April 13, 2024
Splish Splash
When I went to bed last night, I planned on sleeping in, which in my book, was a good use of a Saturday morning. My wife was gone in body, staying at a bed-and-breakfast in Durham, but, apparently, she was with me in spirit. At five o’clock, her alarm began sounding, which woke me, prompting me to open my eyes so I could find the button that would make the sound quit. Opening my eyes was a mistake as my wife’s alarm clock had a light that slowly brightened, which was supposed to wake you gently. By the time I heard the alarm, however, the light was a few shades brighter than the sun. Blinded, I started pushing all the buttons to turn off the light and noise so I could go back to sleep. The light, which was supposed to help wake you, was, unfortunately, very effective. By the time I quieted the clock, the entire ordeal might well have been a smelling salt. My body and brain were tired, but shaken awake.
I woke up, took the dogs out, and started morning chores. The sink had a few dishes from last night’s barbecue, and there was laundry to be washed. After fumbling through my normal routine, I snuck past all four guard dogs and hid under the covers in a dark, quiet room. I woke up an hour later and felt great. I made some coffee, switched out the laundry, and put the chicken wings to marinade in a teriyaki sauce I loved. The second take of the morning felt much more like a weekend.
After a second cup of coffee and time with the dogs, I grabbed my camera, slipped on my boots, and walked into the woods to take some pictures. The sun was up and the light was a little harsh for photography, but I found some shaded areas with softer light and interesting shadows. The feeling of being in the forest on a weekend was unmatched. During the week, there was always a pending end to the fun. In the mornings, I had several hours, but work prep started at eight o’clock, which caused me to check my watch and begin moving toward the house well before that. In the evening, the sky grew dark, and dinner and other nighttime activities were inevitable. But on a weekend morning, I could take my time sauntering through the woods. The feeling was freeing.
After a long morning outdoors, I headed back to the house for more coffee and some lunch. I took a quick break to rest, playing with the dogs, and watching a documentary on the history of human beings. The documentary was interesting and gave a more visceral understanding of how we were born out of nature. In our history, our primate ancestors left the safety of the trees in search of food away from their natural habitat. I wondered if any part of our deeply buried DNA was the reason I felt comfortable, safe, and alive while walking among the trees. This place, for millions of years, was our home. The weather, however, was too pretty to get lost in deep thoughts. I grabbed my fishing gear, bid the dogs farewell, and headed out the door.
The drive to the reservoir was always exciting. The anticipation of being out on the water fishing plastered a smile across my face, while country music blasted through the speakers. When I arrived, I found an empty pier and made my way toward the end. After just a few steps from my car, I noticed the wind was pretty crazy and when I looked at the pier; it was bouncing up and down like a mechanical bull. The high winds made for rough waters. It was going to be one of those days. Onward and forward. This was survival; this was fishing.
The rough water looked a murky olive color from the stirring mud and underwater vegetation. The waves hit the side of the pier with enough force to splash over the edge, covering the pier with water. Despite the rough conditions, the sun was out, and the weather was warm. I was happy to be at the reservoir.
The fishing was slow, probably because of the wind and poor visibility. I felt several bites on my line, but I finished my time out on the water without placing my hands on a single fish. Skunked, as the angler’s saying went. Fish or no fish, battling the wind, being splashed by the waves, and being outdoors at the lake was worth it. It was early in the season and spring fishing was just getting underway.
When I returned home, I walked into the woods with my camera. The air smelled of dirt, musky and sweet. On the east side of the property, I spotted a herd of deer through the trees, standing in an open field. I took several photographs and then hiked back to my vehicle, where I pulled out a bag of deer corn and carried it back into the grove. The deer were still in the field watching me, half curious and half wary. I poured out the corn in several piles along the trail. As the hard yellow kernels fell to the ground, a cloud of dust spilled up into the air. I imagined the smell would hit the deer’s noses pretty quickly. I shot a few more pictures before grabbing the empty bag and walking back to the house.
In the evening, I chopped some wood and built a fire, sitting outside, enjoying the weather. There were teriyaki chicken wings cooking on the Traeger while I listened to music, sipping a cold IPA. This, I told myself, was roughing it. Of course, the comment was in jest, but I missed my wife and wished she was out on the porch with me.