BY JOE BALOG

While the sun and sand lure many to Florida, for me it was something different. An early love of bass fishing had me wishing I lived somewhere other than dreary Ohio, a place with endless winters and ice-covered ponds. I’d wait in anticipation for the waters to thaw, casting to holes in the ice, returning home disappointed.

My dad didn’t make things any easier. In his small collection of pictures were photos of him and a best buddy, back before they had kids, hoisting giant bass they’d caught in Florida. Dad would recount tales of specific big fish. His favorite yarn — one that I can still repeat verbatim — involved the catching of a 12-pound bass, the family record that hung over his desk.

I remember looking up at that bass, mesmerized. It was the Holy Grail, and all I knew of the Sunshine State.

As a teenager, I’d replace Dad’s buddy on fishing trips to the promised land. He’d pick me up at school, bass boat in tow, and we’d blaze a trail down I-75 at record speeds. Often, Dad would drive all night and fish the following day. Neither of us wanted to waste any time when we could be bass fishing. The sport was all-consuming then, and for the 30 years to follow.

Together, we chased the Grail. Our expeditions took us to the St. Johns River, the Ocala Forest and beyond. There were Orange Lake, Rodman Reservoir and Stick Marsh, the year it opened. Airboats, alligators and strange birds called anhingas. All were foreign to this Midwest kid, but became instant favorites.

I believe that, in life, we often find ourselves in a place that carries some sort of compatibility or recollection. Many of us have experienced this. For me, that premonition came on my first boat ride down the Ocklawaha River, and never left.

Through my 20s, I’d set off on adventures by myself. This was at a time before maps on a cellphone. Armed only with a Florida Gazetteer and a beat-up truck, I’d drive desolate roads in search of the pothole ponds that appeared on each page. The first glimpse of water was all it took. I’d make a dozen casts from the shoreline, but results were trivial. I was here, in Florida, bass fishing.

My travels brought me back regularly, and for longer periods. Then followed a decade of absence.

As a 40-year-old, relocation efforts were underway, with my wife agreeing to consider Florida. She liked the beach to begin with. A few trips with me showed her the interior. The beauty of the springs helped the cause, but it wasn’t until we found DeLand that things got serious.

I was concerned about my plan for adventure. To me, DeLand was the big city. What I was looking for was something out of The Yearling. I needed to see the river.

Our ride took us past the subdivisions into rural settings, then down a massive hill. Manicured lawns were replaced with marsh grass; asphalt with graded dirt. As a fish camp came into view, the whole world changed.

I’ve always been amazed at how much Florida varies from one place to the next, often in such a short distance. I’d just left modern Florida, complete with retention ponds and ChemLawn, yet here, in front of me, were a tin-roofed lodge and alligator skulls.

I needed to see it all. The dusty fish mounts, bins of plastic worms and shiner tanks out back.

Somehow, I convinced the proprietors of Highland Park Fish Camp to allow me to hold up a big bass they had in their tank for a photo. In the picture, I’m as happy as if I’d caught the beauty myself. Another clue toward the Grail.

A year later, we came to DeLand to stay. Things have changed a lot since then, much of our area unrecognizable compared to just a decade ago. But that river looks the same.

February is the height of bass-fishing season around our area. It’s the time of year that fish come shallow to feed and spawn, intersecting likely places anglers toss a bait. I’ll spend more time at my area haunts, from the obscure ponds to lakes known for lunkers.

If you’ve traveled here after the bass of your own dreams, or are a regular ready to get out and enjoy the winter weather, I’ll give you a few tips.

First, put in the most effort late in the day, While anytime is a great time to be on the water, Florida bass like Florida weather, and usually bite best during the warmest periods. Cold fronts can really knock off the bite. Wait it out.

And trim down your tackle. For artificial lures, plastic worms are still hard to beat all around the state. Floating Rapalas, swim jigs and Skinny Dippers are also favorites. My tackle box consists of a handful of lures that routinely perform, and I rarely stray from the proven producers. In Florida, due to our vast “fishy looking” waters, it is always best to keep moving until you find productive areas, rather than cycling through endless baits in an attempt to uncover a secret.

Finally, try waters that others miss. The FWC has a fantastic resource online for finding public boat ramps. Googling “Florida Boat Ramp Finder” will direct you to a page with everything you need to know about area launch sites.

My dad still visits and fishes with me, and I’ve now caught bass bigger than his record. I don’t tell him that. Together, we’ll drift along, endlessly hoping. Declining results will have us skip the St. Johns, and instead push outside of town a bit to greener pastures.

Regardless of our outcome, dad will recite a favorite line on the drive home.

“Even though we didn’t catch a monster,” he’ll say, “it’s just the thought that at any time, on any cast, you could catch the fish of a lifetime.”

The fish of a lifetime. I’m not sure who coined that phrase, but I bet they were on a visit to Florida.

Next month, we’ll discuss the highs and lows of our beloved St. Johns River, the reasons behind its recent decline in fishing, and a new group intending to bring back the Bass Fishing Capital of the World. Please join me for this important announcement.

Until then, I’ll see you out there.