Alex Broening – Casting in Maine
Casting in Maine
One day at Webs Pond, Maine our canoe was cutting smoothly through the flat icy water towards the shore. “Papa?” I asked as we came closer to the dock. “Can I cast off the dock when we get back?”
“Okay,” he answered.
Still we drew closer, paddles passing effortlessly through the water making whirlpools along the way. After what seemed like an eternity, I grabbed the post and pulled us in.
Maxie and Papa went up to the house to change while I stayed down to cast. The silence of the forest on this side of the lake deafened me. A voice echoed across the lake as if calling something. I turned away to get ready to cast.
I love casting. It makes the most wonderful shrill screaming and then a plunk as the worm is swallowed up by the water. “That was a good cast,” I thought as the cork handle grew sweaty under my palms and I wondered if I would ever catch something.
As I started to real in I felt a small tug on the line. I jerked back the line to hook the fish. I started to reel faster and with more energy.
Up came the fish so fast I only saw a gleam reflecting off its scales before it came to rest silvery in the dying light.
“Papa!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. I waited. I yelled again louder than before. This time he came, stepping silently on the fallen pine needles covering the path down to the dock. “Yes?” he questioned. Then he saw the fish dangling on the end of the rod. “What is it?” I asked. “I believe it is a baby bass,” he responded.