Soakin
Wet
Todd Craig
Helena, AL
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After working until midnight one
night, I decided I needed some R&R, and what better way to get it, but
to go fishing?! I hurried home, got my pole and gear, jumped into the car
and headed out for the old 'honey hole'. It took about one-half of an hour
to drive to the lake, and another 30 minutes to hike through the woods,
but I wasn't tired, not me, I was going fishing! Finally, I was at the cove
I enjoyed so much. Not just any cove, it was my cove. A place where all
my troubles seemed to vanished. A place where the big oaks stretched out
their branches and provided shade from the hot summer sun. This is the place
where all the worries of telecommunications were forgotten. This was going
to be a beautiful Carolina summer morning, and I was where I loved to be.
Jumping Bass
I set down my tackle box and fixed the pole for a Carolina rig. I just
knew this was going be a great morning for fishing. I threw my line in
and carefully worked the bottom. Nothing, not even a nibble. After about
20 minutes I decided to put away the lures and tie a night crawler on
the line with a floater. (After all, I had worked the night shift and
was getting a little tired.) I threw the line in, then sat back and looked
around at the beautiful scenery. As I laid back gazing up at the sky I
must have dozed off. I awoke to a great splashing sound, and, as I looked
up, saw my pole being dragged into the water. I immediately jumped to
my feet and dove for the pole, but just missed it. As I stood there watching
my favorite pole go deeper, I made the crucial decision not to let it
get away. I waded in, feeling the bottom with my feet. Then suddenly I
felt it! I leaned down and sure enough, there was my pole wedged between
two rocks. As I picked it up and examined the bent and broken reel, there
was a magnificent tug and the pole flew out of my hands, out into the
dark murky lake. That was the last I would ever see of that pole, or so
I thought.
A week later, as I
was reading the local paper, there on page three was a picture of a fellow
outdoorsman holding up a 13-pound bass. The caption at the bottom read,
"Record Bass Caught Complete with Its Own Pole." As I stared
at that picture, I realized that it was my fishing pole in the picture!
I found the man's address and went over to explain the story. He never
gave me back the pole, and the bass is mounted on his mantle. I go back
to that fishing hole a lot with my new friend, Bob. When I look over at
him a smile comes across my face, because he's still using that same pole
I lost, that hot summer day. |