Little Jig

A good day on the lake fishing and then more

Little Jig

A good fishing buddy told me a story about a friend of his finding bass on the Tennessee River during a tournament. This guy was casting a one and a half inch white hair jig on lite line with a spinning reel. He found bass chasing schools of shad up against the dam. He caught dozens of nice fish but then decided to leave the spot in hopes of catching bigger fish elsewhere. That turned out to be a bad idea and he finished second in the tournament instead of first.

This information stewed for a few days inside my noggin until it was finally too much. It was Friday when it got the best of me. I took half a day of vacation at lunch and headed home to get my boat. My boat was not much but it was paid for and held water. At a grand total of fourteen feet long and powered by an eight-teen horse Evinrude outboard, it did what it was designed to do. It floated and got me to the fish.

It was mid June and hot as blue blazes when I finally pushed away from the pier and began jerking on the starting rope. It cranked and sputtered and coughed blue oil smoke into the otherwise fresh air. I pulled the gear shift lever forward and twisted the tiller. The front of the boat tilted up to the sky and I accelerated away from the shore. It leveled out as I gained speed. I could see my destination and after a few minutes of gliding into the cooling air I was twenty or so feet from the dam in sixty foot deep water.

My eyes were wide open and my nerves on edge as I rushed to lower the trolling motor. Fish were smacking the water to my left, big fish. I snatched up my spinning rig and threw the little jig at the commotion. Almost instantly I had one on. My drag started slipping as my six pound test mono spun backwards off of the spool. The rod bent down and pulsed down, down and down again. I thought the line would break. I hoped not because I only had three of those little jigs to lose. Minutes passed and sweat dripped off of my face and salted my eyes. Finally I saw the fish. It was a carp! Of all the damned luck I hooked a monster carp on my first cast. I worked for another five minutes and rescued my jig.

The sun was hot on my face and there was little air moving that day as I moved toward the dam where more fish were attacking shad and splashing water up against the concrete wall. I swear, I saw the little fellas flying through the air. I pitched my jig into the churning water. I wasn't sure of how to present the lure so I just let it fall and watched the line. I counted down the depth, two , three, four, five and so on until a fish made my line jump and then I'd set the hook. After an hour of fishing and struggling against the current flow parallel to the dam I worked out the pattern. Largemouth bass were hitting in the top three feet, then smallmouth deeper, stripe, bream and catfish were all stacked up, each in it's own depth. I could predict the species I would catch by how deep my jig fell before the fish hit.

The afternoon flew by. My shirt was wet and clinging to my body, my face and arms red. The livewell was churning with decent fish but most I had already released. My trolling motor was struggling against the current and I found myself drifting into the mouth of a spillway gate. The water was leaking underneath the steel gate and falling fifty feet onto the rocks behind the dam. I imagined it opening and me and my boat being instantly pulled through and dashed on the rocks below. A shadow covered the boat and gave relief from the sun. I turned from the dam and pulled out into open water away from the strong current flowing along the concrete.

I paused and considered the day, the fish, the heat, my weakened battery and my own withering energy. I found the fish, the day was good and I would have gone on until dark if my battery was charged. I heard the rumble of thunder. A storm was brewing and I was a little concerned. A lightning strike would've ended my day too soon. The lake was still bright with sun except under my dark cloud shade. I moved to put away my gear. I'd count my blessings and go home to the wife and my one year old son. He'd come running when I opened the front door and jump into my arms, laughing. There was no better feeling in the world. He was my anchor, my sanity, my light showing me the way home.

One hit and then another, large drops falling straight down. There was no wind and the water was smooth like glass. Marble sized raindrops shattered the glass and pelted my steaming body. Suddenly I was captured in a river that flowed from my black cloud straight down around me into the lake. I'd never heard anything like it. A chill ran across my back and up my neck into my wet hair. Bumps rose on my arms. I was amazed. Why was it so loud? Echoes and complex harmonies built and crashed into my ears. I was frozen in time, captured by a freakish rainstorm. I was in awe, frightened.

My heart pounded. My breath quickened. I looked around. I couldn't move. I felt my body surrender and relax as I slumped down in my seat. It was a strange euphoria like I'd never known before. I couldn't leave, I was afraid I might miss a moment of the most spectacular show I'd ever seen. I stared at the water and focused in on one point. A drop hit and left a crater in the surface of the lake and then from the bottom of that another drop sprang up out of the lake and into the air, suspended for a moment and then crashed back down. Everywhere this was happening. The sky was raining down. The lake was raining up. A symphony played all around me, frantic, climactic, deafening.

And then it was over. I was wet. I put away my gear, started the outboard and skidded across the once again, glassy surface. It was strange the way I felt. I'd just had an incredible afternoon of fishing and then out of the sky and from the surface of the water sprang an event that I would never be able to explain adequately. But I've tried and I'll keep trying.

Author's Note

Feel free.

Reviews

[Frank Miles]

"The sky was raining down. The lake was raining up."

Just one of many striking lines. The description was vivid, which is not what makes this great writing. The description was just part of this writer capturing lucid moments in a magical day. And together with the narrator's convincing inner life so fully realized and exposed, it gave me a little more life than I'd had before I read the piece.

I don't even fish and reread this twice. Thanks.

[busterlee]

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my story. I'm glad you enjoyed the read.

[Frank Miles]

The pleasure was all mine. Keep it up.

[Richard Charles]

Great first-person story and so tightly written! Not a fishing enthusiast but felt like I was right there with you. Kudos! Thanks for the share!

[wordman]

this is a great story,i enjoyed it

[busterlee]

Thanks wordman.

[alanwgraham]

This is great busterlee. I guess you are writing about what you know and it shows. I know nothing about this but i was hooked (so to speak!). You have made it exciting and I wanted more. Your description is first class and seems effortless. The description of the storm is great and I know from experience that these freak events are unrepeatable and impossible to communicate fully.
Great story,
Alan

[busterlee]

Thanks Alan, I've spent a lot of time on the water and experienced many unusual weather events. I think I'll write about more of them. Thanks again for your encouragement.