It's 4 o'clock Saturday morning. A repetitious clang awakens me from a peaceful and deep sleep. Realizing that the alarm clock has been ringing for half an hour, I jump out of bed and dash to the bathroom.
A quick shower, a hunt for my old sneakers - where are my sweatshirt and favorite jeans? My socks?
By 4:50, the birds are making melody and dawn is breaking. I make another made dash back up the starts to get my favorite cap. Then it's a beeline to the kitchen for a glass of milk and toast and a hot bowl of oat meal, which I'm beginning to like the stuff.
Anyway, as my breakfast eases down to my stomach, I'm in a hurry. I've got to beat the daylight; being out on the river bank by 6 a.m. is my goal.
A check of my equipment I'll be using today is ready for deployment. A pork chop sandwich with mustard, check; hooks, check; sinkers, check; pliers, check; knife, check; net, check; stringer, check; bobbers, check; lures, check; bait, uh-oh, got to get some on the way.
By 5:05, morning dew is on my car. The defroster is too slow, so I clean the windshield with the towel stashed in my back pocket. I load up my gear, and away I go.
It's 5:45. Customers are milling all over the place in the small country store just off the highway. My needs are simple: a dozen gumbo worms, a dozen night crawlers, come minnows (the guy behind the counter claims I can't miss with them), and a hot cup of coffee.
At 6:15, I notice that I've missed my 6 a.m. deadline, but that's alright. I have high expectations. I'm the only one on the river bank.
After more than 25 years, I recently rediscovered the joy of fishing. I remember going fishing with my father. We would make a day of it. We might even catch some fish, too. I'll never forget the '57 Nash we drove in and the hours of listening to my father's favorite artist, Nat King Cole.
Fishing can be adventurous. I once hook a big ole green turtle. I can't tell you how surprised I was to see those beady eyes emerge from the water. Surprised? Heck, I was downright scared!
Now, I do catch fish - catfish, bass, crappie. I once caught a big channel cat that had to weigh at least - at least - 10 pounds. But he got away, breaking my line - and my heart.
It's about 3 p.m. I've got a mess of fish, a story or two to tell and mud on my shoes. It's time to go home.
Man, I had fun today.
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