As winter’s grip on Indiana has lessened over the weekend, the jumble of thoughts in my head focused on one single truth. The are lots of one single truths out there but this one is the one single truth for the moment. Musky and pike and all other sorts of predator fish are waiting to eat helpless ducks, mice, and stunned or dying fish on top of the water. I want to throw something to them that will make them eat top water. I need that fix. I need to see that blow up, that watery explosion of awesome power and stunning violence that causes you to have a primal reaction at the top of your lungs. It’s a wordless noise that comes from deep inside and is exulted as loudly as you can make it leave your body. It’s as close as I’ll come to a religious experience. I’ve heard heroin addicts describe chasing that high and I can relate, minus the unhealthy part involving needles in veins. It’s been 4 months since I last saw a top water eat from a musky. I relive it daily and that feeling, that rush, it comes back weaker and weaker. I have an unhealthy addiction and I know it. The good thing is it only hurts me and even then it’s only mentally as the long winter months drone on. Okay, it might hurt the poor bastard who has to listen to me ramble on about my dislike of cold and hatred of all things ice fishing. Dear spring, if you could, would you mind hurrying up?
I only sorta kid about that ice fishing thing. I don’t need excuses to drink.