Oh Yea!
For crappie in the winter, that was my go to place.
One winter, I must have been to only one on the lake, at least it felt like it.
There were no other trailers in the parking lot. Butch was nowhere around as I floated my trusted sled off the trailer and into the near freezing water at the Glen Cove ramp.
I felt as if the Pool was beckoning me, welcoming me, calling out to me, to enter it's eerie liquid that hid so much history, 35 homes and make shift grave yards of those that stayed behind when the final gate of 53 was closed and the rising water made everything a mere memory on that faithful day in 1928.
I didn't see or hear anyone and it was cold and calm, very calm......almost too calm.
As I slowly moved parallel to the shore line in my first boat ever, my 13' Boston Whaler being propelled forward at a slow idle by my trusty 35hp Johnson.......heading to the tree that had falling into the lake that I knew held my quarry.
I felt as if I was being watched..........but by who......by what.......where could the steely pair of eyes be..........burning .........staring.........watching........my every move.
Was it a deer hunter sitting in a tree stand or was it actually a deer, maybe several? Maybe a fox?
Was it a Bigfoot? I still remember hearing the breaking of logs and the stomping of feet when my late Dad and I would fish late into the dark, pitch black evenings in the hot, hot summers as we tried to coax the ever weary small mouth in Hopkins Cove.
The hair actually stood up on the back of my neck as I scanned the hills that rose up from the dead calm water. As my eyes told me there was nothing on the ground. After all, there is no such thing as a Bigfoot. Don't be silly.
I tried to remember where the magic tree was along the shore line but my mind told me to keep searching..... searching..... searching.....everywhere....There IS some there...watching me.
I was trying to keep my head focused on why I was there. I imagined all the crappie that must be in the thousands of tiny branches the crappie called their winter home when all of the sudden something caught my eye.
I spied a magnificent, gigantic, mature Bald Eagle, perched on a low branch hanging over the lake.
I had never been so close to such a beautiful animal. I was memorized as my eyes met his. I could see every feather on his body laying in perfect harmony with the feather next to it. How could something be so perfect yet ready to fight to the death for what it believed in, I thought?
He was quiet and calm yet assertive and demanding of my attention and respect. It was as if he spoke to me, giving me permission to be there, on HIS lake, enjoying HIS home, understanding HIS trials and tribulations.
HE was the King of the Pool, the Gate Keeper, the one the others looked up to, as I did that day, my friend.
That day, I thought I was alone, but nothing was further from the truth.
That day, I will never forget my friend......
.
__________________
Jeff
Triton 240 LTS, 250 Verado
Upper, Upper Bay
Light tackle
Last edited by 240 LTS; 11-08-2011 at 04:39 PM.
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