FLEE! FLEE FOR YOUR LIVES!

Calm down Denethor.

I decided to, despite my skepticism about inclement weather, to go out and try my new and improved Muck Trench Bass-assassin fast retrieve bait. That was going pretty good for a few minutes, casts were long, accurate, retrieve felt good, bait had great vibration in the water, yes.

On the southern horizon, it was looking particularly stormy, but I paid this no mind until the flash of lightning caught my attention.

Lightning is no joke. I can strike miles from the storm center, and only needs an adequate bridge to complete the cataclysmic discharge. I became acutely aware of my circumstance: alone in an open field, a good 15 yards from the nearest tree, waving a graphite stick in the air. The “potential danger” alarm went off. WEEE OOOO WEEEE OOOO!!!

I called Mo to tell her I was fleeing with alacrity, and should be home soon. If not, I may be dead, or crispier than before  and that she should come recover my body if 10 minutes go by and I do not come back.

I have never chugged my clunky chug-sticks faster without breaking into a jog. I got home as the thunder and lightning were increasing in frequency just to the south, and as I watch now on the Doppler, I can see that cell about to go right over the field I was standing in.

At first, I was the hunter seeking my prey, but as I did, a much larger predator came onto the savanna and I ran like a frightened gazelle. Run off my spot by a fucking thunderstorm. Bastards.

Anyway, nothing like a brush with being “hunted” by something large and formidable to put the sparkly fear of God right in the pantaloons.

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