Time to roll on the road.
Cherchez le poisson:
N.B.:Drunken dialing is very much not appreciated. And the old game, “Is Dave there?” is certainly not funny at 2 AM, especially when I’ve got an “oh-dark-thirty” alarm for fishing. Leaves me rather cranky.
(that last one was a rattle trap, from the dock, here)
Perchance the most amusing little cove was one with big bass swirling up to chase bait fish around, popping the surface and then backing down to the shoreline again. I caught that one on a topwater, kind of casual.
“The Expert” was fishing a frog, and up from some matted grass, a big girl exploded, taking the bait and hook. He wrestled her out of the weeds, and she gave a mighty head-shake and busted off at the boat.
“Eight pounds, at least,” he suggested. Not to indulge in hyperbole, but the size of the mouth, two-fisted? Probably ten pounds.
That old girl bolted up along the shoreline, and we spent the better part of the morning almost fruitlessly tossing bait at the little clear spot.
Finally, it was a weightless lizard. Bass hate lizards. Almost as much as I hate 2 AM phone calls that mean nothing. Or are just plain mean.
No comet:
The backstory.
Heh.
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