Making the Grade
My skiff had drifted a good distance from the cove’s rip-rapped edge by the time I glimpsed the slight flash. It was the gold/green hue of a big white perch, deep and near the rocks. Arcing my spinner bait out over the growing distance, I got it close to the mark.
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I gave the lure just a second or two to get down, then started to crank. The fish must have hit it on the drop, because I was immediately solid. It felt like a good one.
Playing it gently, I kept a good bend in the long, light-action rod. The lively slender stick dipped, then bowed deeply with each run as the obviously husky devil sought escape, first one way, than another. The slightly set drag on my spin reel buzzed as I let the fish run and run again, patiently wearing it down.
The perch stayed deep for the longest time, a sure sign of a good-sized whitey. It came to the surface only when it had finally spent the last of its energy. As I eased the thick, dark perch closer, I could clearly see the spinner bait barely connected to its mouth. A thin, white string of tissue was all that still held it.