As I go along life’s path, which frequently winds in and out of the grasslands, woods, and along my favorite waters, I begin to realize that the very basics are what I need to get my fix of time out hunting and fishing. For the former, its becoming simply seeing birds break cover ahead of my dog’s pursuit or a deer wander close to my stand as I’m on it; and for the latter, it’s the take of a fly, that subtle tap on a jig, or the sudden strike on a spoon that grabs my attention and holds it. Those are the thrills that keep me coming back.

While casting out over the calm waters this week in the deep red sunset shrouded and accented by the smoky sky, I was reminded how each cast, even of the same lure, can produce different results. The hand-tied gray-over-white bucktail with just a flicker of red from the hackles buried underneath the two layers of hair took nearly every foot of line from the spool of my full spinning reel. It was about as heavy of a lure as I was willing to cast on the medium rod, but it certainly helped me cover the water for the pike that I knew were lurking in the well-developed summer weed edge.

The strike coming shortly after splashdown and a few turns of the handle had me excited for the fast action on the edge of the shallows that was likely to come, as a game fish leapt from the water, tailwalked and splashed down. Getting a good look at the side of it while airborne, I quickly determined it wasn’t a pike, but a small muskie. As the line shortened, the up-and-comer made wild dashes and a few more flips before coming to hand on the surface of the water, and with a quick twist of the pliers, the two prongs of the treble which held it came loose and the muskie sprung away with a slash of its tail against the surface, and sprinted out toward the depths.

Loading the rod and launching the lure back out to almost exactly the same spot, I began the retrieve, feeling the thump of the silver Colorado blade as the rod bent in a pulsing arch toward the bait. About halfway back, it jumped with the strike of another fish, this time diving down instead of jumping up, and not being able to see it, I surmised it was a pike. With a few hard-charging runs, the fish turned and came to the surface, nearly the same in profile, thickness and length of the muskie on the cast before. Similarly, a quick tweak of the pliers on the surface loosened the single treble buried in the bony portion of the pike’s jaw, and it too was headed back out toward deeper water.

It was a strange coincidence. Two fish of about the same size coming on the same lure, in the same spot, though both totally different in their general natures. Perhaps it was the youth of the muskie of only maybe five pounds or so that resulted in the catch of these normally discerning fish which get much bigger in the lake thanks to their reluctance to bite — especially smaller offerings like the lure I was casting. And it was likely the aggressive nature of the pike — the thing I love most about them — that brought it to me on this particular evening of fishing. Whatever it was that connected the two: the in-line spinner’s pulse, the exact patch of weeds they related to which provided an ideal ambush point or the particular temperature of the water in that area just off the nearby creek’s outflow, I was happy things came together the way they did. It served once again as a reminder of those moments of excitement and variety that bring me back to the water day in and day out, and that even using the same lure, in the same spot, the results can greatly vary from cast-to-cast … in our outdoors.