My view of the universe changes each time my ticking eyes squint at 4:30 AM; the world just seems to be at peace this early, in the what some might call, day. It is like the whole world calms of wind, worry, and wonder so that the few birds awake may welcome the coming day, or perhaps welcome me into the secret society of those who dare to see this hour. That wake early enough to catch the evaporative odor of my prey, lingering in the morning dew. I finally open my eyes enough to make sure we don’t lose the boat along the way, and then lose them both just as the night starts to smile.

            Not much can compare to the stench of an old carburetor stuttering up a wake--adding to the clouds too fat to float to the sky. Propelling through the oasis of the water vapor nebula, seemingly at the speed of light, but not faster than the sound. Crickets roar from the islands in-between the red markers as the fish-o-meter 3400 tries to keep up, and fetally, I avoid the brisk air we glide through; only inches of liquid molecules separate us from flying. Though, who is here to say that I am not?

            All this just to reach our spot, where only faint cries of a Mercury can be heard, but never quite placed. As the wakes continue our storm to the shore, they bristle up the twig debris and critters who thought they were alone. We puff our chests to the crane who stands statue in the water…no way he’s that tall! Trolling through the cove I ready our gear for assault, the highest of hopes held in thought, climax to the first cast---bird’s nest.