For Jake it was still bass on the second evening. Size didn't matter, they were all big ones to him. Numbers baby, numbers. In the afternoon R. Dean had Jake's overstuffed reel stripped and spooled once again, this time with six pound mono. Again it looked to be over-spooled. And it was. And the line was twisted. Twist is a simple thing to avoid when spooling so long as you've learned what to do. Could be the problem was the reel. Maybe bad karma. Maybe a leftover chunk of the polar vortex of last winter was hanging around Jake's reel twisting the day away. What ever the problem it was good we had back up rods.
This time we made it out of the driveway with no self-caused problems. Not only that but at the access we even remembered to park the truck in an acceptable location. Life was good, the winds were again calm, the sun was out and the bullfrogs were ker-rumping away. Again the bass were hard to find.
By and large Jake was casting fine for an eight year old. Only problem was eight year olds don't cast all that well. It's tough on an old fart like me to not step in, grab the rod and say, "This is how you do it kid." I did that once simply to show him how to work a jig with a slip bobber. Mea culpa. But that's what grandpa's are for. Little pointers now and then on relatively safe topics. Gotta watch saying things like "Ooh-wee, that's a fine looking woman," then going on to describe all the reasons why in graphic details. Those kind of things are easily self-learned when the time is right.
It took twenty minutes to find the first bass. At around two pounds it was Jake's biggest. And his last for the day. Maybe he was hiding it well but J. Dean didn't seem to mind a lot. I suspect deep inside he'd have appreciated hauling in another dozen but that's the way she goes. The fish don't care who's on the other side of the line. They don't play favorites even when the fisherman is a likable eight year old. Regardless, for a half hour he'd caught the first, most and biggest bass of the day.
Once on the big side of the lake the fishing picked up a little. R. Dean and I caught them casting, trolling and on bobbers. The idea behind the bobbers was finding some of those elusive bluegills. They're there but once again they stayed out of our way. We trolled in hopes of finding walleyes. Like the bluegills, they seem to go into hiding whenever I show up. Guess I'm not meant to be a walleye fisherman.
Sitting in a boat is a lot like sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee only there's a lot more to see. Conversation rises and falls. Between sentences there's the shoreline, woods and water to stare off into. Once in awhile a gull or osprey passes. Occasionally something hammers the line, a reel fouls, weeds need to be cleaned from line and lure. Pictures of smiling faces with fish in front of them are taken. Yup, exactly like sitting at a kitchen table.
Never sat in a boat with my dad or my grandpa. I have fished with my son, son-in-law and grandson. Can't say I feel cheated out of anything and for darn sure have enjoyed every minute on the water with in-law and blood. I guess the lesson is to be thankful for what you've got.