Daniel tells the life story of the oldest wobbler in the box, Old Doc’a, and his companions.
It was dark in the bait box. All spoons, centrifuges and wobblers fondly remembered the good old days, when they were in constant use. In fact, the lures had been idle in the box for only a few months and they hadn't even imagined it, that the pike conservation period was just about to end. – How long has it been?, when was the last time i was in the water? – the bright red Indian wobbler wondered, called by others the Coca-Kid. – Maybe our owner forgot about us? – the voice of a slightly older balsa wobbler sounded somewhat hollow. Hours passed during such conversations, days, weeks. Maybe even months?
None of the artificial lures could say it for sure, because long-lasting darkness caused, that they all lost track of time. All of them, except for one wobbler made of a piece of a wooden brush stick. It was painted with cheap varnish, and two rusted trebles completed the poor image of this lure.
Steps!
It was Old Doc, for that was what the others called him out of respect, much younger wobblers. If legends and stories are to be believed, he has already looked into the toothed maws of over thirty pike. He was also the first to be carved and started the collection of wobblers collected today in a box. So, Old Doc knew well, that soon the daylight will often peek into the box, it will free the inhabitants of the box from darkness and each lure will get a chance to test itself in the water and cover itself with eternal glory. All lures eagerly obeyed Old Doc's words. He was at an excerpt from his favorite story and described the moment vividly, like a huge pike suddenly jumped out of its hiding place, when suddenly Coca-Kid shifted nervously. The other lures looked at him a little suspiciously, because Coca turned around a little, as if he wanted to hear something better. In a split second it got so quiet in the box, that the darkness has become even more overwhelming. – Steps, these are the steps!” – shouted the Ratlin Rap wobbler and, despite its bulky build, it got very lively. – The angler is approaching! – the speaking Old Doc immediately performed a short dance of joy. All the buzz and humming calmed down in a moment, when heavy footsteps stopped at the box. A moment later the box went up. All the lures shuddered. The angler was walking with a lively and hopeful step towards the water. The excited lures held their breath. The closure clicked, the lid of the box swung up and the dull light blinded the wobblers. Coca-Kid, lying right on the edge, immediately brightened with such beautiful shades of red, as if the glow was radiating straight from its interior. The excitement was felt mainly by the younger lures. It seemed, that in a moment they will pop out of the box – so badly each of them wanted to be chosen. The angler muttered something under his breath and his fingers rested on the Coca-Kid's slender dome. Coca could not believe his luck and was lying on the angler's hand as stiff as if he had just swallowed a brush stick.
Flight towards destiny
With a twinkle in his eyes and still muttering to himself, of which the young Indian wobbler could not understand a single word, the man hooked it on a safety pin tied to the end of the line. The wobbler hovered helplessly in the air. The panic didn't last too long, however, for the joy of being the chosen one has won. The Coca-Kid began to enjoy the relaxing flight in the warm summer air, flight to destiny. – Or maybe I can provoke an even bigger pike and break the Old Doc record? – Coca thought excitedly. Soon he landed on the surface of the water, and he felt the line slowly straining to pull him into the depths. He began to work as best he could. He feigned short escapes, swayed sideways, he dived deeper, it floated to the surface. So, he had talent and he knew it perfectly well – he had been told this many times before. Suddenly felt strong, a dull jerk! – Not, I can not believe it, maybe already? – the wobbler was surprised. -It's funny, that I didn't even notice the approaching fish… The jerks of the line grew stronger. Coca clearly felt, as the fishing line tenses strongly, hits him in the ear above the rudder, then it goes limp and tightens again. – Jam, it must be jam – he remembered Old Doc's stories. After the "jam", the angler began to tighten the line very statically, however, it's something, what held the wobbler wouldn't let go even a centimeter. He looked back suspiciously and tensed with all his might. But it didn't help him much. He was completely helpless. The two tips of the rear hook cut very deeply into the thick dark root protruding from the bottom. – Goddamn snags – he heard an angler cursing on the shore. After a long "tug of war" he heard a loud shot and felt it, that the line suddenly went limp. Underwater, another curse was heard from the shore, and suddenly he realized the terrible truth – he will stay in this place for the rest of his life. He felt the chills go through him, and struggled to hold back the tears he had gathered. – What will my friends think about me, and especially Old Doc? Tired, he hung in the depths of water on a protruding root, and the glow of the reaching sunlight caused, that in the cool current of the water it shone with the most beautiful colors of the rainbow. After some time he fell asleep.
