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.
