october 1st

I slowly open my eyes after a chilling cold night and begin moving, stretching and forcing myself awake even before the sun has realized that morning is here. I feel excited about fishing today as the weather report last night said clear skies with sunshine and temps reaching 60°. I felt a promise of things to come because conditions were ripe to have a great day. Now if only the fish are as convinced as I, that they should help us out to turn today into a fantastic day of fishing.

I step outside where the cool crisp air bites at any exposed skin and from my vantage point of the camp door, look towards the lake knowing before I do what I won’t see. I cannot tell if the lake is even there anymore as it is blanketed with thick early morning fog. I cannot see more that twenty feet through the dense vapor, and the lake is definitely more the twenty feet away.


I can hear my fishing companions begin to stir in the background and I smile knowing that today will be a good day of fishing even if the fish don’t want to cooperate. My wife and I purchased a camp earlier this year and this is the first time my brother has visited. He has brought my nephews with him and so we are able to make this a guys only weekend.

We had our morning wake up juice while awaiting the misty curtain to be pulled aside at least partially to reveal parts of the lake. We waited not a moment longer when we felt confident about launching our boats safely. When the first cast was tossed, you could not even see where it landed, but within thirty minutes the clarity of day began taking over and more and more of the pristine water was exposed. The sun began rising over the trees and though we started the day in the shadows, it was soon warming us up in its gleaming rays.

It was slow going at first with no bites for almost two hours but then I caught this beauty right next to a boat dock.


My nephews also caught a couple of small Sunfish and Perch, but my brother was having no luck at all. Not a single nibble, no pulls, no strikes, it seemed as if even the weeds wanted nothing to do with his offering. He did hook himself a nice 40 footer, but trees don’t count in fishing. I think he was bored so much that he seemed quite happy when I had an accident with my bait caster and created a nest so big that I just put it down and was done with the pole for the day. He eagerly accepted the challenge of getting it out and he succeeded. It took him near thirty minutes, but his patience was astounding.

It was soon after that that I was telling him about a five pound bass I had caught earlier this year near a stump surrounded by a large weed field. It didn’t really appear he believed me when I told him that I had cast a worm between this small twig that was sticking out of the water and the stump and within seconds it was “fish on”. I then cast my Strike King Green Pumpkin worm to the same area and within moments it was “fish on” again. He was a believer that there were some big fish in the water when he netted this 5 pound bass for me.


Then, I pointed to another spot and told him that I caught a couple of big Pickerel over there. He didn’t even hesitate before he cast towards the spot I told him and he was soon holding this nice 2 pound Pickerel in his hands.


After that, whenever I told him I caught a fish here or there he was immediately casting in that direction.


I loved that not only was I telling him where I caught fish, but I was also telling him what kind of fish we would catch in each area. It wasn’t until today I realized that I knew this water.


My nephews too seemed to be having fun and John was able to land this large Pickerel


As it was getting late we decided to call it a day, but before we did I told my brother I wanted him to catch one more fish in a different location. So I directed him to a spot across the lake and told him there was a log in the water where he could catch one more fish. We motored over there and on his second cast, which turned out to be the last cast of the day, caught this nice bass.


What a great day of fishing.

Tight lines, the Amateur Angler

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