When Moonlight Ripples Betrayed the Bass

The digital clock glowed 3:47 AM as I laced my boots by refrigerator light. Lake Fork's familiar earthy scent seeped through the cabin walls, mingling with the metallic tang of my fluorocarbon line spool. 'They'll be chasing shad in the moon phases,' I whispered to the thermos of bitter coffee, its steam curling like the mist hovering over the boat ramp.

My kayak sliced through water so still it mirrored the waning crescent. The third cast sent my swim jig kissing a submerged cedar limb. 'Too textbook,' I chuckled, remembering last week's skunk. But then - a shadow deeper than night itself materialized below. Line screamed through the guides as my rod arced toward Ursa Major.

'You want to dance?' The bass breached in a silver explosion, moonlit droplets freezing midair like liquid stars. When the net finally swallowed its green-gold fury, my shaking fingers found three punctures from its gill plates - nature's receipt for borrowed adrenaline.

Dawn found me adrift, nursing bleeding knuckles and a grin. Somewhere beneath the dark water, a wiser fish probably stole my $18 lure. Fair trade.