Long about mid-September, when the leaves begin to dull and the air turns cool at night, that’s when the salmon begin to bite. My fishin’ buddy Aaron and I head to a river in Michigan and I’ll withhold the details because, well, we’re fishermen.
We reach our old fishin’ hole right at dawn in hopes that this year’s salmon run will be on. As my spoon hit the rippling water I yell “fish on” and tell Aaron to bring the net. I just won the first fish bet.
Within an hour we had three in the cooler; by the end of the day it would be fuller. I was one up on Aaron when the mishap took place. While netting his second fish I fell on my face. Dripping from head to toe, I laid my clothes in the sun — all but my boxers — as Aaron poked fun. Not to worry, we’d rarely seen another soul on this stream.
In all the commotion my pole had broken. I had my back-up rigged before a word was spoken. Suddenly I had a big one biting. I knew my new rig couldn’t handle the fight’n. Fifteen to 20 minutes or better Aaron yelled “fish on” we had our selves a double header.
Struggling to get our fine catch ashore, I heard several voices, maybe more. I spotted several kayakers coming downstream. Aaron looked at me with a laughing gleam. I looked at my clothes laying on that log and felt the tension of the line as I fought that hog.
I wasn’t about to set down my rod even to cover my half-naked bod. I looked at that fish thrash’n and swimm’n; then jerked in surprise, those paddlers were women! Those ladies looked over, their eyes were wide, Aaron and I laughed ‘til we cried.
We landed both 18-pound fish with no more slips. This would go down as a great fishing trip! So the fishing advice I’ve got for you — bring the spare rod and the spare clothes, too.