Santa Ana Jake

painting by Dave Whitlock(?)

In one of the Casitas, at the bottom of the lake,

Lives a Largemouth Bass named Santa Ana Jake.

He’s big and he’s mean, and if you dare cross his path,

You MAY live to regret inviting his wrath.

I know cuz I hooked him, one late afternoon,

Five minutes before closing, I believe it was June…

I cast out my line, not far from the ramp,

Just one more try, before heading to camp.

And my line it did twitch… it moved… just a bit

And that’s when, my friends, it all turned to shit.

For when I set the hook as I usually do,

I encountered a force not unlike JAWS II.

I had come prepared. I was properly schooled,

With my drag set correctly, and my reel freshly spooled.

But nothing could have prepared me that day,

For Jake and HIS sick idea of child’s play.

He headed straight for the surface, and exploded, in a hurry!

His mouth open wide, like a runaway Plymouth Fury.

Then he dove straight for the bottom, and wrapped me 'round a branch,

Or a hitching post from an old sunken ranch.

And I knew it was over, when my line it did break,

And sunk with my heart, to the bottom of the lake.