62 Nebraskaland • May 2019
THE LAST STOP
By Jeff Kurrus
IN A HURRY
Sometimes I get in a hurry, especially when the fish are
biting.
Last May, while fishing near West Point, my fishing
partner and I were catching as many bass as we wanted on
any number of lures. Crankbaits, spinnerbaits, topwater – it
didn't matter. The fish were there for the taking. And with
little wind and steady weather, they remained active all day.
Yet that still didn't stop me from almost ignoring this
wooden relic, rotting away in a patch of weeds by the lake.
I took a couple of photos, yes, but didn't do my job as a
photographer. I didn't step closer to investigate. Perhaps I
would have found the old, cracked plastic from a red and
white bobber or even treble hook scratches from one of the
wooden platforms.
Maybe I would have seen the initials of some kid who
carved his name in that same wood when the fishing was
slow, or the long faded measurement sticker on the hull of
the boat.
Perhaps the owners didn't fish in it at all.
However, I will never know, for I paused long enough to
make two images before sprinting back to my john boat.
Because I definitely do fish – much like I hope the owners
of this boat did as well – and the fish were calling me back
to the water.
