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Setting the emergency brake, he carefully
pushed the shiny, new rig off its carriage and eased it over to the
pier. A big, fat Brim made a popping sound as he inhaled an unlucky
insect under a nearby log and Charlie
smiled at the thought of such a fine day to come on the water.
A couple of tosses of a crank plug on the
first point brought a scrappy two-pounder blasting to the surface,
doing his dance of alarm across the water's face. Releasing the fish,
Charlie made three more unproductive
casts with the plug, and then picked up a plastic worm. Dropping it
skillfully along the edge of the drop-off,
he felt the familiar 'tap' of a strike and set the hook on a nice bass
in the four pound range. All right! Lookin'
good.
As Charlie re-tied that forever-slipping
shoelace, he noted a big-eyed doe and her pair of fawns as they
skirted the water's edge in search of morning brunch.
Easing up Hatchatee Creek, Charlie stopped
at the head of a run of buckbrush that dotted the outside bend
of the second turn in the creek bed. This oft-fished hole was well
known to all the local anglers, but the sharp
drop at the edge of the brush line was a constant producer of bass.
Moving quietly along with the trolling
motor, Charlie expertly flipped the white spinner-bait in amongst
the mummified remains of the protruding,
gray stick-ups. Before covering even half the 50 yard stretch of
cover, a chunky two pounder had jumped on
the lure and two others, one a really nice fish, had boiled at it.
Charlie smiled and noted that the fast retrieve,
with the blades just dimpling the surface, would probably work as
well in three similar brush areas he knew
of. Suddenly, the near-silence was broken as a Largemouth blasted
into the white blade-bait as it cleared
the outer edge of the brush. Charlie thanked the Creator for fine
fishing days and re-tied the troublesome
shoelace.
Realizing the drop-off at the edge of the
brush line went from six into 16 feet, he decided to make one pass
down the area with a medium-depth crank plug. "Just in case that
old big one hasn't had breakfast yet", he
thought.
Laying in tight to the brush, Charlie
cranked the lure down parallel and tight to the drop, making overlapping
casts as he moved along. The diving lure bumped lightly along on the
bottom, occasionally stirring up little
puffs of silt and sand. The strike was sudden and solid and Charlie set
back on the bass. Shimmering spray
and flexing muscle rose from the water as the six pound fish made his
first bid for freedom. When the aerial
acrobatics were concluded, he released the game fighter, fixed the pesky
shoelace and continued down the
channel edge. Two more small fish jumped on the balsa lure and the happy
angler again gave silent thanks
to the Big Fisherman for great angling days.
A warm breeze channeled into the bend of
the creek, twisting and circling as it looked for escape. As the
ripples fluttered along the side of the boat and the falling leaves
gently kissed the surface, Charlie made a
long, last cast down the edge of the brush line. The light, wooden lure
hung on the swirling wind for only a
split second, but long enough for the reel to backlash slightly, even
under Charlie's learned thumb.
Picking out the 'professional overrun'
was not difficult and he pulled off a bit extra line to get all the
looseness
and little kinks out further down the spool. A spawning Carp suddenly
made one of her frenzied burrows into
the shallows behind Charlie's boat and he instinctively turned to look.
That bothersome shoelace started it all
and, as Charlie's opposite foot stepped on its dangling end, a split
second of balance was lost. A momentary stab of panic engulfed the
angler, replaced quickly by light humor,
as he realized he was going to fall in. He was not going to hit
anything, was actually falling forward and was
an excellent swimmer. "I'm sure glad the water's warm,"
he mused as he pitched the rod back towards the
boat deck and splashed in. With the calm of a confident swimmer,
Charlie went to scissors-kick his legs
and thrust back to the surface.
Funny, his legs didn't work. A light
panic set in. Charlie went to thrust his hands towards the surface and
suddenly realized that his right arm was being held at his side by some
unknown bond. The degree of panic
began to multiply rapidly! Desperately, he tried to kick to the surface.
The 12 pound line held fast. Sudden
realization began to sink in. All that loose line coiled at his feet
from picking the backlash.....!
He tried to free his right hand but the
one loop of line behind his watchband refused to budge. Now, total
panic! Kick harder! Break that line! Reach down and break it! Three
final thoughts went through Charlie's
mind as he involuntarily inhaled that first fatal gulp of
water--"Why didn't I keep that life jacket on? Why
don't I have a pocket knife? Betty, Betty--."
The young doe and her fawns munched
quietly on the tender, new grass and the sow Carp moved silently
back to the open water. The empty boat rocked gently against the ancient
bushes lining the creek channel
and the stream of bubbles broke the surface with a light popping sound,
gradually diminishing until all was
quiet once more.
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"That's an ugly story, not at all what I like to flow from this
typewriter.
However, it is true. I lost a good friend. Please be careful."
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