There is something calming about a small pond in the early morning, just before direct sunlight changes the reflection and thermals begin to ripple the surface. The yellow of the lilies stand out in isolation as if painted by Picasso himself on a glass canvas. Watching for a few moments in order to take it all in, you begin to see small rises among the lily pad clusters. Than a run-and-chase on a bluegill bed by marauding pickerels catches your eye. Yet no sound aside from the songbirds scattered about and the gobble of a roosted turkey in the timber behind you. As you begin to strip and extend line with false casts, the sound of the click-pawl reel feels both foreign and yet oddly perfect in the moment. Watching as the rings from your fly dissipate your mind is telling you to move the fly when suddenly it is gone in a boil.…...morning Bass.