Hard Baits

When the Mississippi Whispered at MidnightMoonlight silvered the river's skin as my waders sank into the cool mud. Somewhere beyond the willow curtain, a bullfrog croaked its disapproval of my

When the Fog Held the FishThree forty-five AM. My thermos of coffee steamed in rhythm with the lake's mist as I launched the kayak. The fluorocarbon line felt ice-cold…

When Dawn Whispers to the BassThe digital clock glowed 4:47AM as I licked coffee grounds off my thumb. Through the cabin window, mist curled over Lake St. Clair like phantom fingers. My lucky

When the Fog Lifted at Crane CreekThe predawn air smelled like wet pennies as I launched my kayak into the mist-shrouded creek. My thermos of bitter gas station coffee trembled in the cup holder – the same dented green one I've carried…

When the River Whispered SecretsMoonlight still clung to the cypress knees as my waders whispered through dewy sawgrass. The Caloosahatchee's current carried the tang of wet limestone, that peculiar morning scent that makes bass…