"The Yakker Way"
by
Ryan Ross
Give me a body of water and I will be there,
Rain or Shine I do not care,
In the dawn of the morning or late at night,
I prepare my kayak ready to fight…
To my favorite spot I prepare to go,
My face is bright and full of glow,
The place is secret among the masses,
But then a bass truck swiftly passes,
He is heading towards my secret place,
My face grows tense and my heart starts to race.
I see them park to launch their boat,
They see my yak and begin to gloat,
“Good luck you putz with that tiny rig! You won’t be able to land anything big!”
I keep to myself, I do not haste,
I’ll soon put them in their place.
Their massive boat churns up the lake,
My kayak cuts through their evil wake,
To my spot, a steady paddle,
We will soon see who wins this battle.
The morning was cool as I reckon,
Then a boil began to beckon,
A massive swarm of lunker bass,
Cresting the water and creating a splash.
A hundred Yards off the starboard side,
I turn my yak and pick up my stride,
I see the seagulls slowly forming,
This will be my greatest morning.
As I approach I begin to hear,
A deafening roar that fills my ear,
That evil bass boat riding high,
Cleared the seagulls out of the sky.
The fish dove down, into the deep,
The fishermen lost their potential keep.
That big boat sure got them there,
Only to give the fish a scare.
The see me drifting some yards away,
They all stand up to brag and say:
“How you like bein in the game!”
“Were gonna put your catch to shame…”
I say nothing, just a grin,
I know what it takes to win.
They speed off, engines roaring,
We will see who takes the morning.
Not a minute later I see the shimmer,
Dozens of Bass rising for dinner.
Within casting distance I begin to paddle,
Troll my jigs across the battle.
One striper, two striper, three striper, four!
A quad hookup! Who could ask for more!
They pull my yak, I begin to glide,
This was one hell of a sleigh ride!
I land each one and promptly release,
Although I keep the biggest beast.
I arrive on shore and land my boat,
Here come the fellows who love to gloat.
Drunken and stumbling they rise to their feet.
I raise my catch, they taste defeat.
“Sorry bout you bad luck” I calmly say,
“You should have gone the YAKKER way!”
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