JACK WOLLITZ Good fishing: luck or smarts?

Is it luck or inspired strategy? That's a big question in fishing.
So today, as we pause to salute St. Patrick, we weigh good fortune as a factor in fishing success compared to preparation and talent.
I believe the answer is obvious. Either a lot of anglers I know secretly hide leprechauns in their boats or they are very good at what they do. Considering the consistency of their success, I believe the latter is true.
Certainly we talk about "luck" on the water. But that's more to do with solid, informed decisions than four-leaf clovers and mischievous elves pointing the way to underwater treasures.
Good anglers, in fact, make their own luck happen. How so?
What they do: "Lucky" anglers make sure their equipment works perfectly every time they visit the lake.
They know the fishes' tendencies because they are students of the behavior of their favorite species. They devise a game plan and stick with it until the time when it makes sense to change. They use good line and tie strong knots.
They understand what lure will enable them to seine the water most effectively on any given day. They know what to do when they recognize Lady Luck has smiled on them: They take advantage of the situation.
And, perhaps most importantly, they learn something every time they fish and store the knowledge for future reference.
All of this is not to say, however, that luck doesn't enter into the equation from time to time. I recall several instances when, despite great odds, I managed to pull a rabbit out of my hat.
One time occurred two years ago on the Ohio River. I had been picking off keeper-size smallmouth bass on gravel slides with crankbaits and decided to change tactics in search of bigger fish.
I started tossing a small worm around flooded trees that provided eddies in the current, figuring a few solitary lunkers might be hiding and waiting for food to wash into their lairs.
Zebra mussels: I had overlooked an important factor, however, in deciding to pitch the worm on 10-pound line: zebra mussels.
When the fish struck, I knew immediately it was no 13-incher. On the hookset, the rod buckled and the smallie refused to budge. I applied pressure and the fish ran down the side of the log, dragging the line along the colonies of mussels encrusting the wood.
My spinning reel's drag slipped just enough to keep the line from parting, but provided enough resistance to force the bass to change direction. It rocketed up into the air and fell back heavily. A few more cranks on the handle and I had the fish's head pointed at the net.
As I unhooked the 4.25-pounder, I rubbed the line. A three-foot section up from the knot was nicked and scuffed as though I'd run it through sandpaper. I grabbed both ends and pulled. The line popped like sewing thread. That big bronzeback, by all rights, should not have been mine.
I was lucky.
While managing all the other variables, few fishers would sneer at a bit of good luck. So here's hoping you find a four-leaf clover on your way to the lake.
jwollitz@shermanassoc.com