Topwater Time

This is the time of day I love—this time right around sundown when the lake waters turn to glass, and the forested shoreline, gilded by the sun’s failing rays, glows gold against shadow-green before deepening into the twilight.

It is topwater time. Magic time.

I am standing on the shore of Hall Lake in the Yankee Springs Recreational Area, casting my trusty tan-and-white Pop-R into the mirror-smooth water.

In a scattering of small boats, a handful of other fishermen are similarly engaged across the lake. A boat is nice, but on this mellow evening, shore fishing will do just fine for me.

I make a cast, watching the lure as it arcs through the air and splashes down, rippling the mercury-like surface. My fishing line settles down after it, tracing a hair-thin trail over the water. I wait a few seconds, enough time for any nearby bass to make a first play, them begin my retrieve, twitching my pole the way one does with this kind of lure—twitch, sploot!…twitch, sploot!…

If ever there is a time when I’m likely to get a strike, it is now. I do well with topwater fishing, “well” meaning, in my case, that from time to time I actually catch a fish. Other kinds of lures just don’t produce for me. I know, because I own every conceivable kind of lure there is. People mistake my tackle box for a pole barn with a handle on top. Look inside it and you’ll find a galaxy of stickbaits, spinnerbaits, plastic worms and grubs, lures of every size and denomination, all sharing one common characteristic: they repel fish lips. At least, they do in my hands.

My fishing buddy Jack refers to my fishing technique as “dredging.” I find his terminology lacking in refinement. I prefer to think of what I do as “un-fishing.” During most hours of the day, un-fishing is my customary practice, one I have honed to an art form.

But at topwater time, I fish.

Hmmm…the Pop-R isn’t producing. Might be time to try something different. A crankbait, maybe? I try one, make a few casts…mmmph. Nothing.

Okay, a Jitterbug. Yes, time for a Jitterbug, definitely. Topwater time isn’t complete without using one. And, what the heck—let’s just take off the shoes and socks, and gain some yardage out of the fact that I’m wearing shorts.

I wade out into the lake, out to where the water is above my knees. After a few casts, I feel something bump into my leg and something else tickle the top of my right foot. Looks like I have visitors. Small fish are showing up, evidently to investigate the new source of cover that has entered their territory.

Ignoring them, I continue to cast. Time passes. The sun slips below the treeline. The boats are coming in.

The mosquitoes are coming in as well, and they’re setting up drilling operations on my skin as freely as if they’d been granted mineral rights. It’s time to leave. There will be other topwater times this summer, hopefully many of them.

With its abundance of lakes and rivers, Michigan brims with both fish and opportunities to catch them. And topwater time is the great equalizer, when anyone can eventually catch a fish who wants to—even an un-fisherman like me.