Today (as in most days) the fish won. But it was an interesting fight. Rowing across Conway Lake, I had two strong strikes, but saw no rising fish. Dead heading back to the put in, the trolling rod went down hard, and as soon as I picked it up, a large mouth bass leaped out of the water with a head shake that he must have learned in Tarpon school.
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I was pumped, and felt that the day was vindicated. While keeping the line tight, I was reeling in when the fish made another twisted jump clear of the water. I figured that if he didn't throw the hook on those two attempts, that I would boat him for sure.
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When I got him to the boat he came out of the water yet again, and rid his mouth of the lure. I lost him. He was by far the better competitor.
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I didn't mind losing him.
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So here I am a weein' my trow and shakin' like a long tailed cat in a room full of rockers, standing before the town folk, in our front yard, trying to keep the coonhounds, Cletus and Reggie, in line. Hooey, this one was straight out of your Frankenstein movie I seen at the Bijou while daddy took in the Peep Show on our trip to Athens. Even the hounds growlin' sounded like the Monster. Cold, too, I could see my breath in that night air. No moon, which was good for us, as my senses was tellin me that we was about to high tail it yet again, momma with the baby hangin off her bosom, me carry my little brother Shoo-Fly, and daddy riding the mule at break neck speed into the Wooly Swamp. And that is what we did, with bottles and bricks and all sorts of curses, such as "you no good such and such" and "we don't want your kind in our town" and "that dildo you sold me gave my missus the clap" being hurled in our general direction. You get the picture. I hushed Shoo-Fly with stories of our upcoming adventures in the swamp and got him to focus like a laser on where we was to set camp, once we was out of range. When the sun rose the next day , , ,
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