Fishing stories rarely start with “I was reading a John Sanford novel in a lounge chair by the lake.”
But this one does. It does because that’s exactly what I was doing this spring when a pesky bluegill kept interrupting my reading by rising to the surface, slurping some poor bug into its gullet and then returning to the depths. The depths, in this instance, totaled about four feet and were located near the end of my dock.
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