First follow
By Nick Simonson
In mid-February my mind often wanders toward spring, and if allowed, into the warmth of summer and thoughts of fishing trips past under the heat of a shining sun. One of my most formative fishing memories is that of catching bluegills off the dock on those sunny days that blur into the threemonth span that is June, July and August which frequently
found me staying at my grandparents’ lake cabin. I would bait my Aberdeen hook with worms and nightcrawlers my grandfather dug up for me from the cool dirt patch in the small
opening in the woods of the back lot of his lake cabin. I would cast them out for countless hours of entertainment, burning away the day as the sun scorched my skin and lightened my hair. Sometimes I’d unclip my bobbers and cast out my offering only to pull the bait away from the fish, trying to steer clear of the smaller panfish and connect with the
bigger bluegills that lurked near the bottom of the school or out toward its edges. Other times, I’d simply cast the bait out and reel it back in as fast as I could watching the
bait spiral like the propeller on a boat motor as the horde of hungry sunnies would steam in a phalanx behind it, with one or two occasionally accelerating from the group nipping at the whirling worm on the golden hook.
