Mike McLaughlin There are some things in life that will always stand in your memories. One that I will never forget is a fishing trip I took with my Grandfather when I was 12 years old. The Morning started very early, andI almost could not bring myself to wake up. When my Grandfather picked me up I was still so drowsy I almost immediately fell asleep. My next memory is of the metallic clunk the car door made as he got out of the car. I could not believe it we were at the lake already. When I got out of the car you could barely see the outline of the lake through the dark. All I could see well was the dark outline of the rocky shore, and the silhouette of the pine trees surrounding the small cove. Between us we managed to get the small rowboat off the car and to the shore. It was during my first few rows that I noticed the thick soup like fog floating a crossed the clear surface. As the boat moved it seemed as though it was cutting through the water and fog, and in its wake it left perfect ripples a on the otherwise undisturbed water. Considering fishing is a sport of very few words, it gives time to nature and its simple beauty. Even at a young age I knew fish was something that was supposed to be relaxing, and it always leaves you time to wander your own thoughts. As we neared the mouth of the cove where it meets the main lake we started to slow the boat. The sky was starting to turn the burning orange and red just above the horizon, but the morning sun still had not yet beat back the nights darkness. As the boat finally came to a slow stop it was moving so slowly it no longer made in disturbance in the water at all. This is where I took my fishing pole out, for I knew this is where we would be fishing. The mouth of the cove is the same spot we ...