Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Da tings ya see ven ya dont got da gun

Out for a little paddle at dusk to procure a crappie fillet or two.  Stealth is required, as the water clarity is pushing twenty three feet. The last stroke is made about 50 yards from the fishing spot so that I silently drift up to the edge of the weed bed. The bottom falls away to forty-three feet deep. A fish inhales the little jig about halfway down, and as I set the hook, my attention goes to a six point buck that clambers down the steep bank and into the water. He hears the crappie splash as it reaches the surface and instantly freezes both body and stare at the old grizzly guy in the little boat. The buck scrambles back uphill and disappears under the lower boughs of a big spruce as the flopping crappie comes unpinned.

I catch and lose a few more fish while listening to the deer bang around in the near shore woods. A rustling of brush or a thrashing of a bush and a few good clacks and whacks for good measure. Action packed. Then some splashing and movement to my right 50 yards farther on. Where the wetland necks down the valley to meet the lake proper. The high cattails obscure the commotion. It is past sunset and too far away. My little camera won't reproduce shit. But hey, I'll take the shot.........

Three bucks single file it across the little wetland neck. Heads above the screening vegetation. First the six pointer that clattered down the hill. Right behind him an eight pointer takes the same line. And then another eight pointer - higher and wider than number two.

Snap snap snap.  Two crappies in the bag. Paddle home. Kiss summer goodbye.

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