A light foggy mist drenches the woods in the early morn.

The sun tries to poke a hole through the grayness

Just there through the big cypress trees lining the banks of the creek.

Me and my fishing partner and friend talk quietly with one another

Sitting in the old boat as it floats along the gentle currents

Soaking in the sights, sounds, smells of nature.

The peace and quietness disturbed only by the few birds

Singing out their songs or the occasional call of a big owl

Warning of our closeness to her nest.

The large grey heron watches warily as we pass by,

Continuing her search for breakfast in the shallows.

We investigate with anticipation potential spots to try our luck

In the early morning stillness, hoping to have our probing produce

Results quickly but also being patient as we search for that one spot,

The elusive honey hole where the fish have gathered there

Just below the surface of the water, hungry for the enticement offered

Whether it be crickets, large earth worms, or wigglers.

Both anglers eagerly cast our lines into the murky water

Letting the hooks and bait float gently down to the desired depths

Hoping the presentation of an easy meal will be rewarded with a catch.

Shortly the cork jiggles and begins to move slowly across the surface,

A fish has succumbed to the temptation. A quick twitch of the wrist brings

The hook, line and bait up to the top of the water with a small fish attached.

Oh, well, where there are little ones, big ones may be hiding.

The line and bait goes out again and again with the same anticipation,

Hopes and wishes with each cast, knowing that the next one will be one fit for a picture.

Patience, flip it into the depths, watch that cork, give it a tug, missed that one!

“Believe it was a big one by the way it felt!”  “Give it another try.” “What are you doing?”

“Did you really just throw in my spot and try to catch my dang fish?”

Laughter all around as the anglers continue their quest.

But then the cork is buried under the surface ss soon as the bait hits the water.

That big ol’ bream was just by that big cypress stump laying in wait for the offering.

The fishing line sings a song like none other as it traces across the water

And the bream pole is doing a dance in my hands.

Zippity, zip, whish, zip, splash, ziiippppp, “Get him in the dang boat!”

Whish, zip, splash! “Get out from that brush pile!” Ziiippp, zip, zippity.

“Catch that line when it comes by you if you can!” “I can’t get my hands on it!”

“Goodness, gracious! Do you see the size of that red-breast?” 

“Now that is the ones we have been looking for!”  “Biggest one of the day by far!”

“When are you going to start helping to catch some real fish like this one?”

Fish is finally in the boat, lines rebaited and cast again in anticipation.

“Where there is one like that, there are probably some more.”

“Exactly where did you throw when you caught that ol’ big ‘un?”

“You was on the boat and saw it for yourself!”

“Are you seriously going to fish in my spot?”

“Dang right, I am. There ain’t no law against stealing fishing spots!”

“We have floated away from the spot where I caught that one.”

“Turn this boat around!” Do I need to help you run that trolling motor?”

“I thought you were a fisherman.” “Do you need me to bait your hook, too?”

The birds sing their songs, the gentle currents take us along the creek

As we continue our search for the next big ‘un to put in the boat.

The banter and bull between friends keeps coming at a steady pace

With briefs lapses as the corks bob and dip beneath the surface

Hoping with each flip of the wrist to land another one worthy of a picture.