Sploosh!
A crater in the river’s surface formed just a dozen feet off the bank behind the boat, and my head swiveled on my shoulders. Strong rings emanated from the source of the commotion, and my mind raced.
Of course, in such an instance, you want the racket to be the product of an amped-up and still-hungry smallmouth hunting in the shallows, but they rarely exhibit such recklessness when feeding on natural, surface-trapped food, particularly in the bathwater of summer’s peak. The answer is in the trees.