Downs Lake
Sitting in my canoe I am surrounded by scab rock and sage and green hills and pines and hundreds of acres of water. The water is, for better or worse, covered by half as many acres of lily pads. A plague of seemingly Africanized lily pads has infested itself upon the lake. Each plant bearing two or three big fronds, the lilies cover the lake intermittently creating a mosaic of open water meadows and canopied forests.
Surely there are great numbers of bass swimming in these waters. Amongst the jungle of roots and stalks there must be an unimaginable number of imminent ambushes as big bass throughout the lake hover in the shadows of a million leaves.
The bass is content to inhale whatever leech or snail or larva locates itself within range. Thusly he feeds, so often as to be uneventful. Such a fish cannot be bothered to rise to the far above surface, not even for a morsel as large and succulent as a frog or a woefully rendered imitation thereof. The disposition of such a fish does not lend itself to game.
Fishing is slow.
I row, pole, and motor the boat through... It probably does not matter.
This storm had us surrounded on three sides. Lots of lightening, pretty cool.