I went bass fishing with my dad often at night and wanted to write a short story to describe what the experience is like--the following is that offering.
I backed the sleek bass boat down the narrow ramp into the ebony stillness of the lake,and the sudden displacement of water by fiberglass and steel,sent a surge of waves rolling out into the darkness.These waves would meet their deminished demise lapping up against the distant shore.
The powerful Evinrude outboard roared to life,and this sudden violation of what had been a tranquill moment sent a flock of ducks into a panic and the flutter of their wings and race to gain flight was clearly heard from a darkened region of the lake. There was a whisp of white smoke from the motors exhaust--which hung suspended for a moment in time and then was whisked away by the soft night breeze.The Sling Shot Bass boat slid easily from the trailer and rested comfortably upon the black satin plain,the mysterious sable depths below and the star and moonlit heavens above.
We knew the lake well by day but with the setting sun and ensuing darkness,came an air of mystery that stirred the imagination.
The canal to our left was shrouded in a veil of fog--this scenic pathway to another lake now a twisting highway into a blackened void.
The familiar landmarks and terrain along shore now were reduced to shadows peppered by points of light.The light bulb which lit the ramp area was nearly obscured by a swarm of insects, attracted by its luminous beckoning and warm radiance.
The pounding beat of rock and roll could be heard from a lively party somewhere across the lake, an oldie that stirred memories of younger days.
We moved away from the ramp area to the strains of " The Little Old Lady from Passadena",the rythmic slap of water on the bow kept time,and a moonlit pathway lay before us.The music whailed,go granny,go granny go,the motor whined,the bow rose in the air,hesitated a moment then settled down,rose briefly one more time as the motor gorged itself on fuel and in a burst of power the boat hugged the mirrored surface and we were screaming across the lake at 50 m.p.h the sounds of rock and roll obliviated by a cresendo of noise from the maxed out motor and the sound of water as it shed itself from fiberglass.The sudden rush of wind caused tears to well in the eyes,the deafening roar of the motor carried on the wind and through the water,turtles dove for the bottom,bait fish scattered in every direction and fish leaped from the water in a race to escape the speedy predator that had entered their realm, a predator bearing gifts,tantalizing lures to entice the wary and also a predator pocessing keen electronic eyesight,capable of penetrating the ink hued aquatic regions,revealing the mountains,caynons and plains and the fish that lived there.
We crossed the lake to within a few hundred feet of the shore,turned off the motor and began to stalk our prey,the more quiet hum of the trolling motor propelled us through grass beds as we cast our fishing lines toward shore presenting artifical worms toward appealing spots just visible in the moonlight.
The driving beat of rock and roll again pierced the evening solitude,War,what is it good for?,Absolutely Nothing!,say it again,War,and below the plain where light diminishes and mans unaided eyes cannot see,the creatures in the watery hidden shadows fed on the weak,the carnage imaged only by the limits of our own imaginations.Without clear vision you focus on sounds , a crash in the grass near shore, a sudden swirl of water, as larger faster life consumes smaller slower morsels--the survival of the fittest a never ending drama--above and below the the waves.-----more later