Mr. Almost

The fly line entangled in some shoreline debris and I looked down to yank it free, and at that moment a green shape chose to cut through the water to my popper. I had no tension on the line so I watched its fat profile surge and descend on the popper, create a brief interlude of chaos and disappear.

The excessively corpulent type of largemouth, the kind that would give FLW types arrhythmia, has eluded me for 12 years, ever since a memorable encounter on a small lake in Michigan. Since then I’ve had to settle for the small to decent to merely large.

The near misses are haunting.

In the end it gets added to the personal rolodex of frustration, along with the monster snook that broke free on the jump, the convincingly stuck tarpon that did the same, the bluefin tuna that spit the hook boat-side and the striped bass that straightened the hook before you even saw it.


It can reduce your evening to a good walk and and some attempted pictures of wading birds.

6 thoughts on “Mr. Almost”

  1. “personal rolodex of frustration”…I hear you on that. And the cards in mine seem to be overflowing. Beautiful heron…not a bad thing to be reduced to. Not a bad thing at all.

    1. I couldn’t get a good picture but the strange thing was how at every stop along the shoreline, turtles would pop up to–it seemed like–check me out. That wasn’t a bad thing either.

  2. Just reading this fills me with an abnormal amount of tension; You know, that kind of nervous, bubbling shake that starts in your gut and emerges as a sickening, guttural noise that makes people in close proximity turn away and speak in hushed tones about how “that guy has issues.”

    Losing good fish is like dying, but worse because you get to live to remember.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s