Lake Ossawinnamakee, Minn. -- We took a roundabout way to the north woods this year, attempting to avoid all of the stuff, speed and noise that clutters too much of the modern world.
On this 927-mile journey on two-lane highways to Lake Ossawinnamakee in Minnesota, we traveled through oceans of corn and seas of wild flowers. We moseyed through scores of picturesque but vibrant small towns -- some with fewer than a hundred residents.
Then we followed the bluffs of the eastern bank of the Mississippi River, where the riparian border is so narrow it impedes commercial development.
Our trip was not blessed by the company of our children or grandchildren. Thus, there were many quiet spells, which occasionally turned solemn as we began pondering some of life's losses -- parents, youth and spent dreams.
One of the purposes of this slow and serene journey was to elicit intermittent ruminations about what we have lost and are losing. But when we finally arrived at the great woods and many lakes that have enthralled our family for decades, our periodic reflections about the mysteries of life and death lessened.
Our attentions became fixed on splendid sunrises and sunsets. Clouds and stars caught our eyes. We took acute notice of the flora and fauna, becoming especially mesmerized by the loons, eagles, osprey, gulls, geese, ducks and songbirds.
It was, however, the largemouth and smallmouth bass that captured most of our fancy.
According to Tom Robinson, proprietor of the resort where we always stay, the bass fishing had been so poor this summer that anglers struggled to entice a dozen small ones during a long day afloat.
Robinson's gloomy tidings didn't affect us. We always come to these 660 acres of crystalline water braced for some difficult fishing. At some spots, the water clarity exceeds 13 feet, making it almost as clear as air and extremely vexing to most fishermen.
To nullify the effects of clear water, we employ spinning outfits and light line, wielding heftier casting tackle only for big topwater lures, like a Zara Spook.
For instance, my wife Pat used two medium-action, six-foot spinning rods. One was spooled with eight-pound Trilene XL monofilament and affixed with a No. 4 split shot, No. l offset and wide-gap and thin-wire hook and a four-inch red shad Berkley Power Worm.
Her other outfit was spooled with 12-pound Trilene XT monofilament and sported a Storm Chug Bug.
With the split-shot rig, she probed weedy points and bars, working it slowly from eight feet into 20 feet of water, searching for holes, edges and pockets in the weeds. During cloudy periods and at the twilight times, she worked the Chug Bug, making it pop, skitter and dance across the surface.
From first cast to last, she caught and released bass galore.
Pat's biggest catch was a five-pound smallmouth, which engulfed her Chug Bug on the last cast of the last day. It was the 223rd bass we landed during our short stay. The bulk of the fish were largemouth bass, and the four-inch plastic worm on the split-shot rig seduced most of them.
Just before we left, Robinson remarked that our catch was the best he has seen in decades, surpassing even those grand days of years past when the lakes in these woods weren't marred by the mad dog of modernity.
So we returned to Kansas, driving on more two-lane highways. And this trek home was graced with more hope than despair, proving that catching a lot of bass can be a simple but temporary antidote to what ails the world.
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