, silver barked maples pressing water’s edge, their scarlet leaves reflected on the surface through which I focus to see a bass spook from the shadow of my ‘invisible’ line.

Note to self: don’t put anything, including invisible line, between the fish and the sun.

It’s little lessons like this that you didn’t know you’d forgotten that will take your angling from good to great once they become a solid habit. Winning is a habit and I’ll get back to that aspect of the sport in a couple of months. This experience today will help me then. It’s not that I’ll use 4lb line in a tournament but every time you cast a lure you continue to sharpen your skills. All fishing trips have value. I grew up bream fishing the St Johns River with a cane pole. When I picked up a baitcaster, the flipping technique came natural to me. I had been using it for years to drop a live cricket in tiny spots between lily pads and then play the feisty bluegills out on 6lb line. Those experiences formed the basis of my fishing DNA. Every cast counts. For life.

I’ll be back to tournament fishing with 65lb braid and flipping sticks soon enough. For now, I’m a kid again as Christmas rolls around and I fish for simply the pure joy of it, taking what comes as a grateful child accepts a gift. Socks and underwear? Uh, thanks Grandma!