Sunday, August 28, 2011
Sunday morning heathens and hicks.
Personally, I don't think I should have to go to hell. I mean, I've devoted my professional life to helping kids and their families; shouldn't that count for something? But whatever, I'll deal with it when the time comes. I bet there's decent fishing in hell. But there's gonna be a catch to it, like we'll only have access to really old tippett materials. Whatever.
I fished Smith Lake today. Smith Lake was put there by God for all the local white trash fisherman to fish from the two docks. White trash have never been told that voices carry very well over water, and so from my boat, I get to hear every stupid thought, every chain-smoking cough and phlegm, and every curse and threat they offer their children. But what I like most about Smith Lake is that the majority of pike hole up about 50 yards from the White Trash piers, just out of reach of the Neanderthal piscators. And so I can catch fish all day in front of them and listen as they whine about me "letting another fukkin' fish go goddamit!" as if I were playing for the enemy. It's pretty fun.
My largest fish today had a foot of steel leader coming straight out of his stomach. Obviously he had broken someone off, a bait fisherman, but his stomach had swollen up around the hook and had closed off like a sphincter. Although he was still trying to eat my yellow bunny, this fish was gonna die, so I killed it and gave it to a redneck on the dock. He wasn't catching anything and he looked hungry. Might as well take pity on him, he's going to hell, too.