Caught some photos today, but no fish. It was good to get my booted feet on wild ground and step on uneven, wet granite with the risk of broken bones that's never happened to me going on 50 years, climb steep embankments, and lift legs over trees felled by beavers since I last fished Mount Hope Pond in May or June. That's a photo I should have shot for this post, one of the beaver cuts, the flat tooth shaving grooves suggesting a sculptor's instrument.
I came home today and got into conversation with my son about my novel after I asked him to read the first paragraph. In our exchange I told him that Michelangelo said that he liberated his sculptures from chunks of stone. In a nutshell, a novel is not something "made up," but a discovery of truth that can only be conveyed fictionally.
In my experience, Mount Hope Pond has never been so close to dingy clarity as it was today. So I sifted through my lure bag for a spinnerbait, and finding that I hadn't one, tied on an eight-inch Culprit worm. One sunfish tap was all the interest it got.
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