I have a little Robert Graves in me: The night at Montrose Friday reminded me that ``the moon rides like a ship through scudding cloud.''
(Yes, I am in a muse quest for the eternal supernatural female.)
As to fishing, it is never a particularly good sign if I am sidetracked on moon and muses.
And the kings were on the tough Friday night.
They were getting some smaller kings off the south rocks. (Can we still call it the south rocks?). But I was on the west side of the mouth by the golf course.
Then Moy Rodriguez came by and said somebody had a good one.
He was right, half an hour later, Francisco Colon came by with a king his 13-year-old grandson Jorge Irizarry could barely hoist.
I have a little Walt Whitman in me too: Love to celebrate the ``body politic.'' And I do below.
It was a good night to start casting a Frenzy and a Little Cleo just as the fireworks starting blowing up off the east end of Navy Pier, far off in the night, but not so far that we couldn't hear the explosions roll over us long after the flash.
Rodriguez came by and we got sidetracked on lures. He is 1-for-3 on the fall for kings at Montrose. And he described one of the losses as also being a loss of a favorite lures for kings, a ThunderStick.
I think it is a ThunderStick in a sort of firetiger. When I first started doing the Midwest Fishing Report, Thundersticks where commonly mentioned, not so much any more.
A green and white Little Cleo finally did it for me. Casting into the current at the back of the mouth of Montrose, I hooked up about 10 p.m. It was big enough that I couldn't move it.
Then it wrapped a buoy. I was in that pickle when Colon and Irizarry walked up. Colon suggested letting the line go and seeing if the king would swim free. It swam free . . . and shook the lure.
Apparently, it was a good night for green and white Little Cleos. Colon said that's what they bagged their king on.
Police cars started closing patrols.
It was time.
Sidetracked into a good night of musing, I found the 11 closing came far sooner than I expected.