The 15 Pounder
Posted: Thu Mar 12, 2026 8:57 pm
It was a random Saturday in April where my tournament partner and I actually had the day off. Normally Saturdays start with alarms going off at ungodly hours and us finishing our sleep in the launch ramp line somewhere two hours away.
Not today.
Instead of a road trip, we made the grueling five-minute commute to Probation Pond. I had already hyped it up.
“Dude, it’s like the city ponds we grew up fishing… except this one actually has fish.”
I’d been fishing it for about six months trying to figure it out — where the structure was, what the fish were eating, if there were shad, if the filtration created current… the usual pointless over-analysis we bass fishermen specialize in.
I walked down with one rod — an old All Star Zell Rowland topwater rod. Perfect 6'8" parabolic popper stick. I had dialed in a sick popper bite so I wasn’t dragging five rods around the pond. I’m not that guy.
Albert had also brought one rod too — a drop shot rod with the same chewed up worm that had apparently survived several previous tournaments. I couldn’t tell what brand it was or even what color it used to be, or what the original length was, as it had been chewed down. We walked about 100 yards while I pointed out spots that had produced and explained the highly technical pond features like if I was some flats guide trying to get a client on a bonefish.
“Yeah… that corner has a deep trench that is the outflow for the overflow. And over there is where there is some type of structure."
In the middle of my rambling he goes:
“I think I just saw a huge bass swim away from the bank.”
“It’s probably a carp,” I said. “There are decent fish in here… but not that decent.”
I kept talking about my 6 months' worth of scouting when he mutters,
“I’M ON!”
And the drag on the Stella starts singing.
“That carp ate your drop shot? That’s hilarious. Have fun with that.”
I kept making a few casts nearby while he fought it. Every time the fish got close it would peel drag again and head back out.
After about five minutes — which in hooked-fish time is roughly an hour — he finally lipped it. I didn't even bother helping him pick up that slimy carp. Only problem is that it wasn't a carp. Unless carp are green and have huge mouths. Dude's FIRST cast at MY pond, and he sticks what looks like a DD. The downtown LA skyline is visible, and he’s holding this beast like it happens every day. 2nd biggest fish he's landed.
An old timer who always fishes the pond came running over leaving his bobber setup unattended and asked if we were going to keep it. Our answer clearly ruined his dinner plans. He did, however, lend us a spring scale that looked like it had spent the last 30 years living at the bottom of a rusty tackle box. I felt like I needed a tetanus shot after handling that thing. The needle bounced between 9 and 9.5 lbs and the spot where the hash marks had been eroded by the rust. We snapped a picture and let her go.
Little did we know that two weeks later that fish would weigh fifteen pounds.
*
Two weeks later — the week after the “Kid’s” Derby — the pond still had the residual runoff of anglers. I put Kid’s in quotes because it’s really more of a Parent’s Derby, where the parents fish and occasionally remember they brought a kid with them. Great parenting.
I digress.
The usual suspects were there.
The Swimbaiter was trying to figure out how to swim an 8-inch glide bait through the floating grass mats that take over the pond this time of year. Red Lipless Crank Guy was doing what he always does — doing God's work by ripping a red lipless crankbait through every piece of vegetation in the lake. Mr. BFS — who we now call Backlash For Sure — was attempting to throw 1-gram baits on a baitcaster, but at the moment was picking out yet another professional-grade backlash with hair thin braid. The old timers were there too, running their usual experimental tackle configurations. Today’s setup appeared to be a Rooster Tail under a bobber… with a half-ounce pyramid sinker tied somewhere below it. Fish killer for sure. The poachers were there, 8 rods thrown out, and their only catch to show for it was a turtle. It was like a meeting of the minds, city-park-fisherman edition and I had walked up right in the middle of the discussion.
“Yeah someone said they caught it on a Gancraft 303. Custom color. Or a Roman Mother. Something JDM, I dunno.”
“That’s probably the one I hooked a few weeks ago! But it shook my bait off. Almost had her.”
“I saw that fish eat a baby duck once.”
“Someone told me it was closer to fifteen, and that it was missing an eye.”
In the span of about thirty seconds, Albert’s fish had gained six pounds, switched to eating premium Japanese glide baits, developed a taste for waterfowl, and now had a patch over its eye. The only thing they got right in this game of fishing telephone was the location. That’s when I realized they were talking about Albert’s fish.
I didn’t have the heart to tell them it was actually caught on a beat-up drop shot rig with a chewed-up worm that had probably survived three previous fishing trips.
