Can't remember the last time I ever had such a strong feeling of deja vu wash over me...and not sure I look forward to having a recurrence...certainly not anytime soon. If only those throttle-happy hot-doggers and otherwise downright idiotic clowns who never have learned the right way to run that ever-dwindling number of channel markers ever saw what I did yesterday, perhaps they...a few, anyway...would be motivated to rethink the chances they take. That, though, is a story in itself.
What I'm dealing with here is just things that stand out in my mind from my day on the water yesterday. Thankfully, the wind at least wasn't blowing a gale, as it has for the most part here lately. Even though there was only a light breeze, I still managed to have a run-in or two with it, starting with one of the times I had to stop fishing and retie my lure.
I maneuvered the boat to an area I thought would be a safe harbor while I performed this chore, then got busy with the scissors. I had checked the boat's location a couple of times to make sure it still was OK and evidently then had lapsed into a false sense of security. With my back turned toward the bow, I was standing in the middle of the boat doing what needed to be done when I heard a K-R-U-U-U-N-C-H! and turned around to see that my new Edge 70 trolling motor just had contacted the exposed barnacles on one of those markers of which I spoke just a bit earlier. "So much for having that new appearance," I thought.
Sprinkled throughout the day, I also had my normal quota of errant casts to deal with...usually no big deal. But with the low water, I more than once thought, "Oh, Geez! I wonder what kind of crap I'm going to encounter getting to that lure this time." On several occasions, I got lucky and was able to pop the lure free before I had to run the gauntlet all the way to it.
Unfortunately, my luck ran out near the time I planned to call it quits for the day. I had sent one of my oldest and dearest stickbaits on a long cast that missed the intended mark by a proverbial "country mile," and I immediately knew the challenge that lay ahead of me. I didn't take more than two turns on the reel handle until the front hook engaged an old log in an area I would have to think twice about getting to on full pool, much less the amount of water that was there yesterday.
Because this lure was special to me, however, I decided to give it the old college try. After several minutes, I was able to navigate within a fishing-net handle's length of the lure and, as I've done many times over the years, plopped the netting over the free-floating rear hook of the lure. I figured the saga would all be over with just one pull on the handle...but I figured wrong. You see, the netting had engaged the free rear hook OK, but it simultaneously also had caught a sliver of the old log. Long story short: Now the lure and the net both were hung up, and I definitely was not going to leave both for some unsuspecting stranger to come across and claim for himself/herself.
Given what I could see in the water on my current path to where the lure and net was hung, I was certain I had no choice but to leave the net handle floating on the water, drop some slack in the line on my reel, and somehow make my way to the opposite side of the log, hoping all the while for a cleaner path. Thankfully, my hope was fulfilled, and I soon had both lure and net back safely in the boat.
A few minutes later, after considerable effort, the boat finally broke free from its grounded position, and I planned to resume fishing. On the very next cast, though, the plastic lip on my beloved balsa stickbait smacked a stump and snapped off flush with the nose of the lure.
I didn't need any more motivation to throw in the towel. I strapped everything down, fired up the gas motor, and headed to the West Neck ramp, which I had all to myself while getting the boat out of the water. I took that as a "positive" ending to a day in which I boated only one dink bass.
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