Why I Love Fishing

Dawn. I am alone on the boat ramp as I push my kayak into the water. I glide away with barely a sound and onto the lake that is like a mirror laid down in the middle of the Sonoran desert. Around me huge saguaro loom right above the water's edge and their image lies below me as I stroke quietly away from the last of civilization. Only the sound of the small birds singing in the cactus thorns and the slight splash of my paddles reach my ear this early in the morning. I am completely alone in this desert paradise...

I'd studied the lake from Google Earth the night before so I know the best fishing bet is a series of coves and inlets located on the other side of the lake. I waste no time digging in and paddling hard for the other shore. It's a good workout and a fine way to start the day and get the blood pumping before the action of actually catching fish. I push into the paddling and within 20 minutes I am clear across the lake and sliding into a small cove. I put up the paddle and drift silently as I ready my rod and reel, pour myself a cup of coffee from the thermos, and made my first cast into the glassy waters--

And my first snag of the day. I yank and tug on the snag and finally have to put my rod away and paddle back towards the snag,. The water is crystal clear and I can see a shallow ridge below me and, yes, an old tire that my lure is hung up on. I drift by the snag, get my rod back out of the holster and tug and pull some more.

Snap.

My line breaks. @#$%! That was an $8 dollar lure! Not a good beginning--- no wait. There it is. Free of the line, it has floated back to the surface. This is good. A much better omen. I paddle over to scoop up my lure, still holding my rod—and it separates. The two halves come apart when I bend over to pick up the lure and the top half of the rod slides into the water. And sinks. With no lure on the end of the end, there is nothing to hold it and it slowly drifts to the bottom of the lake. @#$%! That is my favorite, most expensive rod! You've got to be kidding me!

I look down. The water there is crystal clear and I can see my rod lying on the bottom about six feet down. I briefly contemplate diving in but the combination of the cool water temp, my current attire of flannel shirt and denim shorts and the actual effort of exiting and entering a loaded kayak quickly rules out that option. But, maybe if I can reach it with end of my paddle and coax it further up the ridge where it is shallow... I get my paddle in a upright position, spilling my coffee in the process, and find I can barely reach the rod with the end of my paddle. Trying to see through six feet of water and aim the paddle accurately proves difficult, however. I barely manage to touch it once and maybe move the end of the rod an inch before I drift out of range. I try to alternate between paddling and probing while spinning around in circles. My vision is starting to play tricks on me and the whole thing is becoming very trippy. I am getting dizzy and a little seasick.

Finally I spin away and lose sight of the rod completely. I circle around in the kayak looking for it, staring into the water until I'm dizzy again until... There it is. The rod is still lying on the bottom. I start the process all over again only this time manage to kick up enough muck on the bottom to obscure everything. Again, I eventually drift away and lose sight of my rod. Okay, only about 45 minutes of wasted prime fishing time. On to Plan B. Time to break out the spare rod...

Which is in the truck on the other side of the lake.

Oh well, time for another workout. I lean into the paddle and in another 25 minutes am back to the boat ramp. The ramp is now starting to get busy as the bass boats are backing in left and right. So much for my early start and fishing advantage. I leap out of the kayak, run up the boat ramp, jog down the parking lot to my truck and suddenly remember that my keys are in the dry bag still in the kayak. I jog back out of the parking lot, back down the boat ramp and fish the dry bag out of the bow of my kayak and return to the truck. I get my spare rod and return back to the kayak.

Back across the lake. A stiff breeze is now blowing against me so it takes another 35 minutes to take it back to the area I was at before. Bad luck area, I decide so I paddle on to the next cove. After 10 more minutes paddling, I find another beautiful little cove--crystal clear water and a nice shelter from the breeze. Yeah, perfect. I pour another cup of coffee. I fix a new lure to my new rod, reach back to make a cast and...

