When the Sky Roared and the Bass Sang

The air smelled like wet pennies when I pulled into Caddo Lake's deserted parking lot. My headlights caught pairs of glowing eyes in the marsh grass – raccoons hunting breakfast. I patted the lucky silver dollar in my wader pocket, a habit since that tournament where I'd forgotten my tackle box but still landed a 7-pounder.

Fog clung to cypress knees as I waded into my secret cove. Third cast with a spinnerbait produced a swirl that missed the lure but left my heart racing. 'Come on girl,' I whispered to the water, 'Let's dance before the rain ruins our date.'

Thunder growled when the strike came. The bass shot straight up, shaking its head like a dog with a chew toy. Raindrops stung my neck as we battled. 'You're fighting the storm, not me!' I laughed when it tail-walked across darkening water. The scale needle trembled at 8 pounds even as first lightning split the sky.

I released her into chocolate-milk colored water, watching my reflection ripple. Sometimes I wonder if we're the ones being caught – by moments no weather app can predict.