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The angling bug packs a potent sting, infecting us victims with an overwhelming urge to fish, fish again and fish some more.
Whether we angle for walleye, bass, crappies, muskies, crappies or bluegills, whatever time we invest simply isn't enough.
I learned this long ago. It is one of the unique aspects of fishing.
I love baseball and football, but after a few hours of watching, I'm ready to do something else. Likewise, I am an avid golfer, but after four hours, I put the clubs in the car, and go home to get on with other things.
But after time on the lake, I reluctantly return to the boat ramp. I would rather stay on the water, but I know deep inside that being a responsible adult means fishing must have limits.
For many years, I fished in bass tournaments. I competed throughout our region.
I enjoyed every minute of fishing Mosquito, Milton, Pymatuning, Berlin, West Branch, Shenango, Pine, Evans, Liberty, Girard, Chautauqua, Salt Fork, Seneca, Dillon, Alum Creek, Conneaut, Wilhelm, Deer Creek, Walborn, Tamarack, Woodcock, Nimisila, Mogadore, and, of course, Erie out of Lorain, Ashtabula and Presque Isle Bay, and four pools of the Ohio River. I even managed a smile or two at Portage Lakes, my nemesis waters.
My fishing experience boils down to two simple points: When the fish are biting, I don't want the fun to stop. When the fish aren't biting, I don't want to stop until I figure them out.
Every day I spend on the water begins with optimism. On Erie, I want a big walleye, an acrobatic steelhead or a bull-dogging smallmouth bass. I go to Mosquito with my sights set on a limit of largemouths. Some days, I rig up for a bucket of crappies.
Other days, frankly, I am pleased to salvage the trip with three or four sheepshead. And I've had many a day when the Ohio River yielded 20 or more smallmouth bass, none of which stretched over the 12-inch line, but nevertheless were tons of fun.
One thing about fishing is the angler's goal can be a moving target. That was a lesson reinforced during my tournament days. My first goal was to get the first first bite. Then I wanted the second, and when I boxed my limit, I was intent on culling the smaller bass with bigger fish.
And so it goes today. A good trip might mean catching two or three fish or it might be a day when 20 fish came to my party. Both, interestingly, are successful and both, naturally, conclude with wishes that I'd done just a little bit better.
To surrender to the clock's announcement that it is time to go home, therefore, is difficult for many of us who suffer the symptoms of fishing withdrawal, but who are eternally optimistic that the next cast we make might bring unprecedented success.
Hence the familiar call, heard in almost every fishing encounter, "One more cast." Often heard, of course, but rarely heeded.
Jack Wollitz writes weekly about fishing experiences for readers of the Tribune Chronicle and Vindicator. Contact him at jackbbaass@gmail.com.