Apparently while a-fixing the reel to the new rod I'd accidentally flicked the reverse lever. The result was a flying tangle of backlash line that spaghetti-s into my lap and hooks the lure into the tow strap on the front of the kayak. @#$%!!! I reach for my knife, knocking over my coffee again and hack away at the line. Stringing a fishing rod is a pretty straight forward process on dry land. It's even fairly easy standing on a boat. In a kayak, in a sitting position where you cannot reach the end of the rod, and with waves rocking you back and forth, however, it's a bit of a... process. Finally after three or four attempts, I manage to string the rod. I decide to ignore the lure embedded in my bow (I'll extract it later) and put a new one on. Except... I don't have any more swivels. The only one I brought is attached to the lure in the bow handle. Nothing to do but paddle ashore, get out, tug and pull my lure from the strap, get back in and shove off once again.

Okay, time to get serious. Now I am ready to do some real fishing. I paddle out to a promising point, and with a brief prayer to the fish gods, give another cast. And another and another. I fish for another ten minutes with nothing happening and then... FISH ON! I set the hook hard and begin reeling furiously, only to realize after two or three minutes that the fish isn't moving. @#$% ! Another snag. Swearing like a sailor, I reel myself angrily toward the snag not bothering with paddles. I get over the snag and yank angrily at the the obstruction whatever it is. Finally out of sheer brute strangth, it breaks free and I reel in. I decide I need a different, more snag friendly, lure. As I go to swap them out, however, I notice that I have managed to mangle my one good swivel. The little catch that holds the pin in place has come loose and is sliding up and down--effectively making it unfasten-able. @#$% piece of Chinese shit!

I could go without a swivel but that would severely limit my lure choice. Many of the lures I've brought just don't have the same action without a swivel. So I get out a pair of needle nose pliers and attempt an on-board repair. If attempting to string a fishing rod on a rocking kayak is a challenge—try bending a hair-sized strand of wire to a piece of metal the size of a dime. Of course in the process I manage to pinch the lip of skin between my thumb and forefinger which begins to bleed copiously. Now the bottom of the kayak is covered in dirty water, coffee, about 10 yards of twisted mono filament--and blood. No problem. I have duct tape. I am busy bandaging my hand so I don't notice the wind beginning to pick up and starting to generate some larger waves that are pushing me towards shore. Until, of course, the moment when a wave knocks me into a large rock and almost throws me over. Only through quick reflexes and a keen sense of balance do I manage to stay upright. My tackle box, which was open on the dashboard in front of me, however, was not so fortunate. It goes over the side spilling the entire contents into the water. @#$%!!!

I leap out into knee deep water and attempt to pick as many of my lures, hooks, sinkers and jigs as I can out of the water. Meanwhile the waves are still pushing the kayak slamming it repeatedly into my shins while I frantically salvage expensive @#$% fishing gear. Of course while I'm plucking my shit out of the drink, my rod and reel slips in. While I'm retrieving my rod and reel, my paddle falls in and,

somehow defying the laws of physics, it drifts away from shore. I have to stop what I'm doing and half wade, half swim to get my paddle back. Meanwhile the waves have flipped my kayak over and it is filling with water. Disgusted, pissed, still swearing like mad, I drag everything ashore. Turn the kayak over. Empty the water filled tackle box. Line the lures I could recover on a rock to let them dry. Wring out my flannel shirt. Take a deep breath. Try to get myself together.

Okay. I'm better now. While everything’s drying out, I've got some time to kill. Might as well do a little shore fishing. Way less complicated than trying to do it from the cockpit of a kayak anyhow. It'll relax me, get me back in the zone... I set everything up again (forgoing the swivel) and put on my lucky lure. I make a couple casts from shore and---

Sure enough I snag out, break the line and lose my lucky lure.

I drop the rod and reel. Pick up the coffee thermos and shake it to determine it's empty. I look at my watch. 8:35 am. I walk to my cooler and open a beer.

I'm sure the fishing will be better this afternoon anyway.