My head bounced, shaking me awake, and I looked quickly toward Kerry.

He was doing fine, looking out through the windshield at the narrow section of road lit by the headlights of his Toyota. It was three in the morning and we were headed back from Stockton Lake. We’d completely ignored the “leave the water by midnight” guideline which we’d adopted long ago for evening fishing trips.

We’d started out at 6 p.m., swearing to return to the ramp by midnight. Our plan was to try and dodge the 100-degree temperatures that we’d been having over the past few days, and our plan worked well. By the time we’d launched the boat, a nice breeze had started which added a slight chop to the water —  which is good for the fishing —  and an ever so slight chill to the air — which is good for the fishermen.

The lake wasn’t overly crowded. There were only a few ski boats and personal watercraft on the water, and most of those were headed back to the ramp or to their campsites for the night. It was a perfect time for all of us night fishermen to come out. Aluminum boats, both flat and v-bottomed, as well as pontoon and other fishing boats were soon all that remained.

Being on the water at night can be tricky if you don’t know the area, but Kerry and I had been on this stump-laden section of the lake many times. We could practically sense the channel and steer the boat blindfolded. Our senses were so finely tuned that we almost didn’t need the brightly lit GPS.

Once we’d launched the boat we spent several minutes hunting the shallow flats which are located just out from the ramp. Unfortunately, we found only an occasional carp, and they were much too scattered to try and pursue with our topwater flies. We blamed water temperature for the lack of topwater bite since it was late summer and the water had grown quite hot.

Normally Kerry and I stick to the rocks and brush which line the main creek channel. It’s an area that we know and the fish are plentiful. However, tonight with the sun a mere glow over the trees, we made our way into a large tree-choked cove where we planned to spend plenty of time. We decided that we’d work the secondary points and flats and the trees along the minor channel which winds throughout the cove.

We picked up several small bass from the outside point before moving inside. The water quickly became shallow and the trolling motor soon began stirring up clouds of mud. We swung the boat out from shore and moved several feet until the graph indicated a depth of six feet. Following the edge to maintain our depth we cast our plastic lures up into the shallow water and began crawling them slowly back to the boat.

The catching was painfully slow and slowed even more the darker it became. However, whenever we’d encounter a spot where the deeper water swung into the shoreline, we caught bass — not big ones but a few scrappy 12-inchers.

We worked the trees, the flats in the back of the cove as well as the brush and deeper channels, but it was going much too slowly, and glancing off of unseen trees was unnerving. We eventually decided that the experiment had gone on long enough and we turned the boat out, toward the creek, and made our way toward the fish that we knew were waiting there.

On the first outside point we each landed bass, still not monsters but much better than those we’d been catching from the cove. We continued on, picking up a nice bass here and there. I seem to remember one of us mentioning that it was almost midnight at one point, but the comment was ignored and we fished on.

It wasn’t until we’d worked our way back to the ramp that we checked the time again. I’d guessed it was just after midnight and was shocked when Kerry said that it was after two. We both winced. We still needed to load and secure the boat and make the hour drive back home. Tomorrow was going to be rough. I’m not sure if it’s this way with everyone but there’s a definite lack of sympathy from my wife for being tired after staying out all night fishing.

The ride back was long but Kerry did fine. I didn’t notice him nodding off — not even once.

The day after one of these late night fishing trips used to be much easier, or at least much easier than it is now. My wife pointed out that the difference may be due to my advancing age, but I’m not buying that. There’s one thing that I do know — next time we’ll definitely be headed home by midnight!