The Lake Is Wet

Yellowwood. On the drive in I flush a venue of vultures hard at work on a carcass hidden from my view. There are the expected turkey vultures in the bunch but I also discover black vultures. The first time I saw one was in Virginia, but they are extending their territory north.

The lake is wet, by which I mean the road, the ground and the parking area are puddled up from an earlier rainstorm. I can hear the deep guttural sound of thunder off to the north. I'm hoping the storm will continue on its way and let me fish dry.

As I begin to kick out of the inlet I see something I have been seeing the last few trips: a school of two-inch minnows launches themselves out of the water. I seldom see any sign of the predator causing their panic, but this time what I presume to be a bass, moving at high speed, pushes a bow wave right into the weeds. I think he got a good mouthful that time.

I throw some minnowy flies for awhile, but I apparently can't strip as fast as the minnows swim. I'll work on that problem and see if I can't get in the head of those minnow feeders.

I head out. I'm going to fish the south end and the dam. The spillway is gurgling with the fresh runoff as I make my way around the shoreline trailing a heavy white bead head streamer, the last minnowy fly I tried.

The thunder is still booming and it sounds closer. I look around to the west and see dark clouds rushing out of the woods. I'm sure I'm going to get nailed. I batten down the hatches.

It's just the outriders of the storm. The brunt of it slips by to the east and north. It's enough to put the vultures up, though.

I think maybe the rain will miss me, too, but the sprinkles soon turn into a downpour. The lake is wet again.

Now I'm fishing a plastic worm and getting a few pulls. I see something struggling in the water and kick over to see what it is. As I expected, it's a cicada. It's a noble insect, very beautiful. It makes an interesting photographic subject.

This is the Green-winged Cicada, different from the 17-year cicadas we experienced last year.

When I'm finished I attempt to shake it off my thumb but it hangs on tight. So I pluck it off and it lets go with an earsplitting high-pitched buzz. Makes me jump just a little. Maybe it's a scream for help. I put it back in the water anyway. Feed the fish, I always say.

I get back to fishing and hook up with a good fish. He measures out right at 18 inches. I'm pleased.

It rains harder while I look for an even bigger bass. It seems like the perfect time. Instead I find a smaller bass.

The rain quits by the time I get back to the dam for the home stretch.

I work my way slowly all along the dam with the worm, but the catching is over.

The moon peeks out of the clouds for a moment or two, but quickly ducks back in.

Time to go home and dry out.