By Craig Springer
Kerdunk. That’s the sound of a floating crank bait landing on the smooth, glassy water of a Virginia lake at daybreak. The sharp, toasted-orange first light of day bathes the concentric rings that ripple outward from your first few twitches of the lure. The enticements draw no response from the object of your affections. Your presence stirs up a red-winged blackbird singing a flute-like gurg-a-lee from the cattails.
But anglers are ever the optimists. A few pedal clicks and baritone burrs of your trolling motor turns you nearer to a known underwater ledge. You know it’s there because you have felt it before, braille-like, drawing lipped lures over the lake bottom to the bow of your boat.
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