Soakin Wet

After working until midnight one evening, I decided I needed a little rest and relaxation, and what better way to unwind than to go fishing? I hurried home, grabbed my rod and tackle, jumped into the car, and headed for my favorite honey hole. It took nearly half an hour to drive to the lake and another thirty minutes to hike through the woods, but I didn't mind. I was going fishing. Finally, I reached the little cove I loved so much. It wasn't just any cove—it was my cove. A place where all my worries disappeared beneath the shade of towering oak trees. The stress of working in telecommunications faded away the moment I arrived. It was shaping up to be a beautiful Carolina summer morning, and I couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

I rigged my rod with a Carolina rig and confidently made my first cast. I was certain this was going to be one of those unforgettable mornings. Cast after cast produced nothing—not even a nibble. After about twenty minutes, I switched to a night crawler with a float. After all, I'd worked the night shift and was beginning to get a little sleepy. I tossed the bait into the lake, leaned back, admired the scenery, and before I knew it...I had drifted off to sleep.

Suddenly, I was awakened by a tremendous splash. I looked up just in time to see my fishing rod being dragged into the lake. I jumped to my feet and dove after it, but missed by inches. Determined not to lose my favorite rod, I waded into the water, feeling around with my feet. Finally, I found it wedged between two rocks. As I bent over and grabbed it, I noticed the reel had been badly bent. Then it happened. A powerful tug ripped the rod right out of my hands. The fish disappeared into the dark water, taking my favorite fishing rod with it. I figured I'd never see it again.

A week later, while reading the local newspaper, I saw a photograph of another fisherman proudly holding up a thirteen-pound bass. The headline immediately caught my attention. "Record Bass Caught Complete with Its Own Pole." As I looked closer, I couldn't believe my eyes. That was my fishing rod. I tracked the fisherman down and explained what had happened. We both had a good laugh about it. He never did give my rod back, and the bass now hangs proudly mounted over his fireplace. Today Bob and I are good friends, and every time we fish together I can't help but smile when I see him using the very same fishing rod that disappeared into the lake that hot summer day.