Snuggling up to Mother Nature

Got out on the lake about 5:50 a.m. Wednesday morning. According to my Durango, the temperature was a cool 44 degrees on the drive out to the honey hole.

As I load the boat, I watch the fog roll and shift off the top of the water. With the exception of the chill in the air, the conditions are ripe for chasing bass.

Without getting too far off point, still mornings on the lake make for easier days for me — for now, I row. Soon I will motor to my spots, but for now, Dear Friends, I row.

I make the decision to row to the farthest point, which just also happens to be on the northwest edge of the lake. The trees that surround this little bay-like hideaway provide ample shade on a clear, sunny day, but Wednesday morning, the bay is cold.

Even as the fog on the rest of the lake gives way to sunlight, this bay still rolls that dreamy white.

I settle into the eastern curve of the north end of the bay. The timber and overhang is thick, and a new-this-year beaver dam along the way has my attention. But I ignore it for that northern most end of the bay.

I cast with a blue fleck, Texas-rigged worm and manage to pull out a quick, 16-inch bass. This passes the Milt test, so aptly named for a reader who suggested I only count bass 12 inches or longer for my season total.

As I work my Texas rig, getting caught up from time to time on branches and who knows what, I contemplate a change to the buzzbait. This has been my go-to lure, but I figure the water has to be too cold this morning.

Then I hear a sploosh, the kind of noise that whips your head around on a swivel looking for the big splash, the big fish. But, despite my hopes a bass smacked the top of the water, the noise comes from a pair of beavers.

I watch as both go under then reappear, their heads popping to look back at me.

I continue to fish as they head toward the beaver dam.

About 20 minutes later, a deer across the bay on the western shoreline splashes down into the water and runs south along the shoreline. Soon a second deer comes out of the treeline and follows the first deer, except this one stays parallel on land. When the two of them come to the mouth of the bay, each pause, turn and head back the way they came.

Here I am, just a small player in this morning of Mother Nature.

Just as I'm about to give up on this area of the bay and head to the beaver dam, I hear a rustling in the trees in front of me.

I know something big is tramping around in the trees, so I continue to watch deep within the leaves.

More broken branches, more rustling leaves, and then, head high, staring back through the dark shadows of the tree, another deer staring back at me.

I guess sometimes a good morning of fishing isn't always about watch we catch.