I left the motor behind and pushed into Rootwater with an oar. The branches met overhead. Somewhere ahead, water slapped a hollow root with the regularity of a clock. It was a much better soundtrack than my rattling tackle box.
I had wrapped the bell lure in a strip of cloth. This was supposed to be clever. Unfortunately, the cloth soaked up water and the lure sank straight into the mud. I retrieved it with a stick while a kingfisher watched from a safe distance.
The bell in the branches
The second version used only a single thread. It made a faint vibration, no louder than an insect touching the surface. A bass emerged from the roots, followed it for a full boat length, then took it so close I could see the pattern on its gill plate.
The fight was short and wonderfully untidy. I finished with one knee in the water and a fish beside the boat that seemed too large for the channel. On the way out, I paddled without saying a word. Rootwater had earned the last one.
An experiment is allowed to be ridiculous before it becomes useful.
