The Purple Patch - Missouri Valley College

pointing because a slot fish is between 12 and 15 inches
that must be released in the lakes we fish. But just the thrill
of battling a fish keeps us going time and time again. We
continue down the bank and go awhile without a sign of
any activity.
“Let’s head on up,” Grandpa said. So I started up the
engine and we headed to our next destination.
“That’s good,” he said as we pull up to the dam, one
of our favorite spots. We set up and continued our conversation.
“Could you dunk?” I asked him, considering he
might have enough height to be able to.
“Well I could get the ball on top of the rim, but
I could never quite dunk it,” he replied, knowing that it
would bother me to know he was that close.
My Grandpa and I have never been able to accept
failure. We have always tried to prove people wrong,
whether it be him being able to walk again, or me beating
state champions at my wrestling tournaments.
“There’s one!” he squealed out of nowhere, but
quickly saw in his rod that he had missed the fish, slack
coming to his line almost instantly.
“Good bite?” I asked him, always wondering how
aggressively the fish attacked the lure.
“Just a pecker.”
He would always say that. Peckers are the worst
bites, considering they are the weakest vibrations. Weak
vibrations meant the fish either barely struck the lure or it
was a bluegill impersonating a bass, so we continued down
the bank.
After about 25 minutes we discovered a fallen tree
in the water. This is always an encouraging sign because
fish tend to hide in cover. Grandpa tossed his plastic worm
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