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There was an unspoken agreement, unprotested by either of us and confirmed by Jack’s lay into the throttle: We were going for it.
The air temperatures were measuring in the single digits, and in the back of my mind I knew this was the coldest weather I’d ever fished in.
Small interactions and discoveries on painfully slow days are the kinds of things that remind you to stay locked in as an angler.
I prepared to revamp my hunt for some local bass. There was just one mission in the salt I had to complete first.