A gentle tick that transforms into a powerful lunge the moment I set the hook.
Tiger stripes against a bronze backdrop glimmering in the sun as I unhook a thick-bodied smallmouth.
A weed mat that bulges behind my frog an instant before an underwater bomb deploys.
The flavor of grilled salmon with garlic butter, black pepper and chives.
Handwarmers in soft pockets and wool gloves on a morning when it almost seems too cold to be out fishing.
The opportunity to be out fishing on those mornings when it almost seems too cold.
The pterodactyl-like scolding of a great blue heron taking wing to flee a lakeside perch.
Making the first cast of the morning as daylight begins defining the landscape.
An oversized bluegill landed through a hole in the ice.
Satisfied smiles on my children’s faces when they land fish.
The unique thrill that comes from outsmarting a single fish with fur and feathers tied to a jighead.
Orange-bellied, hook-jawed brown trout.
Friends trading stories around a table after being on the water from dark till dark.
The salty smell of a marsh.
Bobbers dancing for a moment and then darting out of sight.
Remote mountain creek gorges where I see no one other than the friend I hiked in with for as long as we choose to fish.
A mark on my sonar thickening, turning red, angling up and merging with the line that marks my bait.
The splendid sound of fish feeding on the surface nearby.
The privilege to write fish stories and everyone who reads the words I write.
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