It would be an exaggeration to call me a fisherman. True, I frequently go out on the water early in the morning. True, I do typically set a couple of lines.
But I go where I want the fish to be.
This separates me from a real fisherman.
I am seeking the “magic hour” (or two)—the quiet, the low light, the calm seas—long before the appearance of annoying wave-runners and grossly over-stereo-amplified, typically jackass-piloted wake-boats.
If I happen upon a lake trout, great! If I don’t… well, I don’t have to clean a fish.
Call it a win-win.