The beginning of spring,though the true arrival is some weeks away,lies upon my mind as smoothly as my line will soon glide through the eyes of my favorite fishing rod. The cold of the morning standing ready to chill me to the bone, will fail to dissuade this man from stepping into his boat. Trolling battery hot from the charger freshly disconnected,should maintain my position, through current and wind, while my favorite lures spin the line from my reels. The clothing that is chosen depends on the weather of the particular day when I can drop my chores and get away. Years of experience have guided my options, excitement will build as the outboard starts right away and gives voice to the onset of my opening day. The twocyle oil the old motor burns, will give way soon as the engine warms. A quick thrust on the throttle brings the bow up, and we turn the boat toward where we think that the monsters will lay. After the initial chill of a ten to twenty minute ride, My now tearing eyes will scout the water from side to side till I stop the boats forward momentum. Over the side goes the electric motor I will use to keep the boat in a position that I believe just right for beginning the fishing . My partners first cast will fetch the first bite, but ’cause of rusted reflexes slowed down over the winter; the first fish is missed. I as the skipper will encourage”set the hook ” quicker”. My first hurried cast toward the exact spot my friend had just hit, will miss very badly and wrap round a stick. Both first casts are wasted, one hundred more thrown, then it is time for a short travel to the next honey hole. This time we will set and approach with care, the jigs will be worked slowly as we approach the aquatic lair; and lo and behold two strikes will felt, my partner will boat the first fish of this year. My hook will set. I will grab for the net while my line breaks. I will find a way to keep my buddy in position, to keep him in play, as I strip off old line from yesteryear and replace it with new, embarrassed that I had forgotten. Reset I will feel finally,my first bite, my first fish of the season. The thing will turn out so tiny ,my face will flush, embarrassed and shiny.Fortunately about then, my watch will ring ten, and back to the cabin we will fly. Then with some hot breakfast within us, and a fortifying jigger behind, we will look at each other and agree. The fishermans calendar will ascertain that on the morrow the catching gets better. For today we will drink off the pain.