What started out as a great evening quickly went sour.
The boys and I were in the canoe on the pond at Camp Cowboy when my cell phone rang. It was the Captain.
"I don't think I'm going to be able to make our Shenandoah trip this Sunday," he said.
Mike informed me that a work obligation would prevent him from joining me for the smallmouth fishing float trip we had planned. The kids were starting to rock the boat, and I told him I'd have to talk to him later.
Then they started complaining.
"I'm bored."
"How come I'm not catching any fish?"
"I want to play soccer."
We paddled to shore and climbed out of the Blood Bucket. My youngest decided he wanted to try a few more casts but quickly gave up when all he caught was moss. He headed up the hill to join his big brother, who was trying to get the go-kart started.
I figured I'd try a cast or two myself.
The first cast drew a strike, but then nothing. I moved over toward the dam.
Up and down, up and down went my rubber lizard. Then it stopped.
The fish started peeling line off my reel, and I knew I had something big. I cranked and caught a glimpse of the bass. It was easily bigger than any fish I'd ever caught in that pond and looked to be the next addition to my top five largemouth bass of all time. I cranked the fish toward the bank and brought the hawg out of the water.
It looked like at least a five-pounder, the kind of bass with a mouth you could stick your fist in. I bent down to grab the line, thinking about the camera in my pocket. A shout to the kids to "Get back down here and take a picture," was poised on my lips.
The largemouth threw the hook and disappeared into the murky depths.
Well, I remembered to bring the camera this time. Maybe next time I'll bring a net.
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