My fishing adventures.

Essay by fishinfrenzi15High School, 12th gradeA-, September 2006

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It is early in the morning. 6:30 a.m. to be exact. As I silently wait for the school of redfish to swim a bit closer, I can hear them wallowing at the top of the water. Finally, I see one within casting range. I flip the bail on my Shimano spinning reel, and throw my lure with the precision of a sharpshooter. I watch my Mirro-Lure splash about ten feet in front of my target. The landing of my lure was much louder than I had anticipated, so I prayed to myself that the fish would not get spooked and swim away. Luckily, it is unsuspecting. I twitch my bait as I have done thousands of times before, but this time was different. This time, there was about a thirty inch redfish contemplating whether or not he wanted to take a bite of the strange looking bait before him. Then, all of a sudden, I notice the brute fish charge my bait.

Before I know it, he has swallowed my lure to his gut and is charging away like a freight train. I pull back with all of my might, but it's no use. My tackle wasn't made for fighting bull reds. However, I still know that I have a chance to land him if I just play him. After about twenty minutes, I notice the fish letting up. Now I really believe that I have a good chance to land him. However, you must never make assumptions when you are fishing. The monstrous fish made one last run, and he broke my line as if it were a piece of string. That was ok though. That is the life of an angler. Because I know that I will be back to that same spot the next day. Maybe, just...