The moon was high and the tide was low as I returned to the marsh after a lost weekend of fevers and aches. Summer flu, I curse your eyes. Bait was everywhere and an owl called from a nearby tree as I launched in the darkness. I recognized the tone of his ominous hoot and knew immediately I was in for a tough day of many tests and unforeseen hardships. But in the spirit of our forefathers who fought bravely and with manly pony tails for freedom from oppression, I cinched up my wading booties and paddled into the dark, foreboding marsh to seek for tails and glory. Almost immediately, I spotted crawlers on the mud banks. My nemesis! Singles and pairs and all of them spooky and uninterested in soft plastics or flies. For those who haven't seen them in all their elusive mystery, I took this photo:
The owl's warning of doom reverberated in my mind as I launched a cast with my topwater and heard the line snap. I watched it sail into the barely lit sky and made note of where it landed. Fortunately, I was able to retrieve it and retie with a new knot, and show it to some fish, who blew up at it, but refused to eat. Switching to plastic, and the first cast, POW. Line snapped, sending it sailing into the marsh where it will forever be entombed. Rerig and look for more fish. Many hours passed as I stalked creepy crawlers to no avail. They avoided my hooks like a hippy avoids soap, frantically and loudly. About this time, I realized my high tech measuring board had slid off the kayak and into the dismal muck of the marsh. Disappointed, but not defeated, I penetrated deeper into the squishy, sloppy underbelly of the marsh, determined to bring a Redfish to hand. The crabs had other plans.
It was all making sense. The owl's mournful warning, the broken lines, unhappy fish, lost board...Marsh Witches!
Had to be. No other explanation.
Tired, hot, and fishless, I began to think of heading home. Some days just aren't meant to be. Could this really be it? Don't you, the readers and members of TKF, expect and deserve more from your fellow anglers? Of course you do! And with this fire ignited in my ganglia, I plowed ahead to do what I came here to do. Marsh witches be damned. Striking out for a deeper gut, I was making this my final attack. Paddling with the fierce determination, I came around a bend in the channel and was face to face with a huge push of redfish heading right for me. One cast, one eat, one sigh of relief.
Deeper channels were immune to the workings of the witches and happy fish were here in abundance. A few minutes later, and another push of reds came towards me. Again I let fly the plastic and again I brought honor to the H&H Cocahoe (just one of many companies who do not sponsor me, for I am sponsorless and therefore betrothed to no man or corporation).
Touched by my assurance of a speedy and safe release, the fish wiggled his little finger in appreciation.
We parted ways and I began the grueling paddle back to the beginning. Hopefully you'll avoid the Marsh Witches and catch some nice fish over the holiday too.
