The clock strikes 5am, a blaring alarm follows. My limp body rolls of the heated, warm bed. My grandfather walks in and shakes me restlessly to wake me up.

“It’s way too early!” I say to my grandfather

We have to go. We get in the car and drive to the lake, just as we do every second Sunday of the new month. My grandfather’s old time country music tapes silently play in the background, I slowly rest my head on the leather seats and close my eyes.

I jolt up as my grandfather yells, “Get on up, we’re here!”
I jump out of the truck and lace up my boots.

I instantly take in the salty, crustaceous smell of the boat launch. My grandfather backs the trailer into the crystal clear waters. As I turn the boat on, the flutter of the engine accompanies the musty smell of exhaust.


The sun, caressed by the horizon, finally starts to rise. My grandfather and I each grab a pole and cast the wax worm bait into the water. It breaks the surface and falls to the bottom while I wait for a fish to bite. Numerous hours pass without any signs of fish, not even a nibble. Two sudden twitches of my rod jostle the weight on my reel violently and I know I’ve got a big fish on the line. I whipped my poll into the air sending the hook into the fish’s mouth. Thrilled, I excitedly reel the huge fish closer and closer towards the boat. As if I were fighting 3 rounds against Floyd Mayweather, I tirelessly reel the monster in.

There, in the center of the boat, a 30 inch largemouth bass lies. I cast my line out once again, lay back and sit, waiting and waiting and waiting for my next opportunity.