Gone Fishing On North Landing River Near Chesapeake, Virginia– Short Story
The Chesapeake Bay breathed mist onto the North Landing River, draping the cypress knees in ghostly lace. A sliver of dawn gilded the water, a promise of warmth soon to shatter the morning’s chill. I cast my line, the lure whistling through the air before plopping with a satisfying splash into the inky black water.
North Landing wasn’t known for overflowing creels, but its quiet magic tugged at my city-weary soul. Here, amongst the whispering cypress and the croaking symphony of bullfrogs, worries dissolved like ripples in the current. Time, usually a tyrant, became a patient friend, each tick of my watch blending with the natural world’s orchestra.
A tug, barely a tremor, made my eyes dart to the rod. Heart pounding a staccato rhythm, I reeled in, slow and steady, anticipation twisting with each turn. A flash of emerald burst from the depths – a largemouth bass, scales shimmering like polished jewels. It fought, a warrior king of the river, but eventually yielded, exhausted and gleaming.
As the morning unfurled, so did the vibrant dance of life along the river. A family of otters, sleek and playful, frolicked in the shallows, their laughter echoing through the cypress knees. A majestic blue heron, a sentinel of grace, stood poised on a mossy branch, its sharp eyes scanning the water for unsuspecting prey. Time, usually a tyrant, became a gentle guest, each tick of my watch blending with the natural world’s orchestra.
By midday, the sun reigned supreme, baking the earth and shimmering on the water. I sought refuge under the sprawling canopy of a live oak, its ancient limbs draped in emerald moss. My lunch, a simple pimento cheese sandwich and a thermos of sweet tea, tasted like ambrosia in this sylvan sanctuary. Each rustling leaf, each chirping bird became a whispered sermon, reminding me of the simple joys often drowned out by the city’s cacophony.
As the sun dipped low, painting the sky in fiery oranges and pinks, I packed up my gear. My creel remained light, but my heart overflowed with a different kind of bounty. The serenity of North Landing, the thrill of the fight, the profound connection to nature – these were my true treasures, far more precious than any fish.
Leaving the river, I knew I wasn’t just heading back to Chesapeake. I carried a piece of its magic within me, a reminder that the greatest riches aren’t always measured in pounds or inches, but in the quiet moments that nourish the soul. And I knew, with a certainty as steady as the current, that I would return to North Landing River, drawn by the whisper of the wind through the trees and the promise of another sunrise on this water-kissed dawn.
