Battles of a Weekend Warrior

[Reef Runner]

Rising with the sun, eager to get ahead of the hordes, the weekend warrior loads up his trusty multi-horse carriage and embarks on march due North: Battlefield Kawarthas. Many before him arrived upon its shores only to vanquish in humiliation, sunburn, lures lost and skunk. Keeping an eye on the horizon, tactics and strategy enter the warrior's mind in quiet contemplation. He is riding solo; absent a companion, and more importantly, a fearless netman. The sound of rubber hitting pavement beneath him, our knight gallups forth towards uncertain destiny.

 

Arriving early, the battlefeild is eeriely quiet. A bird fills the air with song as mist rises from the calm waters. The warrior tends to his vessel, ensures there are the proper safety outfittings and enough fuel to satisfy his imagination of the struggle to come. He already notices the conditions favour his adversary; the basin is choked in weed growth allowing for ambush with guerilla force upon on an unsuspecting firetiger J-9. The sun is high; the first cast is made: a quick strike and the predator dives for cover. Soon the pawn is captured, released to spread word of their impending overthrow.

 

Signals intelligence reports of 60-65F water temps; the sonar bleeps loudly to alert the presence of a cruiser. A white/chartruese spinnerbait is launched into the underlying brush, cutting through the hydrophoil at breakneck speed. Suddenly the bait stops, aware it is being followed, a cautiously creeps forward. SMASH! it is devoured by a toothy esox, the fight ensues;

And finally it is subdued:

 

Losing light, the battlefeild stirs. Combatants are breaking surface all around the warrior. Patiently, he chooses his battles carefully. The same firetiger J-9, scarred from battles previous, is deployed into the abyss. Grazing the tops of underwater forest, the bait exploits looking as if it is succumbing to his wounds. Foolishly, a crappie grabs hold of the decorative decoy.

 

Some battles have been won, some lost, as the sun sets on the first eve of war.

 

Day arrives and our warrior is back in the midst of battle. The enemy is slow to engage, perhaps it has wisend up to our hero's tactics. Relentless, the warrior casts, knowing what administrative hell is awating for him in the days ahead. A TUG on the xrap? pause, pause.....jerk, pause, WHAMMO!

 

At this point our hero is exhausted, sunburned and experiencing mild sun stroke; he is undettered. The epic battle still alludes our lone-lure washer. The hours are drawing down, the OOS Bass seem to populate the depths. With grit and determination, the weekend warrior lets out a final cast on his J-13. Crank, crank...CRASH. As the drag, set loosely, peels from the Abu 6501 C3, the hooked beast goes airborne clearing the surface. It rolls and dances underneath the vessel, nearly missing getting hung up on the prop. Our soloist struggles and directs the catch into the net and is satisfied that the battle has been won.

 

And he rode back into town; sun at his back, head held high, until next next weekend...

 

Reefrunner

[jediangler]

Very poetic report .Great pics too. I'm just sad to see pike caught in the Kawarthas. I have heard stories of them being west of Balsam lake. Is that where you were fishing?

[johnnyb]

You were totally writing that report in your head all weekend, weren't you? Fun read..nice to see some fish

[highdrifter]

Excellent prose to go with my evening Brandy.. Very piscatorial!!

 

Do I detect a little Updike influence?!

 

cheers

HD