First Day Fishing

July 1, 8:59 p.m.

Whip…swiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssshhhh…splash!

My white jitterbug hits the water.

It is my first cast of 2008. I begin reeling in, taking my time, enjoying the wobble, the bubbling splash of the lure; hoping for a strike but not holding my breath. If you’re me, you never hold your breath waiting for a fish to hit. You’d die of asphyxiation. Still, one can hope. Hoping is a harmless pastime, and we all need harmless pastimes, particularly me when I’m waiting for a strike.

Whip…swiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssshhhhh…splash!

My second cast lands near the lily pads. I’m standing on the east bank of the Flat River in Lowell, a couple hundred yards up from the famous Showboat, casting toward the middle of the river. My Shimano Stradic spins out the Spiderwire like it’s made of silk and greased with the nose oil of a butterfly. My setup makes it easy for me to cast 100 feet—and since I don’t catch fish, I go for distance.

Feels good. Yep, feels good to finally chuck a lure out into the water. And this time of day, half an hour before sundown, is the time for topwater fishing, my favorite.

I make a few more casts with the Jitterbug, then switch to a speckled brown Pop-R. I change lures the way a fashion model changes shoes. If a lure doesn’t work after a few minutes of casting…on to the next. I’m impulsive and unscientific in this respect, being guided mainly by one simple bit of logic: if I’m not catching fish with the lure I’m using, I’ll move on to the next lure and not catch fish with it. That way, all my favorite lures get a chance to not catch fish.

This little Pop-R here, though, has one of the better track records among my lures. I toss it out into the river, let it sit a few seconds, then give it a twitch. Sploot! Reel in a little line…twitch again…sploot! And so it goes till I’ve retrieved the lure.

Where to cast next? Hmmm…think I’ll try over there.

Whip…swiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssshhhhh…splash!…WHAM!

Huh? A bass has just hit my lure! I jerk my pole upward to set the hook—there’s nothing elegant about my technique—but my reflexes are too slow, and the bass is gone. He never really took the lure in the first place.

But that’s okay. I didn’t come out here this evening with high expectations. I’ve just wanted to finally inaugurate my 2008 fishing season. Fishing isn’t all about fish anyway, not for me. It’s also about a lovely sunset casting melon- and butter-colored reflections on the water. It’s about the feel of the summer air, and the dance of pearl and indigo wavelets, and the wink of lights flickering on along the shoreline like gems in a glittering necklace as twilight deepens into night.

Michigan is blessed with an abundance of water. It’s a sportsman’s paradise and a fisherman’s dream—a place where even a guy like me, endowed with a wealth of fishing ignorance, has his moments. And the moments are good ones, the stuff of memories, good indeed.