By Ron Kruger

It's cool to get out there on the big lakes and run around like everyone else; to throw a rooster tail high behind you, to feel the power pushing you and the wind in your face; and for sure a lot of people are attracted to the competitive aspect of what fishing has become.

Sometimes I'm overcome by the urge for solitude and the tranquil twinkle of a new day feeling its way across the surface of a farm pond: no roars or waves or wakes, just crickets and frogs and fish.

Technology is everywhere, and it certainly has invaded our pastimes and sports, but the underlying reason for all those blinking gadgets and whirling props is to outdo the other guy. Life itself is a competitive struggle for survival, and fishing has become a harmless and pleasurable way to play at the game.

This aspect of competition for the best spots and the biggest fish permeates the ambience of public waters, and the bigger they are, the less you can escape it, whether you are registered in a tournament or not. It's there all the time, even when you fish from the bank.

When you fish a farm pond (or similar isolated or ignored small water) you own it, whether you own it or not. At times it can seem like you own the whole world.

There's something special about that. It seems to drain the stress and of regular living from my consciousness. Fishing for most of us is a way to “get away from it all,” but the more we can isolate the endeavor and simplify the process the more completely we accomplish this feat.

I've experienced the same thing on smallmouth and trout streams, wilderness lakes and the open ocean. When we get right down to it, “getting away from it all” really means getting away from all people.

I don't do that very often, because most of the time I want to be around people and honk like a gregarious goose. I want to laugh like a hyena and prove to everyone that I can catch fish like an osprey. It's the human animal in me.

When I walk, or wade or paddle into places where no one can see, when it is just nature and me, I connect with something that is increasingly difficult to find and explain to the maddening crowds of our overpopulated world.

People who write about ponds usually tell you how big the bass can be, but the truth is, rarely do they match the quality of fish in big waters. In general, fish in ponds are smaller, so in general, I use baits that are smaller than those I throw where the wind blows and the waves lap the banks.

Smaller waters are best approached with different tackle and baits than you might use on the big lakes. It's not that you can't catch fish with the same size tackle and baits you might use on big lakes. It's that you will catch many more if you downsize your equipment, lines and lures.

Instead of heavy rods and lines, use those that can handle 6- to 12-pound test line. Instead of using standard spinnerbaits, use one-eighth ounce in-line spinners, such as Roostertails and Mepps, and retrieve them just fast enough to make the spinner rotate.

Instead of jig and pig combos the size of lobsters, use smaller one-eighth or one-quarter ounce versions the size of real crawfish. Instead of standard plastic worms, use four- or five-inch rigs. Instead of standard-sized crankbaits, use smaller, shallow-running models with thinner bodies, such as the slender, four- to six-inch Rapalas and stubby, small-lipped models, such as those made by Bagley and small crawfish imitators, such as those made by Rebel.

If that fails for you crankbait lovers, go to the miniature, or ultra light versions of these baits.

The equipment, the lines, the lures, and even the fish may be smaller, but the fun can be huge.

The fish are not necessarily more plentiful. I think it is just that they are more eager, or at least less educated. I think fishing in farm ponds can be so good simply because those fish live in places that are “away from it all” all the time.

Maybe it's me. When I fish a farm pond, I tend to go much slower and notice more things. In big lakes I believe the average angler rushes by more fish in a day than they'll catch in a lifetime. In ponds, time and space become more confined to the moment and the perfection of the method. Maybe simply because of the mood of the place and the pace of the placid water, I become a better fisherman.

Besides, when you fish where no one can see, it's much easier to lie about the big one that got away when you get back to the “real” world of fishing.