Rekindling a passion

I can recall, back in the day, when I had my kayak on the water at least two times a week throughout the summer months.

It was the perfect scenario. With a little luck, the fish would be biting. But if not, that was fine, too. I was perfectly OK with quietly paddling along a mountain-fed river and occasionally bailing out of the craft to cool myself in her waters.

But I suppose we’re all victims of change. And I certainly am no different. Circumstances and responsibilities demand a change in priorities, and before we know it, some of the activities that we once adored no longer take precedence.

Well, that’s exactly what I have experienced. The amount of time I have spent in my kayak during the past several months has been minimal. In fact, she has remained idle, in my boat shed, for more than a year.

Well, I recently decided it was time to knock the dust from my craft and make time to get back on the water. It mattered not if the temperature hovered around the century mark. The river I planned to float was small and secluded under a canopy of overhanging trees, and if the heat became too unbearable, I would resort to the tactic that was tried and tested — I’d simply bail out into the water.

Well, as it turned out I had no reason to seek relief from the intense heat as thunderheads began to build up just before I arrived at my destination, providing refuge from the sun. In fact, distant rumbles of thunder slowly approached, and a light rain eventually began to fall.

So did I return and seek shelter at my truck upon the arrival of the shower? Most certainly not. If for no other reason, the light rain was refreshing. But I also had a hunch that the change in weather might be exactly what it took to send the fish into a feeding frenzy.

Sure enough, I managed to tie into my first fish of the afternoon within a few casts. Although, the floating worm was practically as long as my catch, I had high hopes that the fish’s response was an indication of what might lie ahead.

Well, it didn’t take long to conclude that my hunch was right. Just about every cast in the vicinity of submerged cover was answered with a hit. And although the first few fish were hardly large enough to get the hook in their mouths, they became noticeably larger as I slowly navigated the craft into deeper water.

In fact, I can recall one largemouth in particular that put my lightweight line to the test. Nearing a huge partially submerged log that had consistently held fish throughout the years, I cast within inches of the structure and focused on my line, as the floating worm slowly sank into the depths.

Ever-so-gently twitching the rod tip, I slowly pulled the slack from the line and the worm toward the surface. Allowing the soft plastic to drop again, I got a good foothold, as the line suddenly began cutting across the water’s surface. Once confident the fish had the lure in her mouth, I set the hook, and the fight was on.

I immediately began to question my decision to bring along a lightweight rod and reel combo when the fish made a mad dash for deeper water and drug the front of the kayak in the direction she was traveling.

I did find a sense of comfort in knowing that I had recently strung new line on the reel, but I was also acutely aware that my chances of landing this beauty were practically non-existent if it made it to the large colony of lily pads that were in the exact direction she was traveling.

Fortunately, I managed to turn the fish before it reached the heavy cover, and after a valiant fight, it finally began to tire. Carefully working the fish in the direction of the boat, I was somewhat surprised when it finally came to the surface.

Sure, it was a reputable fish, but it was not remotely as large as I had imagined. But that was OK, as it had certainly lent to an exciting fight. But most importantly, it had rekindled a passion that I had unsuspectingly allowed to grow dormant throughout the past few years.