09/19/2026
very good read
The bass fishing I fell in love with is disappearing. This isn't about what bass fishing became—it's about what we're trying not to lose.
I never considered myself a writer. I was an outdoorsman first and a fisherman second, lured to the mysteries of the outdoors and the endless puzzles presented to my mind. I sought out the hardcore. The places others wouldn’t go in conditions believed to be uninhabitable.
Through it all I yearned for more. Not the spectacular trips to all corners of the earth, but a deeper dive into what I knew. Longer seasons, more species, additional pieces to the puzzle.
There were others with similar mindsets in the pages of magazines I turned to for sustenance. Later, there would be books filling in the gaps that magazines could not. Still, relief was evasive.
It was then, I suppose, that I became a writer. The material I held so dear was being sold out. The stories of adventure replaced by sales pitches. If I couldn’t find good material to read, I’d write it myself. I never approached writing as a way to make money but instead a method of therapy.
I started Bass Wars over a decade ago, naming it as a homage to the book by Nick Taylor, still the greatest volume ever written on professional bass fishing. I’d underlined and memorized so many excerpts that it was natural for me to carry the torch.
I’m not sure I’ve lived up to the name but, since that day, I’ve penned over 500 unique columns stretching more than a decade. What started as a critique of bass pro salesmanship turned into an in-depth look at patterns, heroic victories and the men who hoisted the trophies.
During that time, professional bass fishing evolved as luck was replaced by skill and further refined by intuition. The concept of fishing in the moment and super-human performances got the press they deserved. The best athletes our sport has ever seen competed against one another.
It was truly a great time to be obsessed with bass fishing. Fairytale endings were commonplace. My columns wrote themselves.
Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.
As tournament competition advanced, so, too, did the playing field. Technology moved at a blistering pace. Boats grew in size to hold gigantic engines. Limitless trolling motor and anchoring systems blistered through the market. Sonar technology went from an educated guess to robotic surgery.
With these changes came a shift in the sport, never so apparent as following the inception of forward-facing sonar. The mystery and intuitive feel of the sport was all but removed. The fantasy and appeal for many was gone. Right or wrong, the idea of abandoning everything they knew about bass fishing and simply following a computer didn’t make any sense.
You see, for most anglers, the appeal of bass fishing lies in the reward of making an educated guess.
Accompanying this shift was a monumental decline in respectable content. For the first time in my life, I no longer received a single bass fishing magazine in my mailbox. The lure of organized bass fishing hung by a thread, confined to tournaments where the playing field, for fish and fisherman, was equalled by regulation.
Not surprisingly, the subject matter for my column struggled. Try as I may, I could not get away from the impact FFS was making on our sport, on its appeal to me and thousands of others who struggle to watch a threat so obvious tear apart what took decades to build.
But endless debates and critical articles aren’t my thing. While others can wallow in cynicism as a way to rack up the views, I’ve always found negativity tiring. I’ve got enough to worry about.
I assumed I’d quit. That was the only way to handle a column that could no longer be relevant as FFS overwhelmed the industry, forced superstars into retirement and divided our once-compatible community into haters and not.
My editor, evidently, thought otherwise. He also believed, like me and so many others, that there’s still a place in bass fishing for worthwhile content. Material that celebrates the mystery and appeals to our sense of adventure.
So, from here on out, you'll see a noticeable shift in my column. Whereas I once covered in-depth statistics on professional fishing tours and dug deep into winning techniques, in the future, you'll find more reflective content on bass fishing in general. The things that make us all tick and keep us swatting mosquitos when we should be on the trailer.
You'll see more of my "narrative" work — the storybuilding that's always received the most compliments and the type of stories I like myself and yearn for.
Sure, I'll still check in with the top pros of yesterday and today, gather compelling interviews and bring you the details. But I'll no longer attempt to dissect the nuts and bolts of professional fishing or spend time concerned of its direction.
You see, no kid ever went fishing anxious to stare at a screen. We went to catch crayfish, feel the cold water inside our tennis shoes and watch in awe as a big bass magically appeared behind our lure.
I’d like to think kids today go for the same reason.
Things have changed drastically in our sport and, to be honest, I never thought it would come to this. Everyone is still entitled to their own version of the game.
But, if you’re like me, you long for the version you signed up for.
I’m here for you. And I can’t wait to get started.
Joe Balog, In-Fisherman
