Warm sleeping bag. Cold morning air. The grass heavy with dew. The sky bright with promise. Birds chirp. The temptation to sleep battles the temptation to fish. A full bladder settles the issue.
The world and I wipe the sleep from our eyes. Instant coffee and aged whiskey. Bacon, eggs, fried potatoes. Morning small talk.
The water flat as glass. We push off. The engine sputters and whines. The stillness broken. Hand on tiller. Throttle opens up and the cool air washes away the scent of last night’s campfire. The little boat skitters along the surface. Destination known.
There will be fish. There will be fish.
Winds pick up. Shore lunch. Afternoon nap.
The sun fades. Wind wanes. Orange hues gather. The boat heavy with the smell of fish and sweat. Gear and empties strewn about. We head for the dock. Big smiles. Hearty laughter.
Kindling crackles. Cold beers are cracked. The days great triumphs and bitter defeats recounted. The fire slowly subsides. So does the chatter. Until all that’s left is the contemplation of coals.
One last look at the infinite twilight of northern summer.
Deep sleep and pike dreams.