Furries and Bass, Just Another Pond Sesh
Posted: Thu May 29, 2025 10:30 am
It was around 5:30 a.m. when The Gooch — yes, that’s what we call him, don’t ask — woke me up.
"It’s five in the morning, David. You better be in jail, or caught a 12#."
"Neither! Your buddy Jose just caught a four-pounder on that Megabass Karashi you keep threatening to throw but never do…"
"And I bet you told him you wouldn’t tell anyone."
"Right. But I’m only telling you."
"...Fine. I’ll be there in 30."
(I showed up two hours later. Because friendship has limits.)
Normally Saturdays are for hitting the big lakes, but Memorial Day weekend? No thanks. I’d rather wipe with poison ivy coated sandpaper than deal with crowds of drunk wakeboard dads that don't know how to back up a trailer, accompanied by their merry band of crotch fruit, flinging Cheetos bags into the water.
Still groggy from the Gooch Wake-Up Special, I grabbed two rods, a few confidence baits, and rolled out to the local pond. I realized I forgot to pack the Karashi when I got to the parking lot. C'est la vie. I haven't caught ish on it anyway.
This is the pond I fish during the week during my lunch. And, it is the pond that has been ghosting me for weeks — zero bites, nothing. I started convincing myself the bass were probably only eating between 6:07 a.m. and 6:13 a.m. when the moon aligned with Mercury in retrograde, or they had been all electroshocked away.
But in the morning, everything is different. The water looked… fishy. And not just the "Did I leave a whole mackerel in the back of Jerry's trunk?" kind of fishy. (Jerry wasn't happy with me for months after that incident.)
Anyhow, I have the same approach when I fish the pond. For the first round about, I usually hit my usual 5 or so spots.
Spot #1. Second cast. Boom. 3.2 lbs. Same spot I've been casting during the mid day sun for weeks, using the same bait, and hadn't gotten a bite. Go figure.
I stared at the fish like an ex who finally texted back. I had to remember how to even lip it properly, it had been that long.
I caught him off the edge of a weed bed that has been growing steadily that is adjacent to an air pipe. Double structure. And, the weeds making their presence meant two things:
In the next hour, I caught three more. My brilliant theory? The fish are in fact eating in the morning. Unfortunately, that’s when I’m typically stuck in a Zoom call trying to explain to our clients why Edna from accounting can’t upload an invoice properly.
By the time The Gooch had came back — with a breakfast burrito the size of a newborn — the bite had died, and so had our will to try. So we just sat on the lawn, relaxing with our thoughts, watching Lipless Guy drag weeds to shore like he was being paid by the pound.
“You’d think he’d try something else.”
“You’d think, right?”
And then… they arrived.
At first it was just a few people trickling in. But soon we noticed… tails. Big, beautiful, sparkly tails.
“Are those… tails?”
“Yep.”
Then came the DJ. And by "DJ," I mean a guy with a JBL speaker duct-taped to a fold-out table, hitting buttons on some device, blasting what sounded like EDM produced inside a malfunctioning Roomba.
And just like that—a herd of Furries was dancing on the grass.
“Well, that’s something you don’t see every day.”
“The squirrel looks kinda cute, though.”
We moved to the other side of the lake for some peace and quiet and maybe fewer cartoon mammals. The sun popped out, the bite shut down like a Mortal Kombat arcade machine jammed with quarters, and we were basically just casting for cardio at that point.
Then a pack (herd? gaggle? pride?) of Furries broke off from the main dance floor and wandered our way. Full suits. Vibrant fur. Zero shame.
As they passed, The Gooch asked, genuinely curious:
“Doesn’t it get hot under that thing?”
Cue the blue-and-white unicorn stopping, ripping off his foam head, and snapping:
“Don’t make fun of us just because we’re marginalized by society!”
There was a pause as we both tried to figure out if this was a bit.
Then Gooch, God bless him, responds:
“My grandparents were interned at Manzanar. Don’t talk to me about marginalized. They couldn’t take off their Japanese ‘costume' like you can take off yours.”
Mic drop.
Blue unicorn puts his head back on. His squirrel buddies give us a thumbs-up (paw-up?). They walk off. Apparently it did get hot a few moments later, and the Furry Crew decided to rest their weary paws.
