Don't Ask . . . Don't Tell

Mister Big: Back at the car, strangers are bound to ask, "How'd ya do?" What would YOU say?What is the point in asking anyway? Do you really think you’re going to get a straight answer? Would YOU give a straight answer?

Here’s the situation: You’ve just had a DYN-O-MITE night in a great hex pool. Bugs were coming off in enough numbers to get some nice fish thrashing the surface. Twenty minutes later you notice the first of the spinners. The aggressive, thrashing “rises” that you’ve been hearing, transition to a more mild-mannered series of sips and slurps. Then you hear it . . . somewhere in the last vestiges of the dwindling dusk . . . you hear it.

gaaa-loop . . . . . . . . . gaaa-loop

That’s the big boy! That’s the one you came to dance with. That’s the reason you resisted the temptation to cast to the obvious mid-teen browns you’ve been hearing for the past fifteen minutes. Your wisdom and will power have been rewarded.

The flight of your calf-wing spinner follows the same magical trajectory you’ve witnessed in your imagination all spring. The 3 foot drift is on target. Mr. Big takes one more swallow and the fight is on.

Then, just as quickly as it began . . . a thrash and a roll . . . and the hook pulls free.

Weak in the knees, you can only stand there, dumb-founded, and wonder how big that brute really was. Twenty-three? Twenty-four? Could it possibly have been twenty-five?

Your attention turns back to the pool. All is quiet. The spinner drift has slowed to a trickle. Where are all the mid-teen browns? Scared off?

Back at the vehicle, as you take down your rod, an unseen face from the dark hits you with the big question, “How’d ya do tonight?”

What would YOU say?