Coffee & fishing action.
I took it as a sign, perhaps a sign from the heavens, maybe a more mundane type of signal, but the coffee I made first thing Tuesday morning turned out perfect. Might be the finest coffee I’ve ever brewed at home. The beans were a gift from Hawaii, Kona Beans, and I ground them up, then dumped them into a newer model French Press, added water that was just about boiling hot, and squeezed the strainer through. Amazing coffee, looked like a fine, dark-amber, pale ale, with almost a half inch of foam on top, a perfect head on the coffee. The foam even made it into the morning’s espresso cup.
The sun was out and even though the computer was reporting it was a chilly 45 degrees, at the shore, on the dock? The morning sun blazing across the lake’s surface, a gentle breeze ruffling the waters? I was barefoot and I quickly spilled out of the heavy shirt. I tossed a rattle trap across the water, skipping it and letting it sink to grass beds offshore. I wasn’t doing too well, except that I did I have one strike, a bad boy from one of the grass beds snapped at the lure. We wrestled for nearly a second before he shook the lure out of his mouth, and I yanked hard on the line. It was like that fish spit the lure out and sent the bait flying towards me.
Third item: Tats!
So it was a day full of near misses. Not bad at all. When I was on the trail, meandering through the east side, I noticed a young buck in the lake, doing that bedding thing. Marked for fishing, later. A little action is better than no action, right?