Sometimes I wind up staying late into the day, and it's been my longstanding policy to haul butt at the very first sound of thunder.
One day last week, however, when the growlers started rolling in from the east coast, I made a few more casts (OK, OK, maybe a LOT more), THEN headed back down the 'Cooch. But by the time I had reached the US41 bridge, there was a pretty intense one bearing down fast on the launch site, and the strikes were getting close. So I had two options: haul out at the launch -- directly next to the bridge, right next to an aluminum floating dock and directly under a gigantic oak; or anchor up under the bridge itself (108 feet wide, solid concrete, pretty low overhead, and a forest of concrete pilings). So I got in the shallows midway under the south side of the bridge, with a row of pilings between me and the two main channels (in case some rain-blinded bassboat jockey was making for the launch in his rocket sled), took the spare rods out of the vertical rod holders behind me and laid them down in the boat, switched on the C-light and anchored up on a short rode.
I picked up a 5-foot ultralight spinner and started sequentially working the gaps between the nearest row of pilings with a Rapala Original Floating Minnow (F05S, for you sticklers). Third gap in drew a vicious strike from a (roughly) two-pounder who promptly (a) did an excellent impersonation of a tailwalking meth freak, and (b) spit the crushed-barb trebles right back at me. I have to give him an A+ for timing. For those of you who have never had the simultaneous pleasure of tiny trebles whistling at your head at the exact same moment when the world turns electric blue and God sets off a garbage-can-sized concussion grenade nearby, my dear old daddy used to describe the feeling as: "You couldn't have driven a hatpin up my ass with a sledgehammer." That ol' boy could turn a phrase.
Judging from the skidding tires on the lanes overhead (and a few interestingly-strung-together and not entirely unappreciative oaths heard to waft shortly thereafter from the tin-roofed marina nearby), it was properly appreciated by mariners and landlubbers alike.
The reason I mention all this, is as a modest (though admittedly anecdotal) contribution to The Compendium of All Kayakfishing Safety Syllogisms: "Well, just one more cast!" is not necessarily compatible with "It's time to get out of Dodge!"
[small]Also, Rik said we should post more.[/small]
Love,
Ol' Sarge
____________________
Sent from Linux using my fingers.
