and Whiskey Creek, an isolated cove with green fields of native grasses stretching below the dense woods down to the water. With creek music playing in the distance, songbirds twittered in the trees along the shore; 2 ducks quacked as they flew by low over the lake. Fish were jumping all around us. Big fish. A nice bass fell for Don's artificial offering, and for a few moments, the rod had a life of its own, arcing and pulsing. Then, just as it got close to the boat, the fish made a final surge, and snapped the line.
Clouds obscured the sunset, so we made our way home without any fish for the pan or sunset photos, but with something better, our minds cleared from the noise of the day, and a memory of a pleasant evening together tucked away in our hearts.
