Eventually we have to go home. We donât want to of course; itâs just the smartest thing to do at some point tonight. We have been at it all day. Tomorrow is another day. You can rationalize it all, but we still donât want to go.
You had enough? No. Why, you had enough, no. Think maybe we better get going. Yeah, you pull your line and Iâll reel up and will get going. You pull the anchor then we can go, okay? I pull the anchor, and then we drift fish.
Fish bite, so we stay. Crisp bright stars pop out. Northern lights yawl over the tree tops so were not leaving no way no how now. Fish keep biting. We canât even use the excuse were out of live bait, were not into the third minnow bucket yet.
He starts the motor just to charge the batteries. I reeled up because I thought he had finally quit. He reeled up because he thought I wanted to quit. With the motor running anyhow, we button up our coats and motor slowly for the launch.
We're driving home with a boat load of fish under a half moon the color of curdled milk, my back feels like curdled milk. Muscle chunks squished between what were strong healthy bones about five A.M. feel reel tender tonight. Iâm not going to tell the guy driving the truck I ache at all because he isnât whining about anything, at least not yet.
Tonight in the dark, driving for home, trying not to hunt deer with the v-8 we keep the high beams on and chat to keep ourselves out of the ditch. I was so wide awake on the way into the woods and water, now all this day has past. The fish, an entire lake, the roasted ham sandwich lunch, is somewhere in our darkened rear view mirror.
Whatâs so hard to figure out, is if I could, Iâd turn around, just head the boat truck and trailer and go right back. I would. Thatâs my mind making a decision my body wonât agree to. My common sense has lost all sense of touch, especially in my wind burn face but I would go right back out on the lake, any lake. The guy with me would too. We didnât quit because of fish or fishing, we quit because we plum wore ourselves out.
I might be, Maybe, over tired from all the freshest of fresh air. I know Iâm not under fished, we had a lip hitting day. Perhaps Neurons are firing hitting spiritually refreshed fishing receptors. Could be the northern lights lit some internal flame that still has my fishing brain on fire, I really donât know, but Iâm so physically tired I have to take my body home whether my brain agrees or not.
The trout whisperer
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