Good Mornings
Getting Snagged on Solitude
It took me only 10 minutes to get my yak in the water, my gear loaded, and my bow pointed due south. As I paddled beyond the launch point, I put my rudder to starboard and placed my paddle into its keeper. A slight balmy breeze blew from the north so I wouldn't need my paddle until I turned to head back. I drifted down the familiar shoreline pondering which fly to tie on and pausing to take a deep breath. The air was invigorating and the scent of the Laguna Madre filled my nostrils. It was a reassuringly familiar smell that always reminded me of being a kid fishing along the Laguna’s expansive shoreline. You wouldn't think the odour of saltwater, decomposing seaweed, and the watermelon/vomit smell of a nearby trout slick would be pleasant, but to me it was wonderful.
I tied on a small topwater and put the rod back in the holder, quietly contemplating all the sights and sounds of the morning. Dawn broke at last and I witnessed that magic moment when the sun’s rays first break the surface and the sky turns the color of a dying campfire at night. The only sound was the cacophony of gulls chattering and jostling on nearby Pita Island. Even though I was at least a quarter mile from Pita, it sounded as if the gulls were right next to me. On mornings like these even a casual conversation can be heard for great distance. From somewhere came the sound of an osprey screeching and heading out on its own morning fishing trip.
For an evanescent moment I didn't have a care or concern in the world – my problems temporarily forgotten. Laguna Madre translates to Mother Lagoon in English and I had been embraced by her, comforted by the song that she sang to me through the gulls, the osprey, the wind and the sound of water lapping at the hull of my kayak. At that moment I found solitude in its sweetest sense. It no longer mattered if I hooked into anything because I had already caught what I was out there for.
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