Mark Hofman
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Nov 12, 2001
- Messages
- 3,095
- Reaction score
- 5
The mist covering the lake hangs like a veil and shrouds the shoreline, making details blend together in a mixture of colors and textures. There is no sound, save for the beating wings of an egret taking flight closeby. The parking lot is empty, but that will change as the sun makes its way overhead. Still, for now, the lake is mine alone. It almost pains me to disturb the tranquil scene as I walk down the ramp and step into the boat, reaching for the line that secures her to the solitary dock. A quick turn of the key, and the big outboard kicks, catches and roars to life. Throughout the surrounding trees, dozens of birds rise in scattering flight from the sudden thundering of sound.
Moments later, out of the hole and running wide open, the boat is punching through tranquil pockets of fog into open spaces of sunshine and blue sky, the lake surface smooth as a mirror in front of me. The air is warm, although not uncomfortably so, as I rocket toward an unassuming honey hole I've discovered only days before. The sun continues to march steadily up over my shoulder, and now the rock bluff appears through a vanishing curtain of mist. I come off plane, settle rapidly into the swishing water, and turn the key to shut the big motor down. I take in the moment in all its perfect peacefullness.
It's time.
Silently working the trolling motor pedal, I stalk ever more closely to the wall, working to position the boat so that my own shadow does not alert what lurks below. The first cast of this day is perfect - not too short, not too long - and the lure enters the water with only the smallest of possible disturbances. The ripples subside.
Taking the slack out of the line ever so deliberately I turn the handle of the reel, feeling through the tension of monofilament line and the dense graphite of the rod the lure bumping and dropping into ever-deeper water. Lifting the rod slowly I focus in, watching the line straighten then go slack as the jig reaches another lip and resumes its free-fall to a lower ledge. There is a bump... a steady pull...and the line begins to move off to one side.
I quickly point the tip of the rod at the lunker who has mistaken my offering, take up the excess slack, and snap my arms back with all my might to set the hook.....
My wife yells in startled wakefullness, "What the $#@% are you doing?????"
I look over at the alarm clock. It glares 2:38 at me in bright red numbers. Cold air, chilled by the winter wonderland outside the bedroom windows, cascades down the wall onto my pillow.
I apologize profusely as I replace the covers my hookset has pulled from around my better half....lay back down on my side....
....and try to go back to sleep.
Moments later, out of the hole and running wide open, the boat is punching through tranquil pockets of fog into open spaces of sunshine and blue sky, the lake surface smooth as a mirror in front of me. The air is warm, although not uncomfortably so, as I rocket toward an unassuming honey hole I've discovered only days before. The sun continues to march steadily up over my shoulder, and now the rock bluff appears through a vanishing curtain of mist. I come off plane, settle rapidly into the swishing water, and turn the key to shut the big motor down. I take in the moment in all its perfect peacefullness.
It's time.
Silently working the trolling motor pedal, I stalk ever more closely to the wall, working to position the boat so that my own shadow does not alert what lurks below. The first cast of this day is perfect - not too short, not too long - and the lure enters the water with only the smallest of possible disturbances. The ripples subside.
Taking the slack out of the line ever so deliberately I turn the handle of the reel, feeling through the tension of monofilament line and the dense graphite of the rod the lure bumping and dropping into ever-deeper water. Lifting the rod slowly I focus in, watching the line straighten then go slack as the jig reaches another lip and resumes its free-fall to a lower ledge. There is a bump... a steady pull...and the line begins to move off to one side.
I quickly point the tip of the rod at the lunker who has mistaken my offering, take up the excess slack, and snap my arms back with all my might to set the hook.....
My wife yells in startled wakefullness, "What the $#@% are you doing?????"
I look over at the alarm clock. It glares 2:38 at me in bright red numbers. Cold air, chilled by the winter wonderland outside the bedroom windows, cascades down the wall onto my pillow.
I apologize profusely as I replace the covers my hookset has pulled from around my better half....lay back down on my side....
....and try to go back to sleep.
