This morning I got up about 5am with just a hint of day light peeking
over the horizon. I had packed up the truck yesterday, and didn't get
to go. So everything was ready to roll this morning. I jump in the
truck and head to my newly discovered fishing hole. Going over the
bridge one day, I looked out and saw the lake with some nice little
fishing spots along the shore. Wow, this is going to be great!
So
I get to the bridge and notice that there is another truck there.
“Darn, competition! Hope he hasn't caught all the good ones.” Unload
the gear; tackle box, folding chair, two rods, bait, and personal
paraphernalia. Now, to get down there. The side of the road I parked
on is a sheer cliff to the water, and a good walk to far shore. I walk
across the street. More cliffs. “What the heck! There is an opening
in the brush in front of me, so this should be okay.”
One
step, two steps, here we go……….. There I was, sliding down the muddy
slope on my backside. Tackle box, folding chair, two rods, bait, and
personal paraphernalia all in hand. Then the spider webs. Finally I
land doing the spider dance as well as the spider song. “Ahhhhhh!
Bleeeeck! Oooooh! Ahhhhhh!” Repeat. I look up and there is my
competition looking at me from about 30 feet away like, well, you can
imagine.
So, I’m standing in the mud with about 3 feet
from me to the water. I drop all my gear, quietly of course, and
proceed to fish. I caught several limb brim, log trout, and leaf bass,
but since I’m a conservationist, I threw them all back. As I’m fighting
with the local flora, quietly of course, my competition proceeds to
bring up fish after fish. I knew he was going to be selfish.
I
picked up the tackle box, folding chair, two rods, bait, and personal
paraphernalia, and moved down the bank to a different heavenly cove, and
being hopeful, I baited both rods, and set them out. Nothing…
So,
I pack up my tackle box, folding chair, two rods, bait, and personal
paraphernalia, and look for a way to get out without sliding down a
cliff. Low and behold I spot a wide path opening like the clouds after a
storm. Finally a break. All uphill, I trudge along hauling my tackle
box, folding chair, two rods, bait, and personal paraphernalia. In
front of me the path clears and I see the road. Or at least I thought
it was the road. Then I see the gate and the sign “No Trespassing.”
Thankfully the gate was open and I head for my escape. Then I hear
them. “Woof woof woof” Three very large dogs come down the driveway. I
tuck my head down and walk gingerly toward the gate. As soon as I get
to the road, all the while being followed, I look down and see my truck
about a quarter mile away. I carefully set down my tackle box, folding
chair, two rods, bait, and personal paraphernalia, and head for my
salvation. The dogs followed me about half way there, and I guess
seeing that I just wanted to get out of there, left to find some poor
animal to terrorize.
I hop in my truck and off we go. I
did have to stop and get my tackle box, folding chair, two rods, bait,
and personal paraphernalia.
Being the eternal optimist, I
look at the whole trip as an adventure. I learned several things on my
excursion. I learned that looking at things at a distance doesn’t always
allow you to see the things closest to you. Things like drop offs and
piles of logs. Even other people. Taking a strange path, even if it
looks well worn, will likely lead to the unexpected. Not that that is a
bad thing. Also, walk slowly and carefully when you are afraid. No
matter the distance, it’s better than being bit in the bum. This was not
a failure by any means.
So although I didn’t catch
anything worth bringing home, I have a great fishing story. That’s all
that really matters anyway. At least in fishing.
