Oxbow Lake Fishing

What a day! Even now, after dinner, my hands still tremble with excitement. The fishing was good, not great. But, more importantly, lady luck is on my side once again! It’s as if Fate has altered her course just for me; some girls just know how to make a guy feel special. I’m on my balcony, looking at the trees, the ones that obscure my view, and realize I’m building a life –or, rather, a dream – that’s unparalleled in quality. Fantastic, utterly fantastic! After a final, pensive stare, I go inside, closing the door, my hands shaking now in response to the cold. It’s time for sleep. Lying in my king-sized bed, unaccompanied and unencumbered, I’ve almost forgotten how the day began.

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I do what I’ve been doing every day: first I make breakfast; then I work on my blogs; then I prepare my gear; then I go fishing. Today I’m going to Oxbow Lake. Having had some success on Dotty Lake yesterday, I decide to focus exclusively on lake trout. I spool one of my spinning reels with 8 lb. braided line, tie on a three-way swivel, and then use 8 lb. fluorocarbon for my leaders. Yesterday, my day was cut short because of a snag which cost me line, sinkers and a lure. Today, anticipating the worst, I throw in a second spinning rod spooled with 10 lb. mono which, even though it isn’t ideal, will do the trick if called into action.

I head for the eastern arm of the lake. Once there, I begin my trolling route, heading south, 100 yards or so from the western shoreline. I’m using a dressed silver Mepps Aglia #3 spinner. Fairly quickly, even without the use of electronics, I learn that this part of the lake isn’t very deep. But I figure I may as well keep my lure in the water anyways. Soon after, my strategy pays off. It feels like a decent fish – or, at least, it doesn’t fight like the kind of lake trout common to these waters. As it nears the surface, I realize that I’ve been trolling near a shoal, and I’ve hooked a decent-sized bass. Not what I was looking for, but I’ll take it!

Seeing some cliffs in the south-eastern part of the lake, I decide to focus there, since it mustbe deeper. It is, in fact, deeper, so I make a few passes. I start relatively close to shore; then I move towards the middle of the lake; then I move in closer again. I start with the silver Mepps Aglia #3; then I try a gold Williams Wabler; and finally I put on a copper and orange dressed Mepps Aglia #5, which I use for the rest of the day. No luck near the cliffs. The wind picks up; I'm getting tired. After a few more minutes, I decide to call it a day, and start paddling, lure still in the water, towards the boat launch on the lake’s western arm.

As I’m paddling back, I hit a very shallow, rocky area off of a point. Every few strokes I need to keep reeling up my line so the weights don’t snag. I feel like I barely have any line out and I’m still hitting the bottom, so I move to reel up some more when something absolutely annihilates my spinner. My mind races, and I debate whether I have time to turn on my camera. The fish makes that decision for me, as, almost immediately, it starts jumping madly, and I’m forced to focus only on my rod. I fumble around for my net and, luckily, it jumps straight into my snare. What a beautiful smallmouth! Not the longest, but certainly a fat one. It hit the lure so hard there was no way it was getting unhooked. Looks like I should’ve been chuckin’ blades today! My day of lake trout fishing has turned into my best bass fishing day since moving to Huntsville.

The day ends with its usual elation. With my window open, I turn left onto Limberlost road, a route that’s now rather familiar to me. The sun, occasionally blinding me as I’m following a curvy path at 80km/h, shines brightly, illuminating the homes and fields to the east. How fortunate I am to live in a place like this! I imagine what it will look like in a few months, covered in snow, and whether, at that time, someone, playing with friends in that same, pure, medium, will still think of me as special, or whether I’ll be frost-bitten, and bitterly alone in body and in spirit. But right now, I’m smiling, knowing that I’ll never allow myself to succumb to such a Fate. I nod at a man walking his dog, and speed up when I get on Highway 60.

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I wake up, but I don’t want to get out of bed. It’s cooled down considerably in the last week; but it’s so warm here between the sheets. I don’t want to get out of bed. I want to close my eyes. I want to forget what happened last night. I hate these unsaid, sad goodbyes. I asked only to glimpse inside a window, to see from afar a painting that, in all honesty, I want to hang on the wall in my bedroom. But that pane has been obscured, frosted by conscience, and so I’ve lost my vision and, for all intents and purposes, I’ve also lost someone special, someone fantastic, utterly fantastic. How can you be friends with someone with whom you can’t converse? But it's all out of my hands; it always was, just as her position was always infinitely more difficult, more painful, and rife with regret's potential. I ruminate: did I remain mute, as I’d like to think, in the name of morality? Or did I restrain myself because I knew the price of love, either my dream or hers, was too steep? Whatever, just get your ass out of bed, I tell myself: you’ve got a date with Oxbow Lake today.

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