Some legends are better left alone.
Besides…
by next month that fish will probably be eighteen.
Not today.
Instead of a road trip, we made the grueling five-minute commute to Probation Pond. I had already hyped it up.
“Dude, it’s like the city ponds we grew up fishing… except this one actually has fish.”
I’d been fishing it for about six months trying to figure it out — where the structure was, what the fish were eating, if there were shad, if the filtration created current… the usual pointless over-analysis we bass fishermen specialize in.
I walked down with one rod — an old All Star Zell Rowland topwater rod. Perfect 6'8" parabolic popper stick. I had dialed in a sick popper bite so I wasn’t dragging five rods around the pond. I’m not that guy.
Albert had also brought one rod too — a drop shot rod with the same chewed up worm that had apparently survived several previous tournaments. I couldn’t tell what brand it was or even what color it used to be, or what the original length was, as it had been chewed down. We walked about 100 yards while I pointed out spots that had produced and explained the highly technical pond features like if I was some flats guide trying to get a client on a bonefish.
“Yeah… that corner has a deep trench that is the outflow for the overflow. And over there is where there is some type of structure."
In the middle of my rambling he goes:
“I think I just saw a huge bass swim away from the bank.”
“It’s probably a carp,” I said. “There are decent fish in here… but not that decent.”
I kept talking about my 6 months' worth of scouting when he mutters,
“I’M ON!”
And the drag on the Stella starts singing.
“That carp ate your drop shot? That’s hilarious. Have fun with that.”
I kept making a few casts nearby while he fought it. Every time the fish got close it would peel drag again and head back out.
After about five minutes — which in hooked-fish time is roughly an hour — he finally lipped it. I didn't even bother helping him pick up that slimy carp. Only problem is that it wasn't a carp. Unless carp are green and have huge mouths. Dude's FIRST cast at MY pond, and he sticks what looks like a DD. The downtown LA skyline is visible, and he’s holding this beast like it happens every day. 2nd biggest fish he's landed.
An old timer who always fishes the pond came running over leaving his bobber setup unattended and asked if we were going to keep it. Our answer clearly ruined his dinner plans. He did, however, lend us a spring scale that looked like it had spent the last 30 years living at the bottom of a rusty tackle box. I felt like I needed a tetanus shot after handling that thing. The needle bounced between 9 and 9.5 lbs and the spot where the hash marks had been eroded by the rust. We snapped a picture and let her go.
Little did we know that two weeks later that fish would weigh fifteen pounds.
*
Two weeks later — the week after the “Kid’s” Derby — the pond still had the residual runoff of anglers. I put Kid’s in quotes because it’s really more of a Parent’s Derby, where the parents fish and occasionally remember they brought a kid with them. Great parenting.
I digress.
The usual suspects were there.
The Swimbaiter was trying to figure out how to swim an 8-inch glide bait through the floating grass mats that take over the pond this time of year. Red Lipless Crank Guy was doing what he always does — doing God's work by ripping a red lipless crankbait through every piece of vegetation in the lake. Mr. BFS — who we now call Backlash For Sure — was attempting to throw 1-gram baits on a baitcaster, but at the moment was picking out yet another professional-grade backlash with hair thin braid. The old timers were there too, running their usual experimental tackle configurations. Today’s setup appeared to be a Rooster Tail under a bobber… with a half-ounce pyramid sinker tied somewhere below it. Fish killer for sure. The poachers were there, 8 rods thrown out, and their only catch to show for it was a turtle. It was like a meeting of the minds, city-park-fisherman edition and I had walked up right in the middle of the discussion.
“Yeah someone said they caught it on a Gancraft 303. Custom color. Or a Roman Mother. Something JDM, I dunno.”
“That’s probably the one I hooked a few weeks ago! But it shook my bait off. Almost had her.”
“I saw that fish eat a baby duck once.”
“Someone told me it was closer to fifteen, and that it was missing an eye.”
In the span of about thirty seconds, Albert’s fish had gained six pounds, switched to eating premium Japanese glide baits, developed a taste for waterfowl, and now had a patch over its eye. The only thing they got right in this game of fishing telephone was the location. That’s when I realized they were talking about Albert’s fish.
I didn’t have the heart to tell them it was actually caught on a beat-up drop shot rig with a chewed-up worm that had probably survived three previous fishing trips.
Some legends are better left alone.
Besides…
by next month that fish will probably be eighteen.