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Reel It In

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Reel it in

The striking sunset sets the mood to a fisher’s afternoon. “I’m feelin’ it today!” she say exaggeratedly as she staggers over rocks and around trees. The dozens of lures clank together in her tackle box. It’s a jagged walk to her beloved spot.

The pond is like olive glass, broken up regularly when frogs leap or fish catch a fly. The most soothing end to an eventful day. The birds sing louder, the geese fly lower, the cattails sway wider and the sun shines brighter when you pay attention to the great outdoors!

She positions her things and disengages the hook from her pole as she contemplates which direction to cast. The smooth fling forward with her tan shoulders sends the lure a respectable distance out into the water. As the ripples resolve she tries to get comfortable, unwind and reflect like she always does.

The rubber worm is horizontal as it leisurely sinks to the bed of the murky pond.
She loosens up and watches for the tip of her pole to bow downward the slightest bit.

“I’m gettin’ a bite” she murmured to me, staying focused.
She jerks the pole in the direction of her right shoulder, setting the hook. “He’s on!” She starts to bring him closer to shore, but this fish is putting up a first-class scrap. She lets her drag out a little further to steer clear of snapping her line. He flies out of the water, trying to shake loose of the phony minnow he thought would serve an appetizing feast. “It’s a good 18 inch bass!” She pulls the hair from her eyes as her face tightens, and she continues to pull the massive fish closer and closer.

He’s right in front of her now, she can see him still fighting through the water, she reels a couple more times and heaves him into shore. She situates her thumb firmly inside the large mouth bass, he continues attempting to shake loose, but her grip was so fixed. This was her biggest catch yet!

“Get the camera!” she demanded wiping her mud smothered hands on her holey Levi denims. I snap four or five pictures and she releases her trophy back into the depths of the pond. “Let’s call it a day” she sighs, sliding the rubber worm from her hook, packing up her tackle box and retracing her steps back home.





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