'bout damn time

I rolled into the deserted parking lot at 2:05PM, the lesbians long gone. The sun, aware of my return, had run away to hide behind the thick, daunting thunderheads. Within five minutes of my first oar stroke the deluge began.

The wind screamed at the water and powerful rain beat dirt to mud as lightening raped the canyon. The fat drops which found their mark slid harmlessly off gortex. I had come prepared for this fight, ready to wait it out and let the heavy puncher wear itself down.

After thirty-five minutes I emerged from cover with a perfection-looped frog and my game face on as the sky lowered and a medium precipitation set in for the full twelve rounds, but this time the final bell would sound the victory of the perpetual underdog.

Today, I would find, the slimy bastards were hungry. Very hungry.

'Bout damn time.

This fish jumped a foot and a half above the surface to eat my frog, which was stuck in some tules. Thanks for the assist, (and for Maxima 20lb fluorocarbon).

It's amazing the difference a little raise in water level can engender.

-Alex who loves him some rain-soaked hot frog-on-lip slammin' topwater LMB action.