On the Banks

Walking through the dark green fescue grass and feeling the dampness of the morning dew soaking into the bottoms of my blue jeans is the way any good day of fishing starts. Zebco fishing pole and tan tackle box in hand, I make the trip across the cow pasture in the early mist of morning with the sun and its red orange tinge barely rising above the horizon. The lowing cattle across the field watch you contentedly as they begin their day also.

The pond lays on the edge of the pasture abutted against a treeline to the south full of towering oak trees standing back from the water line, squirrels barking from the oak’s branches at your early morning intrusion. A stand of willow trees edges along the west side. The willows with their long stringy limbs that reach to the ground will be the perfect shady spot to move to when the sun turns up its intensity in an hour and the shimmering waves of humidity will start to bake the day and everything in it.

To start the day of fishing, the best spot is up on the high dirt bank of the north side. The bank with its scattering of rocks embedding in the wall of the pond bank stands like a sentinel over the pond's water. Thick grass covers the outside of the bank that leads up to the top and a smattering of weeds grow down the bank leading to the water's edge. The rim of the pond bank holds a well worn dirt path trod down by generations of those coming here to snag a fish. That hard packed path is like the promise that year after year the fish do bite here.

Stopping along the bank at the stump that had, by the looks of it, been hauled up the bank years ago to serve as a place to sit while fishing. I never sit when fishing, but the old worn stump makes a great place to put my tackle box down so I can look through it easier. The bank leading into the water is too steep to maneuver down to the water's edge but it is up high enough that your line clears and grass that might snag it. Its location up high is probably the reason the fisherman who pulled that stump up to this point. Probably felt like royalty, king or queen of the pond.

Before that first cast of the line I look out over the pond and take in its beauty. The pond is a little more than two acres in size. The early morning sun gives the pond a shimmering silver appearance. There is only a slight breeze blowing so the pond’s water is still with just a few ripples lapping up against the shoreline. Lily pads cover the end of the pond near those mighty oaks. Frogs give off their morning calls to each other to warn of the two legged intruder that has once again appeared here. Their croaks sound excited in frequency but the timbre of the calls is the low casual sound of a frog going about its business. Everything looks good with the world from that pond viewpoint, time to bait and cast out.

With the line out and the wait for the first bite, time seems to relax and you take in the other parts of life going on subtly around you. The smell of jasmine floats in, the scent of it heavier to your nose with the dew that is burning off with the sun rising higher in the sky. The early morning is nothing like the humid day that will come, but the prickle of heat is starting to dance across your arms and along the back of your neck. You can see the honeysuckle that is growing along the brush near the willows and can imagine the sweet taste of it as you know you will be partaking when you move your fishing spot to the willows.

Standing there fishing with all the world around you enveloping your senses it is easy to understand that on the banks of this fishing pond you are in your favorite place.