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Sam Ubl |
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Location: SE Wisconsin | A Goodbye Says Hello By: Sam Ubl The old dock whined from the pressure as we took those early morning steps towards the boat. There it sat, tied up and still as could be, waiting. I recall my tired mind finding a resemblance between the boat and a rodeo bull waiting for it’s rider in the pen and I let out a little laugh. “What”? Asked James. “Nothing. The boat’s like a bull.” I replied. James just shook his head as if to silently say, “You need to get to sleep earlier”. We tidied up our equipment, wiping off the seats and arranging our tackle like we were in a race to the finish line, but the lake was calm and only one boat skirted the Eastern shoreline. It was one of those mornings where everything seems in place, patiently waiting for your arrival, yet we always seem to be in a rush. Call it soaking up every minute or consider it more of a fear that if we had gotten to our spot one minute sooner, maybe that first cast could have been the glorifier. Speaking of first casts, as we slid into position over a shallow flat that had some early weed growth, I hadn’t even dropped the trolling motor before James had already made his first cast. I always make a little 10 yard pitch to wet my line before firing away, but James thought his callused thumb could withstand the burn of dry line – He couldn’t! I think I probably poked a little fun at him, while I watched him wince, but the joke wouldn’t last long. “Twitch, twitch-twitch, pause. Twitch, twitch, twitch – BAM!” “Oohh, there she is!! I got ‘er - I got ‘er?” James exhausted. I rushed to extend the handle on the Big “K” and excitedly awaited the first glimpse. By the tension on the rod and the angst in James’ voice and breath, images ran through my mind of what this thing would look like. That’s when I saw it – a 26” pike rolled just within reach of the net and James slid his trophy home. This is one of those moments where you contemplate the high-five. There’s that little bit of awkwardness that inevitably deflates your lungs for a moment, before the boat settles down and everything returns to homeostasis. I didn’t say too much about it, hell, I’m no virgin to that kind of humiliation, but I won’t say that I didn’t throw a goofy smile his way the next time we made eye contact. We were on a mission as always when we’re on the water, but hours and hours shared in a little vessel call for a little humor once in a while, and I think this day was getting off to a good start. The sun was higher now and a light breeze created the ideal chop to break up the surface. We decided to head to a little piece of structure we had aqua-viewed some cribs and thought we'd do a little bulldawging. I eased the throttle down and soon we were cruising, ounce by ounce we burned fuel as we chased victory from this solo race. In a moments time I turned my head towards James to share my enthusiasm for our next spot when all of a sudden my H2Optics decided to leave the nest and learn how to fly. Good thing James had an extra pair, but I couldn’t help but wonder why that had to happen to me. We fished and fished, till that common bruise was painfully growing on our upper ribs that any seasoned musky fisherman is familiar with. That rod wedged under your armpit and the constant cranks, rips, sweeps and jerks really start to make an impact on a musky fisherman’s comfortability. We had raised a few, rolling one at the end of a cast with a big ‘ol Suick, and now we were on our last pass over a spot I had scared a big fish off by trying to tell her how big she was. Just before we wrapped things up, I drew a lucky card. Let me tell you, when that fish broke the surface and my skepticism was relinquished, everything relaxed for a while. I’m sure I was all over the boat following that that fish around. I probably started talking in incomplete sentences, making references to how big I thought she was, “She’s going 45. . . Maybe 44. . . I bet she’s 43 right on the head. . . What do you think, 42?” The fish measured 41 ¾ inches, but a prize none the less. I held her up for some pictures and completely forgot until now, as I write this, the pain of losing those glasses. I think that’s part of why I love musky fishing so much. In the same instant I subconsciously said goodbye to my favorite pair of expensive glasses, and hello to a brief, yet priceless encounter with that musky. Edited by Sam Ubl 5/6/2009 12:06 PM Attachments ----------------  sizedforweb.jpg (60KB - 52 downloads) IMG_2696.jpg (31KB - 46 downloads) | ||
| IAJustin |
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Great story - unhook the fish first dude  | |||
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