Moonlit Ripples and the Bass That Almost Got Away

The digital clock glowed 11:17PM when my waders squeaked against the dock. Lake Chelan's surface shimmered like crumpled aluminum foil under the full moon. I adjusted my headlamp, its beam catching the mist rising from water still warm from the afternoon sun - perfect conditions for smallmouth, if the locals were right.

Three casts with a jerkbait yielded nothing but tangled line. 'Should've brought the nightcrawlers,' I muttered, watching a muskrat's V-shaped wake disappear into shadow. The fourth cast landed near submerged logs. Two twitches. Then the line went taut.

'Damn snag,' I started to reel slack when the 'snag' surged left. The rod bent double, drag screaming like a teakettle. For twenty breathless seconds, moonlight flashed on bronze scales thrashing at the surface. My thumb brushed the leader when the hook popped free.

In the sudden stillness, a barred owl's call echoed across the cove. I sat on the dew-slick dock, grinning at the stars. Some nights, the fish that escapes makes better company than the ones in the cooler.