Posted on 09/03/2016 8:51:24 AM PDT by wgflyer
I retired in March, and shortly afterwards, with unfamiliar time on my hands I took a little drive eventually passing through a small town called Royce City and decided to take a look around. Turning off of HWY66, I drove only a few short blocks north before running into a place called City Lake Park, or something like that. There was indeed a little lake there, and also some virgin ground for metal detecting in the park. But while the metal detector was languishing in the garage, the ever handy fishing poles in my truck were ready for use and so I parked and wandered down to the lake with my ultralight jig stick.
It was wet from recent rains and as I walked down the gentle slope to the lake's edge my right shoe entered a zero friction zone and introduced my butt to the to the ground. I made a quick discovery and noted it for future consideration: Mud doesn't brush off. It smears. But no matter. I saw fish in the water and a couple of casts later I had successfully scared them off. In the process, a previously unseen and rather fat snake near my feet slid off into the water, improving the adventure.
Shortly, there was some kind of commotion behind me. I turned to look and there was a guy coming around the little Gazebo wearing chest waders and carrying one of those extendable tree prunning saws. He apologized for bothering me, but insisted that he was going to have to enter the water where I was fishing. "I got an 8 dollar lure stuck in those weeds, and I ain't gonna lose it", he said by way of explaination. His wife was behind him, ready with her smart phone to film the event.
Since my fishing was going so well I relinquished the position to him and stood back to watch. I figured the bottom would suck those waders off him and he'd need a tractor to haul his posterior back out, but in he went anyways.
The bottom was apparently firm enough but the water was deeper than, certainly, I had expected. He was up to about his nether regions when he suddenly halted for a moment. Looking around, he noticed that the place "looked pretty snakey", at which point I mentioned my little adventure shortly before his arrival. I could see some mental process taking place, now, possibly a short reevaluation of the actual worth of the lure. But the lure overcame, and out further he went.
I could see the lure, a colorful rapala stuck in a reed patch just out of reach. The fellow strained, couldn't quite reach it, and edged further out. I mentioned casually to him that the water was half an inch from the top of the waders, which furrowed his brow a bit, but his focus remained on that rapala. Extending the tree saw he finally got the blade around the offending reed and pulled. With that action the reed just submerged, along with the lure, and stayed under.
Now fully determined, he took the final step that broached the top of his waders and I listened to him make little unhappy sounds as they filled. With not much left to lose he used the saw to fish out a bit of line still attached to the lure and pulled. The lure came out and he cried victory.
The wade back to the bank was somewhat problematic, what with the bottom being slippery, sloped, and his waders now acting the part of water brakes on each step, but he finally climbed triumphantly back onto the bank. When I was a kid, waders were made from rubber and I had expected him to come out of that pond looking like some kind of aquatic michelin man, but no. The waders held the water and their shape quite well. The wife lady got it all on video for posterity.
The lure was displayed in all its splendor for me to admire. He told me that he'd fished that pond all his life, way before the park was created, and that there were some bass in there that'd look good on anyone's mantle. Given that little bit of information, and the fact that in only 15 or 20 minutes this little pond had provided more than ample entertainment, I figure I'll be back.
T'ain't nuttin wrong with being retired!
What a sweet break from boredom!
you have a nice way with words.
Great story...
Thank you!
You got that right!!!!
Something tells me you will do fine enjoying retirement.
I lost a good bass lure when I was 11 or 12 years old and decided to wade into the pond barefoot. Which was rewarded with 8 stitches to the bottom of my foot. Very painful getting those stitches.
Nice report. It’s good you have free time, you are putting it to good use.
I'd launch the rowboat, carefully and with great effort, because I didn't want to "wake" the bass up. Life was perfect. The water was still, and the scene was idyllic. Nature abounded.
Then I would realize that the beer was gone, the sun was down, and I had not made a single cast.
Ouch, that makes me cringe. I worry about that kind of injury a lot. Never wade barefoot!
You have captured the essence of the sport. Good one!
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