Opening day for fishermen seems to be their most anticipated time of year. Anglers wait with baited breath, looking forward to this day with great preparation, anticipation and excitement. They plan ahead. All their fishing gear is gathered together. Everything is packed and ready for their big day. The long list is written out early. Lures, hooks, reels, sinkers, bobbers, spinners, swivels and snaps to change out lures, spoons, even plastic worms, fishing net, first aid, sun protection and life jackets. The all-important cooler ready to be filled with ice and refreshments, plus snacks. Live bait will be last minute. The right jacket for the weather. So much to do.

Living on a lake, I always like to sit on my deck and watch a flotilla fill the lake every year. They pack in together not unlike a jig saw puzzle neatly organized. There is barely room for any fishing line to be in the water, and some are interrupted by a nearby offending oar or boat.

This morning the lake is completely hidden by fog. I can’t see anything at all. It is extremely quiet. All of a sudden I hear two women gossiping and telling secrets back and forth. Their lilting voices excited and carry across the water as if they have microphones and amps. Their words are clear to me even though I am completely across the lake from them. Their sound carries pure and clear.

Still, not one sound can be heard, other than the women. There isn’t a single oar hitting the side of a boat, nor any kind of metal against metal.  Silence remains, no movement is detected on the water.

And still I can’t see anything. I just hear the occasional giggles and laughter of the women sharing private stories that are never expected to be heard by another.

Suddenly the fog begins a slow lift and dissipates.  I am looking at a lake, wall to wall watching the anxious ‘reel’ piscators, holding rods and ready to go. There is an impressive variety of boats, skiffs, canoes, dories, dinghy’s, inflatables, and row boats all perfectly still. No movement.

At this time everyone’s attention is on the women who now suddenly notice the lake full of waiting, patient, tuned in and attentive fisherfolk.

With mouths open in silent screams, aghast at all the listeners on the lake, they know everyone is now aware and have heard EVERYTHING.

These two women run off the dock towards their homes, as if afire.

Now, as usual I hear the telltale sound of oars against the oarlocks, rattling against the gunnels, as well as the sounds of activity within the boats. The Sportsmen are attending to their gear, setting lures up just right, dropping the baited lines into the water, getting drinks, and, now talking.

Its’ a cacophony of small sounds, music to the ears of eager anglers.

This has turned into an unforgettable opening day.

 J. Price