Human beings are by nature competitive and in the outdoor world hunters and anglers are constantly attempting to better not only one another but their previous biggest set of antlers, longest turkey beard and weight or largest fish of any species.

As the years pass, besting that previous record may prove very difficult, indeed, but you still hope it may occur.

On my latest trip to Maine, Scott Neely accompanied me and, hoping to set some new records for himself. The previous year grandson Nate and I had caught a large number of bass 18 to 23 inches long. However, Nate was on a church mission this year to Bogota, Columbia and unable to come along. (Has to be tough on him — we enjoyed this trip so much together, but the Lord comes first.)

Meanwhile, especially for larger fish, conditions have to be favorable. Weather, before and during your trip plays a big part. So do wind and solunar sequences. In short, you never know exactly how the combination of all these variables may affect how many and how large the fish you catch may be. Add to this lure choice and depth, etc. So many variables.

Occasionally, fish hit well, other times they don’t, ignoring your offerings and just generally being disagreeable. But big fish swam this lake in numbers and I hoped Scott would set a few personal bests himself.

With all the rain we experienced at home I supposed the more northern lakes would be cold, the weed beds just beginning. However, Maine, despite being much farther north, experienced more sun and less rain than we did. Weeds were up and growing with wild abandon. The cabbage, coon tail, curry pond weed and water thymes were higher than any previous trip; I couldn’t believe it.

But this wasn’t a bad thing as weed beds, especially at deep-water edges, are prime areas to fish. I’ve also experienced great success where weeds border deep and shallow rock. It’s surprising how many times a game fish will lurk in a foot or two of water watching a weed edge.

Scott’s trip started amazingly well. Eager to experience dock fishing, he stopped unpacking, grabbed his 7-foot ultralight and, without apology, hustled out. The three main dock ways in this large marina stretch a good 150 feet out into the lake with side docks extending out every two boat widths. There are 20 craft per side. The most productive locations centered around the many pontoon boats whose square shape, length and width create perfect fish cover, providing shade as well as overhead protection from the numerous bald eagles and ospreys. The intersections of the main and side docks beside a pontoon boat create perfect lairs for any crappies inshore, perfect spots to drop a tiny jig. But that small space leaves barely any room to fight a fish.

Before I could ready my equipment, Scott shouted and, glancing out the window, it was readily apparent he was a very busy man. His UL was bent in a deep U, the tip constantly jerked down into the lake every few seconds by the fish’s antics. Scott was busily leaning this way and that, attempting to keep his rod tip from hitting the dock or boat when the fish ran. It was comical to watch but the seriousness of his expression showed he didn’t believe it funny at all. He needed help.

Dropping my rod on the kitchen floor I dashed out the door and ran for the net. Crappies are called “paper mouths” for good reason; the hook tears out very easily. I knelt and grabbed the net handle and stood just as Scott shouted in triumph. Looking up revealed the battle was over, almost.

Scott was frantically trying to contain an oversized, 14-inch, wildly flopping crappie determined to make its way back into the lake off the dock. How he hauled that heavy, thrashing fish out of the water and onto the dock without breaking his UL or pulling the hook out was miraculous. Now he was desperately trying to contain the fish without having a needle-sharp back fin spine driven into his hand. The bottom fin has spines, too, just not as many.

A tentative hand block here, foot block there, watch out!

I burst out laughing. What a dance! However, recovering myself, the net proved useful after all as I corralled the fish beneath it.

“What happened?” I asked, grinning spontaneously at his enthusiasm and the undistilled joy shining from his face.

“Oh, my word, Wade. I couldn’t believe it! Dropped the jig, saw my line twitch, set the hook and this thing took off like a shot under the dock. I was sure it had to be a big bass, pulling drag, shooting back and forth, it was all I could do to hold on. Then it came up and thrashed.

“It was a crappie! I couldn’t believe how big it was, how hard it was fighting and how powerful! The pontoon boat was in the way, the docks in the way, just this tiny area to battle the fish. It was crazy!”

He paused, then burst out; “Look at the size of this thing!”

His biggest crappie ever by far — and the week was just beginning.