First, apologies for the topic,

Burnt the **** outta my left thumb and forefinger this afternoon getting
materials ready for my Cub Scouts, got home from our meeting and knew the
only way I could bear to patch up the second degree burns I got from trying
to melt the ends of my 550 chord (caused by rolling the melted ends between
my fingers, something i've done a thousand times) was to have a few drinks
before piercing the blisters, draining the fluids, and patching up the
wounds. Started thinking about Wolfie's Forgotten Treasures posts and how I
have been missing out on a lot of good reading over the last few years due
to my own ignorance of older angling literature. In fact, I finally picked
up a copy of John Gierach's "Trout Bum" about a month ago (I know it's not
that old, but still..., I'm fairly young). Read chapter four, The Bass Pond,
thought about the outstanding bluegill and bass fishing on the lake not two
minutes from my driveway, and had conflicting feelings about where I stand
as a fisherman. I have been guilty of having a continueous love affair with
the Muskegon River and the fish that reside there. Although the vast
majority of the trout in the Muskegon are hatchery rainbows, the
irresistable lure of the beauty of the brookies and browns constantly drives
me to a longing to be on the river at the most opportune time, day or night.
I never stop dreaming of being on "my river", and fishing "my favorite
stretches" of it's waters. There have been days (especially this time of
year) when a person has equal chances of catching a rainbow, a brookie,
brown, laker, sturgeon, smallmouth, or steelhead. Carp and creek chubs are
also anoyingly plentifull. I guess the point I am trying to make is that I
can relate to the sense of raw power that Gierach tried to describe when he
talked about bass fishing on a small pond (or lake). The small mouths on the
lake by my house will hit with such an unexpected fury and disregard, that
it does seem almost "electric" when they strike. Sitting on the still waters
of the lake with nothing but moonlight reflecting off the water, and waiting
for the monster bass strike that you know is about to happen, elicits a
sense of excitement that is almost equal to knowing how, where, and where
the trout in a river will be and want. The 'gills are the same way on this
lake. When I absolutely cannot make a trip to the river to fish for the
trout that I constantly dream of, I know the fish in this lake will
willingly fulfill my angling needs.
I hoped to get out and fish today (Tuesday), but my burnt fingers will
probably have to wait until Friday. While I wait, I will finish "Trout Bum",
dream of "my river", and eagerly await the introduction of Wolfgang's next
installment of Forgotten Treasures.

Thanks and apologies applied where needed,

Jeremy Moe