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Wahoo! times two
Today is the last day of September, a date that during most years is just another page on my calendar.
But this year is different. The 30th of September is shaping up quite remarkably. Two marvelous circumstances are colliding to make today a bit more special.
First, our Cleveland Indians are poised to take the best record in the American League deep into the playoffs. The way I see this year’s Tribe, it’s the best chance yet in my lifetime for a World Series title.
The second thing is the fishing is off-the-charts hot on a couple of our local lakes. I battled 16 bass the other day on Mosquito Creek Reservoir, a banner day on any lake in America, but best of all one just 25 minutes from my house.
Baseball and fishing are pretty important to me. Of course, I place higher priorities on other things (though Barb might disagree). But it was baseball and fishing that powered me through the long lazy days of summer in the neighborhood where I grew up.
Mornings might find us boys biking down to Yellow Creek to fish for suckers and chubs. Should a stray bass – no doubt washed over the dam of Evans Lake – bite our hooks baited with worms from our parents’ vegetable gardens, it was the highlight of the summer.
As the sun climbed the sky to its noon zenith and beyond, we ambled over to the undeveloped lot where we had mowed the weeds to a leg-scraping stubble. Most of us owned mitts, a few had baseballs and we mustered enough bats to outfit a couple of teams for a sweaty afternoon of four-on-four baseball.
Our inspirations were pretty simple. Outdoor Life magazine articles helped us imagine we were on an exotic river in a far-away land. And the Cleveland Indians were our heroes as we batted and fielded and ran like the wind on our hard-scrabble diamond.
Those were glorious days. Fishing in the morning. Our own brand of neighborhood baseball in the afternoon. And then our Little League games in the early evening. When I trotted to the muddy creek bank, I was an adventurer on a wild river. Whenever I put on my baseball glove, I was the shortstop for the Cleveland Indians.
Many decades later I still find satisfaction with those kinds of rather repetitious days when I’m off work. Today will be another installment in the routine that I found delightful as a youth. I’ll fish in the morning and enjoy baseball later in the day.
Just as our Indians have given us reason to cheer this year, the fishing has me smiling from ear to ear. By carefully selecting the lake that I think will be productive, I’ve managed to hoist lots of fish, and a bunch of big ones, over the BassCat’s gunwale this summer.
Sunday was another banner day. The largemouths were chomping at Mosquito Creek Reservoir and the bite was steady throughout the day. The record temperature of 90-plus degrees did nothing to put a damper on the action.
Today I’m back out on another of my favorite lakes. I am confident I’ll be just as satisfied with today’s fishing as I was many times over the past four months.
It’s been a productive season, but great baseball and super fishing are two things we Youngstowners don’t take for granted. Our lakes have endured slumps over the years and uncountable “June swoons” have eliminated the Tribe from the chase early and often during my time as a fan.
This year is different. It’s Sept. 30 and I’m loving them both – my fishing and my Indians.
Wahoo!