When Fog Became My Fishing Partner

3:47AM blinked on my truck's dashboard as I pulled into the empty boat launch. The promised 'light mist' had thickened into a pea-soup fog swallowing Lake St. Clair whole. My fingers hesitated on the cooler handle - sensible anglers wait for sunrise. But the smallmouth don't read weather reports.

Water droplets collected on my jacket like liquid mercury as I idled through the void. My lucky spinnerbait clinked against the rod holder with each wave. 'Should've brought glow sticks,' I muttered, blindly casting toward where the weedline should be. The spinnerbait disappeared mid-air, swallowed by the gray curtain.

Two hours. Three snags. One bluegill. The thermos of coffee turned bitter. Just as I reached for the ignition key, a bass exploded on my last cast - all thrashing fury and sideways runs. Line screamed through fog-moistened fingers. When the 4-pounder finally surfaced, its golden flanks shimmered like submerged sunlight.

The fog never lifted that morning. But I learned something better than visibility - sometimes the lake rewards those willing to fish blind.