The first raindrop landed in my coffee. The second convinced me to move the coffee. By the third, the lake was covered in small white splashes and my bucket hat had become an actual bucket. I headed into the sheltered inlet to wait it out.
There was a heavy orange spoon in the box, too clumsy for the open shallows. Here it sank neatly beside the bank. A bass moved from under a log and followed it almost to the boat, then turned away with what I considered unnecessary judgement.
ONE VERY BADLY TIMED SPLASH
I tried once more. The spoon fluttered past the log, the fish lunged, and the rod bent low enough to knock the empty cup off the seat. I had never been so pleased to have finished a disappointing coffee.
The bass came alongside between two bursts of rain. I released it and stayed in the inlet until the weather cleared. The notebook survived inside my lunch bag. The lunch did not survive the notebook. Some sacrifices belong in the official record.
A change of plan can save the day and ruin only the sandwich.
