The sun became a fiery ball, bleeding pink into the clouds as it dipped closer to the horizon. Our boat glided silently across the tranquil lake. The evening was as relaxing as a double martini, and far healthier. The muted music of distant birds and the sounds our lures made when they struck the water were the only noise; the air was fresh and laced with the perfume of a recent rain. I cast in the direction of some lily pads. Paul snapped his pole upward. “I’ve got one!” he said.

I rapidly reeled in my line so it wouldn’t be in the way of his. Holding my breath, I peered into the depths, trying to grab a glimpse of the bass. I couldn’t believe his size when he finally swam into view.

I’ll backtrack a bit. Lake County, where we live, has LOTS of lakes, and we’re lucky enough to live beside one.  It’s brim-full of fish. We can fish from our dock, or from the community one just down the street, but since we own a tiny Jon-boat with a trolling motor we usually take that out if we’re inclined to try and hook something.

I didn’t catch anything. We met a man fishing from the dock with his grand daughter who caught a nice bass, though. Paul landed his, too. How big was it? I’ve included his picture, so you can see for yourself!