John Murray 40 Years of Bass Fishing, Hall of Fame Dreams, and the $220,000 Fish That Got Away
Fishtails podcast, host Byron Velvick welcomes his oldest friend in the world of bass fishingJohn Murray. The two go back more than four decades, sharing everything from teenage tournament wins to cross-country road marathons and a Boulder City house once ruled by pinball high scores and Skeet Reese’s gourmet cooking. What emerges is not just a conversation between old roommates, but a celebration of a legendary career that many believe deserves a long-overdue honor: induction into the Fishing Hall of Fame.
Velvick wastes no time making the case. After Jay Kumar’s passionate plea in the previous episode, he doubles down: “Skeet’s in. John Murray is not. Get this man in the Hall of Fame already.” And with good reason.
From Teen Prodigy to Western Bass Icon
Long before forward-facing sonar or social media tutorials, John Murray was winning pro-level bass tournaments—without a driver’s license. His parents would drop him and his boat at the ramp, park the truck, and leave their underage son to battle grown men in pro-pro draw events across Arizona. He didn’t just compete. He dominated.
“I fished 50, 60, 70 tournaments a year—Tuesday nights, Wednesday nights, weekends. If there was water, I was on it,” Murray recalls.
With no YouTube, no forums, and barely any regional fishing media, success came down to one thing: time on the water. Murray logged thousands of hours studying structure, migration patterns, and—most controversially—sight fishing, a technique he and Velvick kept secret even from their close friend Aaron Martens for years.
“We’d whoop Aaron every sight fishing tournament,” Velvick laughs. “Then we told him how we were doing it. That was the last time we ever beat him.”
That secrecy wasn’t ego—it was survival. In an era when bed fishing was dismissed as impossible or unethical in many circles, keeping the method under wraps was a competitive edge. Velvick remembers the 1990s Bassmaster event on Lake Mead, where Eastern pros hammered Carolina rigs and crankbaits while untouched beds lined the shores. He won the following U.S. Open by sight fishing Black Island—a spot no one else touched for three days.
Murray wasn’t far behind. He took second in a U.S. Open at age 20 and consistently placed in the toughest Western events. Together, he and Velvick became the faces of a new breed of analytical, adaptable Western anglers.
Road Warriors, Pinball Rivalries, and a Near-Miss Super Team
The stories flow like the Colorado River in spring. There were the 22-hour drives from Southern California to Dallas, fighting tunnel vision as bushes seemed to race past the windshield. There were the Arizona and New Mexico towns blurring into one during pre-dawn hauls to the next derby.
Then there was the house in Boulder City—home to Velvick, Murray, Skeet Reese, and Aaron Martens. Dishes were washed by Velvick and Murray (Skeet cooked too well to clean), and the Fishtails pinball machine became a battleground. Aaron held every high score until Velvick unplugged it to reset the memory. “He got violently angry,” Murray remembers with a grin.
The name Fishtails itself comes from that machine, a gift from casino executive Donna Casace, who once tried to assemble the ultimate fishing super team: Creative Angles. Blacked-out Tahoes, wrapped boats, sponsorships from Luxor and Whiskey Pete’s—the vision was grand. It never fully launched, but the ambition foreshadowed today’s mega-sponsored pro circuits.
Charity, Cajun Food, and a Heart-Stopping Near Miss
Fresh from a 12-hour drive from Tennessee, Murray shares details of his latest adventure: a Pro-Pro Charity Bass Tournament in Louisiana with MLB players. Hosted on Grosse Savanne, the event paired pros with ballplayers and sponsors to raise funds for Big Brothers Big Sisters. The fishing was electric, the Cajun meals legendary, and Murray? He finished second—by a mere 0.18 ounces.
“Alton Jones Jr. beat me for the gold ring. But all the Calcutta money went to charity. That’s what it’s about.”
More events are planned, including one at Guntersville and possibly Texas. Velvick is already lobbying for an invite.
Tennessee Life: Guiding, Family, and a New Chapter
After a lifetime in the desert Southwest, Murray now calls Watts Bar Lake home, just outside Knoxville. He moved his 88-year-old mother from Arizona to Tennessee, navigating her through her first-ever daylight savings time change. She’s sharp, active with daily exercises, and living nearby so Murray—her only child—can be close.
Guiding has become his passion. Through JohnMurrayFishing.com and FishingBooker.com, he takes clients on Watts Bar, Chickamauga, and Dale Hollow. While he once taught finesse tactics and deep-water structure at community colleges, today he prefers teaching kids and beginners.
“I’ve got an 8-year-old coming out Saturday. He’s never caught much. We’re gonna fix that.”
He also coaches his son TJ, a standout high school angler excelling with frog, flip, and live scope skills. Watching young anglers celebrate a catch or mourn a lost fish brings Murray more joy than any trophy.
The Evolution of Bass Fishing: From Maps to Magic Screens
The conversation turns reflective when discussing how technology has transformed the sport. Murray and Velvick grew up with paper topo maps, tracing creek channels and migratory routes. Fish, they believed, followed the bottom. Then came live scope.
“They’re not on the bottom in 20 feet—they’re suspended 5 feet down over 100 feet of water, in the middle of nowhere,” Murray says.
Velvick recalls Bob Sealy hooking a 10-pounder under schooling bait at Amistad—on a spoon, in open water. Neither understood it then. Now? It’s textbook forward-facing sonar behavior.
The One That Got Away: A Quarter-Million Dollar Mistake
Every angler has one. Murray’s is brutal.
In a major tournament with $250,000 to first, he qualified strong on Oneida Lake, then fished blind on nearby Onondaga. No practice—just a boat ride and a choice. He picked a lone telephone pole in a creek channel.
On the countdown—three, two, one—he grabbed the wrong rod: a football jig meant for small fish. His cast hit the post. A giant inhaled it, jumped, and straightened the hook.
He switched to his flipping jig, caught a quick limit of three-pounders, and finished third for $30,000. The winner took home $250,000.
“That fish hung by that post the entire tournament. If I’d just picked up the right rod…”
Bonus Heartbreaker: The World Record Spotted Bass… Headed to the Fryer
During a tough, muddy February tournament at Lake Shasta, Murray fished tiny spotted bass near the I-5 bridge. A trout troller kept motoring past.
“Caught anything?” “Yeah, big ol’ bass.”
The man lifted a 10- to 12-pound spotted bass from his stringer. Murray begged him to weigh it. The reply?
“It’ll fry just fine.”
It vanished into a pan. The world record at the time? 8 pounds, 15 ounces.
Final Verdict: Hall of Fame Overdue
As the episode wraps, Velvick makes one final plea:
“Skeet and I are voting you in, bro. You’re owed this.”
From teenage prodigy to charity champion, from sight-fishing pioneer to beloved guide, John Murray has lived a life in bass fishing few can match. His stories aren’t just entertaining—they’re history.
