I believe in bass fishing.
I believe in waking up before dawn, loading my gear and sipping freshly brewed coffee on the way to the lake. I believe there is a unique and simple majesty in launching out into the misty waters just as the sun stretches its golden fingers over the horizen to scratch the world awake.
I believe in the solitude I feel. Alone in the world. The steady cadence of my oar spearing the water giving me respite from the world. Here there are no wars. No suicide bombers. No blaring horns or crazy people. Nothing but the mystery that lies ahaead and beneath.
I rig a topwater lure and cast it next to a sunken log I well know. My entire focus dwindles now to an area no bigger than the size of my palm. I twitch the lure sharply and it responds in turn 40 feet away. I pause and twitch it again wondering if she’s home.
Suddenly from beneath a tremendous largemouth breaks the surface as I set the hook. We wrestle. She dives and I follow, tightening up. Careful! Ease her in- don’t rush now… watch that slack…good, keep it tight.
She breaks again wagging her green head against the sun’s golden rays and I realize she’s big; maybe the biggest one I’ve ever caught. I begin to weigh her in my mind at the same moment she throws the hook and dissapears in a moment leaving only a large ripple behind.
And that’s how it goes.
This game, this wonderful game lasts for the next two to three hours. Rigging, casting, sweating, but not never resting. Sometimes I win if I’m careful and sometimes I lose- even if I do everything right.
But the lake will still be here next Sunday morning and I plan on being
here too because I believe, I have to keep believing that my next cast could catch me the bass of my life.
And I don’t believe I will ever get tired of beleiving that.
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