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Worst day of fishing still better than best day at work

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I rarely take the time to go fishing during the week. The thought of it seems like to much effort after a long day at the office.

There is generally something that needs to be done around the farm and even if there is not, it is easier to go home, feed the livestock, kick off the shoes and be a bum until it is time to go to bed. It may be easier, but is not the best course of action. Getting out in the fresh air for a few hours of an evening will lift a person's spirit and make them more ready for the next day. Fishing is just the therapy needed.

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Matt has wanted to go fishing since he learned I have a small lake on the farm. Between my schedule and his, we have never been able to make a connection. We happened to both be free last night and decided to take advantage of the opportunity.

Driving down the hill toward the lake, we saw what appeared to be a deer chasing a flock of turkeys. Since deer do not normally chase turkeys, I assumed it was only a coincidence they were all trotting off toward the timber in the same direction at the same time, but it did seem a bit unusual.

The sun was still fairly high in the sky and the temperature was hot so we took our time getting started. We sat in the shade enjoying the sights of rolling green hills and dark green timbers. We were packing the fishing equipment and cooler in the boat when my son, Damon, showed up. He grabbed his rod and jumped into the boat to help. As it turned out, we needed plenty of help. If we had to depend on the fish we caught for our evening meal, we would have gone hungry. It is a good thing Matt brought sandwiches.

The three of us fished and fished hard. We worked the weed beds near shore with spinners, surface plugs and grubs. We tried the structure over the wing dams and back into the stump field. We fished the channel near the island and the deep water in the center.

Damon was going after the big bass with big surface lures in assorted colors. I tried grubs, Mister Twisters for crappie and bluegill. I tried to pull out even a small bass with Hula Poppers, and even a Rapalla. Matt used every type and color of lure he brought. He used Mepps, spoons, and plastic grubs. If there was a hungry fish in the lake, he surely had something it would find attractive.

In several hours, we did not catch even one fish but we had a great time. We laughed, talked and accused each other of being lousy fishermen. We worked the lake from one end to the other. We even discussed the possibility of skiing with a trolling motor since the fish were not biting. As the sun set, the temperature cooled making a very pleasant evening. The bull frogs croaked as two great blue herons fished at the edge of the water. We made a final pass fishing the shoreline near the damn as a deer cautiously made her way toward us to get a drink after a hot day.

I think Matt summed it up best when he said, "The worst day of fishing is still better than the best day at work."

We may not have been successful in catching fish, but we had a good time trying.

Walter Scott is an outdoors enthusiast and freelance writer from Bloomfield, Iowa.

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