foam as he rolled in the light chop. The Muskie hit short however and didn't feel a hook. In an almost automatic action, a marker made its way over the side of the boat to mark the general area of the sighting. We continued to work our way along the edge of the bar toward the deep water drop-off. Ten minutes later it happened again. A Muskie followed my globe arching his dorsal fin out of the water as he lunged for my lure. This Muskie turned out to have the same failing coordination as the previous fish. As with the other Muskie, this fish didn't feel a hook either. Another marker was dispatched over the side to mark this sighting as well. We continued to work the edge of the bar toward the deep channel drop-off. After covering the deep water edge, we turned our attention back to the edge of the bar we had just covered. Our markers, bobbing up and down in the chop, clearly marked our pervious line of assault. The markers provided a visible reference for our return casting attack. We started a slow troll back toward our markers casting over, what was then, used water. Using overlapping casting patterns, we cross-hatched our way back down the edge of the bar. As twilight set in, the September sky ignited in a palette of fall colors. We were the only boat on the immediate structure. The serenity of the evening, along with the singing of our reels, was almost hypnotic. We were about 15 feet away from one of our markers when an irregular bulge appeared behind the globe I was retrieving. I resisted the urge to slow down my retrieve as I anxiously watched the bulge behind my lure get closer. In an instant, all of my Muskie hunt preparations passed before my mind's eye. If I'd had more time, I probably would have worried about it but, thankfully, there wasn't. There was only time now to react to the Muskie that raised its head out of the water and lunged at the "defenseless" globe.
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