When the River Whispered Secrets

The predawn chill bit through my flannel as I stepped onto the dew-slick dock. Somewhere in the inky water of the Colorado River bend, smallmouth bass were chasing shad in the current breaks. My thermos of bitter coffee steamed in the crisp air, its aroma mixing with the earthy scent of willow branches.

By sunrise I'd cycled through three jig heads with only dink bass to show for it. 'Maybe the moon phase was wrong,' I muttered, watching a kingfisher dive with more success. Then the water erupted - not with fish, but with a family of otters chasing my swimbait like it was Saturday morning cartoons.

Their playful theft proved prophetic. When I finally cast beyond the otter's playground, my line jolted sideways. The smallmouth launched itself skyward, sunlight glinting off its bronze flank. For three breathless minutes we dueled, the braid singing through guides until my net engulfed the 19-inch trophy.

Driving home, I kept glancing at the empty passenger seat where the cooler should've been. But some catches aren't meant for scales or photos - just the memory of amber fins disappearing into the current's embrace.