Went to the southern part of the state for a wedding last weekend, and decided to fish the lovely Lake Shelbyville on the way down.
Mr. We’re Here For Muskie, Right rented us a little boat with a 9 H.P. motor in which to try our luck. As the boy at the dock scooped rainwater out of our luxury liner I couldn’t help but look longingly at the more expensive rental alternative at the next pier over. There sat a bass boat with real chairs powered by a forty horse motor. You wouldn’t catch any more fish in that boat, but your back would hurt less, and you could annoy more people zooming along. If Mr. Right really loved me, he would have gotten that one.
Thank goodness it was a beautiful day and there were lots of pretty birds to watch, because in about five hours of non-stop casting, we failed to get even one bite. No ‘throw-backs’, no ‘one that got away’. I’m talking NO BITES.
Why? My lure was shiny and attractive. Silver fish head with a rubber sparkly transparent red tail trailing behind. Looked great. It motivated me to buy it off the clearance rack at Wal-Mart, didn’t it? The package said ‘scented tail’, so there I am in a boat putting a 2 inch treble hook dangerously close to a nostril and saying, “I don’t smell anything. Do you smell anything? Do you think it’s too old? Why aren’t we catching anything? Are you sure there’s fish in this lake? What time is it? We should have packed a lunch. We sure aren’t going to catch it…” I’m real cheery to fish with.
The boat had to be returned at five, so I concluded the fish around here don’t start to bite until six. As we putt up to the pier for boat return I consider asking for the “Not a Damn Nibble” discount. Dejected, we headed back to the car and continued our trip southward.
(Note my approximate age upon success)
1 comment:
Even a bad day of fishing is better than going to a wedding.
Especially if it's your own :)
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