There is nothing quite like the joy of sitting by the water watching a bobber float, waiting on a passing fish to bite your bait. You can kick back in peace and quiet, relax and enjoy watching the world go by.

There is nothing quite like the joy of running down the lake 70 mph at daylight, slowing as you go in a cove, hopping up on the front deck of your bass boat and making your first of thousands of casts. You concentrate on every little detail going on the water, how your bait is working and the images on your electronics.

I love both. I spent many happy hours while growing up sitting by mama or grandmama waiting on a bream or catfish to bite in ponds near home. There is something special about seeing the cork move to the side or go under when a fish takes your bait. And I learned a lot listening to them give me life advice.

Until 1974 when Jim Berry invited me to join the Spalding County Sportsman Club and we fished a tournament, my first ever, at Clarks Hill in April, I never realized how exciting fishing can be. I fell in love with the challenge of tournament fishing and the highs and lows of those events.

I will never forget sitting by a small fire on the bank of a cove at Clarks Hill with mama. We had put a trotline across the cove then built a small fire at dusk and set out our rods, hoping for a catfish. We talked lot that night, staying out there till well after midnight.

At 18 years old, that was the first time I really remember mama talking to me like an adult. It is a melancholy memory, I left for my freshman year of college a few weeks after that and my life at home was never the same.

I will also never forget the thrill of figuring out a pattern at West Point Lake in 1983, catching 18 keepers in two days that weighed 28 pounds, and placing fourth in the state Top Six tournament with 570 competitors.

That was a high. Lows like last July at West Point, where I fished for eight hours in a club tournament and got one bite and missed it, are all too common. Zero days happen as do winning days.

Every bite in a tournament is a challenge to get and then to land what hits. It is different from sitting on the bank. Not better, just different.

I have many great memories of fishing ponds and Clarks Hill with daddy and mama, as well as with friends and other family memories. I have more great memories of tournament fishing. My growing up memories cover about 18 years, my tournament memories cover 47!

To each his own in choosing the way to fish. Me, I will choose both!