It started with a little trash talk — and almost didn’t happen at all.
On a breezy March evening in Moraine, Ohio, Jebby Yoder nearly stayed home. The temperature hovered in the low 50s, and a steady 10–15 mph wind chopped up the surface of a crystal-clear, 10-foot-visibility lake he’d fished most of his life. To him, it felt too cold, too uncomfortable, maybe even a little pointless.
But his lifelong friend Dewey Messer wasn’t having it.
“He was making fun of me,” Yoder told Wired2fish. “Talking me into going anyway.”
Good thing he did.
Don’t Call It a Comeback
Yoder didn’t just pick a random bank on the undisclosed Moraine lake. He returned to a stretch he knows intimately; a place that has produced for him before.
“I’ve caught big ones there. Heard about big ones. Seen them swimming,” he explained.
Almost exactly a year prior on March 24, 2025, he landed a 6.43-pound bass from that same spot, using the same bait. This time, he’d once again positioned himself near a cluster of laydowns, working a glide bait methodically through the zone. His spidey sense was tingling on the way to the lake.
“I had a weird feeling on the way there,” Yoder said. “My buddy said we were both gonna catch something over five pounds. I was like, man… wouldn’t that be something if we both caught giants?”
The duo were into fish quickly. Just a few casts before the moment everything changed, Messer hooked into a 7.23-pound giant. While they were still riding that high, Yoder followed it up with a 3.14-pounder of his own.
Then Yoder went back to work; swimming the glide bait — a Spro KGB Chad Shad in bone — over the same water that produced the three-pounder.
The Excitement of the Fight
Then, for just a second, he looked away to talk to Messer. That’s when it happened.
“I felt my rod jerk,” he said. “I looked over, reeled down, and saw my line swimming off.”
Instinct kicked in. He caught up to the fish and drove the hook home.
At first, Yoder thought it was a solid fish; maybe a five or six-pounder. But the fish revealed its heft pretty quickly.
“When it first bit, it started pulling drag,” he said. “I wasn’t even trying to reel yet. It just kept going.”
For roughly 20 seconds, the fish dictated everything. It surged downward. Peeled off more line. Refused to stop.
Yoder kept his rod tip high, doing everything he could to steer it away from nearby laydowns that could end the fight instantly.
Then, the fish rose. It tried to jump, but it was too big. Its massive head and mouth broke the surface, the glide bait looking tiny in comparison. Then it rolled, exposing its full side before diving again.
“That’s when I saw it,” Yoder said. “And my buddy saw it too. I just started freaking out.”
The fight lasted three to four minutes. But for Yoder, it felt far longer.
“I didn’t even think about losing it,” he said. “I just kept telling myself I cannot lose this fish.”
Messer was yelling. Jumping. Eventually pulling out his phone to record what was unfolding. The bass made another deep run. Then another.
Each surge tested the limits of Yoder’s gear, a St. Croix Victory rod paired with a Shimano Curado reel — and his nerves.
Finally, the fish began to give. Slowly, carefully, Yoder worked it toward the bank.
Bass Fever
“When I got it close, that’s when I was the most stressed,” he admitted. “I was afraid something would happen — break off, come loose — anything.”
But nothing did. With one final effort, he brought the fish onto the bank. And that’s when “Bass Fever” hit hard. What happened next wasn’t calm. It wasn’t controlled. It was chaos.
“I got the biggest adrenaline rush I’ve ever had in my life,” Yoder said. “Worse than buck fever. I call it bass fever.”
His hands shook uncontrollably. He struggled just to unhook the fish. On the ground in front of him lay a fish of the caliber he’d been chasing his entire life.
“I’ve never seen one that big,” he said. “It looked abnormal. Like a humpback whale.”
The scale confirmed it: 9.03 pounds.
Swam Off Strong
Despite the once-in-a-lifetime catch, Yoder never hesitated about what came next. After weighing, measuring, and documenting the fish — knowing a replica mount could be made — he released her back into the lake.
“I want her to spawn,” he said. “Maybe I’ll get another shot at her… or someone else will.”
What started as a reluctant trip turned into a moment that will live with Yoder forever. Because sometimes, the difference between staying home and chasing a feeling…
…is a nine-pound reminder of why you go.
