Catch date:4/1/2019 6:46:00 PM
Story date:4/1/2019 6:32:00 PM
The long winter has ended. The snow mostly melted, with only the dregs remaining in the deepest, shadowy places of the forest. Lake ice, retreating from the shore in a glum surrender to wistful spring has opened an area large enough to cast for any fish willing to play along in this great resurgence of primal instinct. I stand there on the low point and ponder which lure to tempt them. In the end the choice is easy, my tried and trusty whopper-plopper. The WP is fun to cast and anticipate even when it does not draw an explosive strike. I’ve had fish grab it savagely as soon as it hit the water, just before I pulled it out and anywhere in between. I trip the bail, swing the rod back and sweep it forward….
Forty-five minutes ago I had paraded out of the house with my gear, proclaiming that I would not be back before dark. This gave me about two hours to fish. Upon arrival I realized that I was too late to get the best spot, but the cool temperature, steady north wind and thin cloud had discouraged any other rivals. Here I was now in the second best spot having used each of my lures enough to realize the fish were not interested in them. I don’t know if it is just me but I have noticed that as I get older, cold temperatures cause my kidneys to reach levels of production that rival happy hour at my favourite pub. That hot post-supper cup of tea had magically expanded to an alarming volume. Cleaning weeds after each cast had dampened my hands enough that they were now numb. My three layers of clothing, wool cap and two hoods had surrendered to the invasive pressure of the wind. My feet were cold. Had I caught anything, or even had a convincing bite, I am sure none of those sensations would have registered in my adrenaline fired brain. But I hadn’t and they did. It is time to go home and rejoice that fishing season is now upon us and we have six more months of better days. But this one was still better than my best day at work. Yaaaahoooooo!