Oh my. I’ve pondered this and no matter what, only one place keeps coming back to me. Wye Mills Community Lake on the Eastern Shore of Maryland.
It’s early 1970’s. Although the spillway and Wye East River were well-known for the spring yellow perch run, the lake (50 acres) had a good reputation for bluegill, yellow perch and bass. There were old, leaky wooden rowboats for rent (leave the money in a can and grab as many life preservers as required) and off you go. In the summer it was loaded with duckweed. I was maybe 12 or 13 and we were only fishing with nightcrawlers. I made a cast from my Eagle Claw fiberglass rod and a Garcia Mitchell 300 with 8 lb. Stren near a fallen tree. I saw the line move and then the green back of a bass break the water like a dolphin and head for the bottom. Looking back I’d say it was maybe 2-1/2 to 3 lbs. tops, but back then it was a giant. I’ve never forgotten that bass.
But it was much more than that. It was the place my dad, brother and I (and often my dad’s friend Mr. Fred) always used to go to fish from a boat, and although no more than a little over an hour away from our home in Baltimore, it always felt like an adventurous trip. It’s not so much the place I miss. It was the magic.