Just another day at Probation Pond.
"It’s five in the morning, David. You better be in jail, or caught a 12#."
"Neither! Your buddy Jose just caught a four-pounder on that Megabass Karashi you keep threatening to throw but never do…"
"And I bet you told him you wouldn’t tell anyone."
"Right. But I’m only telling you."
"...Fine. I’ll be there in 30."
(I showed up two hours later. Because friendship has limits.)
Normally Saturdays are for hitting the big lakes, but Memorial Day weekend? No thanks. I’d rather wipe with poison ivy coated sandpaper than deal with crowds of drunk wakeboard dads that don't know how to back up a trailer, accompanied by their merry band of crotch fruit, flinging Cheetos bags into the water.
Still groggy from the Gooch Wake-Up Special, I grabbed two rods, a few confidence baits, and rolled out to the local pond. I realized I forgot to pack the Karashi when I got to the parking lot. C'est la vie. I haven't caught ish on it anyway.
This is the pond I fish during the week during my lunch. And, it is the pond that has been ghosting me for weeks — zero bites, nothing. I started convincing myself the bass were probably only eating between 6:07 a.m. and 6:13 a.m. when the moon aligned with Mercury in retrograde, or they had been all electroshocked away.
But in the morning, everything is different. The water looked… fishy. And not just the "Did I leave a whole mackerel in the back of Jerry's trunk?" kind of fishy. (Jerry wasn't happy with me for months after that incident.)
Anyhow, I have the same approach when I fish the pond. For the first round about, I usually hit my usual 5 or so spots.
Spot #1. Second cast. Boom. 3.2 lbs. Same spot I've been casting during the mid day sun for weeks, using the same bait, and hadn't gotten a bite. Go figure.
I stared at the fish like an ex who finally texted back. I had to remember how to even lip it properly, it had been that long.
I caught him off the edge of a weed bed that has been growing steadily that is adjacent to an air pipe. Double structure. And, the weeds making their presence meant two things:
- Summer’s here.
- Time for the Lipless Crankbait Guy to clock in.
In the next hour, I caught three more. My brilliant theory? The fish are in fact eating in the morning. Unfortunately, that’s when I’m typically stuck in a Zoom call trying to explain to our clients why Edna from accounting can’t upload an invoice properly.
By the time The Gooch had came back — with a breakfast burrito the size of a newborn — the bite had died, and so had our will to try. So we just sat on the lawn, relaxing with our thoughts, watching Lipless Guy drag weeds to shore like he was being paid by the pound.
“You’d think he’d try something else.”
“You’d think, right?”
And then… they arrived.
At first it was just a few people trickling in. But soon we noticed… tails. Big, beautiful, sparkly tails.
“Are those… tails?”
“Yep.”
Then came the DJ. And by "DJ," I mean a guy with a JBL speaker duct-taped to a fold-out table, hitting buttons on some device, blasting what sounded like EDM produced inside a malfunctioning Roomba.
And just like that—a herd of Furries was dancing on the grass.
“Well, that’s something you don’t see every day.”
“The squirrel looks kinda cute, though.”
We moved to the other side of the lake for some peace and quiet and maybe fewer cartoon mammals. The sun popped out, the bite shut down like a Mortal Kombat arcade machine jammed with quarters, and we were basically just casting for cardio at that point.
Then a pack (herd? gaggle? pride?) of Furries broke off from the main dance floor and wandered our way. Full suits. Vibrant fur. Zero shame.
As they passed, The Gooch asked, genuinely curious:
“Doesn’t it get hot under that thing?”
Cue the blue-and-white unicorn stopping, ripping off his foam head, and snapping:
“Don’t make fun of us just because we’re marginalized by society!”
There was a pause as we both tried to figure out if this was a bit.
Then Gooch, God bless him, responds:
“My grandparents were interned at Manzanar. Don’t talk to me about marginalized. They couldn’t take off their Japanese ‘costume' like you can take off yours.”
Mic drop.
Blue unicorn puts his head back on. His squirrel buddies give us a thumbs-up (paw-up?). They walk off. Apparently it did get hot a few moments later, and the Furry Crew decided to rest their weary paws.
Just another day at Probation Pond.
