From Robert Rosser's ENGL 101 class at Camp Carroll, Korea:

I had decided to take the back road home but I still don't know why. I generally preferred to go through the main part of town. It seemed unusually dark as I drove, though I could see the stars and moon clearly in the night sky. Wisps of clouds hovered above, scattered across a broad expanse of blackness, faintly glowing in the moonlight, and adding to the eerie feel.

The road traveled a series of gentle slopes through a lightly wooded area. Pines lined the road most of the way--that is, until you turned into my subdivision. Then the trees would open into neat little rows of faded pastel green and yellow duplexes and quadriplexes. Each building was plainly stenciled with a number and trashcans were all lined up and neatly facing the same way. Every fourth complex had a small playground, newly renovated, with bright shiny plastic spiraling slides animated in reds and blues to match the swing sets. These were set atop black rubberized Astroturf circles some thirty feet wide. Bicycles, toys, and other evidence of the day's activities were scattered about the playground, leaving the appearance that the children had vanished.

I was passing the golf course now, its neatly manicured greens peering out occasionally as I passed rows of pines clumped together along the road. Was that to create obstacles for the golfers or to isolate them from a less leisurely world? I had been back in there once, just to take a look, and knew there was a clubhouse neatly tucked away and out of sight. It sat next to a well-maintained pond with several rows of “Guest Bungalows." A stout wooden sign hewn from the same pine that enclosed the property proudly stated that this area was constructed and maintained for our treasured guests and “Members Only." Could you be a guest if you were a member, or was this just more eyewash for a secluded private sector? I found myself wondering who the secluded ones were--those with the time to enjoy it or those without. Near the end of the expanse of greens was the road that would lead me home.

It was Friday night around 8:45 but could have easily been any day of the week. I could not recall entering or leaving my house while it was daylight more than once a week for several months now. I had been averaging eighty or more hours a week since Christmas. It was now October. October 26, 2002, to be exact and it was unseasonably warm. We were into our third day of mild weather coming out of several weeks of fairly steady rain and cold. And to think that early in the summer the state had called for a ban on watering lawns or washing cars because we were in a period of record low rainfall. Well, we sure made up for that one.

I knew dinner would be ready but probably refrigerated on a plate by now. My wife knew that my schedule varied unpredictably from night to night and was surprisingly supportive. She would cook dinner and prepare a plate for me along with some French bread, buttered and ready to toast--a craving I had somehow developed and she catered to.

I don’t recall when I had last seen my youngest daughter awake, or my older girl either. I made it a point to peek in on the little one when I got home, but her sister was in her teens now and a little more private. She was mostly a voice behind the door to her room, echoing a response to my redundant announcement that I had arrived and asking how her day was. Neither of us wanted a lengthy conversation. I was exhausted and she was preoccupied with the Internet or a phone call, or both.

My wife on the other hand would usually join me for dinner and relate the events of her day. Often the conversation would carry through dinner and into our room where it frequently lulled me to sleep. Her tone was soothing and I would sometimes wake if she stopped before I had drifted away. This was partly out of respect, knowing she was there for me and wanting to be there for her on more than the occasional evening I had free.

I had the sensation of waking as I realized I had passed the golf course and the road I should have turned on to go home--almost half a mile back. Had I fallen asleep? I knew there was a public park just over the gentle grade I was ascending and would turn around there. I knew of the park because I had visited it a couple times when I first arrived two years ago. It surrounded a small lake, a pond really, and I had asked about fishing it while buying my license at the bait shop. The portly gray-haired shopkeeper chuckled as he told me there weren’t any fish in there. I never really got the opportunity to test his sincerity.

There were two entries to the park and the lake butted up to the road between them. I found myself driving past the first entry where I had planned to turn around, and I recall thinking that, late as it was, another ten minutes wouldn’t hurt. There is a sense of calm when setting quietly lakeside in the evening and I thought I could use a few minutes to escape before going home. I approached the second entrance and I could see the lake on my right. The water seemed somehow deeper than I remembered and had a luring aspect that I could not resist. I turned into the park and started down the narrow beaten road. Before going very far I turned across the grass and slowly headed toward the water. I stopped some fifteen feet from the edge and turned out my lights.

The park was completely empty and hauntingly dark. There were no floodlights to illuminate it at night and just enough trees scattered around the shoreline to block the moon. But the water! The lake itself appeared frozen like black ice. There was no movement across the surface and the moon clearly reflected off the face of the water giving it a silvery black appearance. I stepped out of my truck and walked down to the shore. I remembered a few protruding stumps from when I had visited here before but I did not see any now. The rain must have raised the water level enough to cover these. The water was so dark and still it appeared bottomless like an abyss. I began mentally planning and organizing my events for tomorrow.

As I stared across the water I noticed movement for the first time. It was a small circular ripple spreading from a spot some thirty feet from the shore. Then I saw more movement near the same area. I stepped back to my truck and picked my favorite pole from the back. I selected an artificial worm for bait that I thought might appear real in these conditions, if indeed there were fish in this lake. I still had my doubts based on the shop owner's comments and because I had never heard any fishing tales related to this lake.

I paused for a moment to watch for more movement so I could carefully place my cast. I saw a brief series of ripples centered near the same area and off to my left. I let my cast go and started mentally rehearsing all I had learned through the years but had not practiced in so long. It was by no means a perfect shot but every cast has potential, so I began working my lure through a series of movements. I got to repeat this several more times without success.

Now it is a little known fact that the largest of bass will most frequently have the subtlest presence when taking a lure. It was now quite a bit later and I was just about to cash in when I lit up a cigarette and decided to continue until I finished my smoke. I had noticed a patch of lily pads near the area where I saw the movement earlier and decided to give it a shot. I landed one just shy of the area and allowed my worm to sink. I began methodically working the lure again when I felt a slight twitch. I jerked back hard on the line making sure to drive the hook in on the off chance that it was a fish. Suddenly my line began cutting through the water moving to my right. I could tell it was big, whatever it was, and thought I had hooked one of the carp or other bottom feeders predominant in the area. I could tell that this fish was most certainly heavier than I was set up to catch. I had my light pole with thin line that was prone to break if the reel was not properly adjusted to allow it to back feed before that happened. I checked my adjustments while keeping the line tight and backed off just a little extra for caution. It's a good thing I did because the fish started pulling line back off the spool and circling around to my left.

I fought that fish back and forth for the better part of five minutes until it exhausted itself and I was finally able to work it into shallow water. It ended up being the largest bass I have ever caught. It hangs proudly on my wall with a plaque stating the weight, date, and location it was caught.

I called my wife from the lake and told her I was on my way home with a surprise for everybody. They were waiting when I arrived some five minutes later and shared the victory with me. I’m sure my youngest was the most impressed.

When I returned to work the following day, I felt rested and had a renewed interest in my responsibilities. I actually seemed to get more done in a shorter amount of time. I also knew that when I felt overwhelmed again I might just need a break to get some work done.

I don’t go on spontaneous retreats like that anymore. We plan our events and go as a family. I had a buddy that worked those same hours with me so long ago. His wife bought him a fishing pole.