Today I launched out of Venice and trolled the Wagon Wheel with jigs and pigs in the cuts and pockets of the dead-end marsh canals, caught my limit of monster bass, came home tired, cleaned the fish and stuffed the filets in the freezer.
Once I'd grab handfuls of earth out the worm garden that grew in the yard, stuff the squirming dirt in a can, pick a cane pole from behind the shed and walk down Orleans Avenue to the City Park lagoons and fish till dark.
The water was black and deep then, swimming with bream and cats and sac-au-lait, brimming always with the possibility of a green flash, the phenomenal churn, yank and splash of a monster bass erupting like a green god out of black water.