Shaun Ridder

Some days the fish bite. Some days they don’t.

Honestly, that’s never really been the point.

Every time I get out on the water, I leave with something. Maybe it’s patience. Maybe it’s perspective. Maybe it’s just a reminder to slow down and appreciate where I am for a while.

The fish are just a bonus.

That’s what the 1% mindset means to me. Every trip is a chance to come home a little better than I was when I launched. Not because I caught a giant, but because I spent time doing something that resets me.

Nature doesn’t care how many followers you have, where you finished, or how big your biggest bass is. It just asks you to show up.

If you do that often enough, the lessons have a way of finding you.

One cast. One sunrise. One day at a time.

Just keep chasing 1%.

This last month has been exactly what I needed. Slip ‘n slides with the family. Shower beers after long days. Random conversations at the boat ramp that remind you how good the fishing community really is. I’ve got a few more cannonballs left in me before it’s back to work. Bout that…🤔

This weekend wasn’t really about the fish.

This weekend started with two days of practice that humbled me.

I ran all over Pool 9 looking for the pattern I’d had confidence in before. Falling water. Mud lines. Dirty water. Almost no life. Friday morning wasn’t much better. Miles of healthy-looking grass and only one little bass to show for it.

By tournament morning I had a choice.
Keep trying to force a plan that clearly wasn’t working... or trust what the river was telling me and start over.

So I launched somewhere I’d never fished before.

First thing that morning I lost a giant on a buzzbait. Later I missed another good one on a frog after it blew up twice. Those are the moments that can either ruin your day or remind you why we keep coming back.

The chatterbait eventually put five fish in the kayak, good enough for 71.5 inches and a 20th-place finish in one of the toughest events I’ve fished.

Everyone seemed to agree the river had been incredibly stingy all week.

But honestly... the fish aren’t what I’ll remember most.

I’ll remember drinking four Gatorades in the 95° heat and somehow never needing to p*e. 😅

I’ll remember using my tournament “cool down” break to clean up an island littered with beer cans and bottles a someone left behind after an impromptu river party.

The river has given me too much over the years not to give something back when I can.

And I’ll definitely remember ending the weekend with my family at The Pearl for our tradition... cut ice cream. Around our house, if Dad finishes middle of the pack or better, we celebrate. Brandon Palaniuk may have inspired the tradition, but it’s become one of my favorite parts of tournament weekends.

This trip reminded me that success on the water isn’t always measured in inches.

Sometimes it’s adapting when your plan falls apart.

Sometimes it’s leaving a place a little cleaner than you found it.

Sometimes it’s just sharing ice cream with the people who make all the early mornings and long drives worth it.

Fishing is still the game.
Everything else is the reward.

What’s one thing you’ve learned from fishing that has nothing to do with catching fish?

DON'T BE ME.

Every tournament morning it looks like I'm opening a tackle shop.

The question I get all the time is, "Do you really need that many rods?"

Honestly...
No.

Tournament fishing is a game of efficiency. Every rod has a specific job so I'm not wasting time cutting, tying, and re-rigging when every minute matters. One might be for a dropshot. Another for a jerkbait. One for a frog. One for a swimbait. It's all about making the most of the day.

But if you're heading out to catch a few bass after work?

You absolutely do not need this.

Some of the most fun I've ever had was with one rod, a small tackle bag, and nowhere to be.

Don't let social media convince you that fishing is about owning more gear.

It's about being outside, learning something every trip, and enjoying the process.

Besides... carrying ten rods is mostly just a great way to make sure they all get tangled together. Thankful to THE ROD GLOVE for helping me prevent the headaches and cursing at the ramp. 🤣

There’s a different kind of pressure when you’re fishing the waters that raised you.

I grew up chasing Door County smallmouth. So every time I launch there, a little voice in the back of my head says:
“You should know how to catch them here.”

The problem is…
The fish don’t care.

Practice was a grind. Wind-blown points were the only consistent thing I found. Of course those come with the waves don’t just beat up your kayak.

They beat up your body, your confidence, and eventually your ability to trust yourself.

I made long offshore runs, explored a pile of water, and took enough waves over the bow to fill the kayak three different times.

After the weekend, I pulled the plugs and drained 4.5 gallons of Lake Michigan out of the hull.

Going into tournament day, I figured mid-90s would probably win. After practice, I’d have been happy with 82 inches.

I started a mile offshore on a giant boulder flat with wind blowing directly across it and spent the morning hunting rocks with Livescope and pitching an X Zone Lures Rally Shad beside them.

The fish showed up.

Not the 20-inchers I needed, but enough to stay in the game.

91.5 inches.
11th place.

A few years ago I’d have been frustrated.

Now? Not really.

I got to spend a weekend chasing smallmouth on one of my favorite places in the world, and my wife came along to remind me there’s more to life than overanalyzing every decision on the water.

That’s a pretty good trip if you ask me.

Door County owes me nothing. That’s why I keep coming back.