Twas a week before Christmas when all through the night
Not a damn thing was swimming, I had not a bite

The plugs were all cast tight to structure with care,
In hopes that one last monster cow would be there;

Those with a stitch of sanity were home snug in bed,
Only crazy die-hard surfcasters were tired, cold and wet;

And I in my neoprenes and knit woolen cap,
Would’ve been better off with an eight-hour nap;

When out on the water was the sound of a splatter,
I leaned my rod back, and I swung like a batter;

Away flew my plug toward that distant splash,
My bail shut, my line broke, and it cost me some cash;

I tied on a new plug as along came a breeze,
And my shivering fingers continued to freeze;

I slipped on a rock and fell in with a splat,
Soaking wet from my Korkers right up to my hat;

Got a hook thru’ my waders, which sprung a nice leak,
And the end of the season was looking quite bleak;

I gave up, drove back home, and I crawled into bed,
My shivering woke up my wife, who sleeps like the dead;

She said “you’re obsessed” and then “it serves you right”,
“Thank God it’s the end of the season…good night”.

She thinks the next few months bring reprieve from my fishing,
But I know and you know that’s just foolish wishing;

There are plugs to repaint and hooks to replace,
Tackle in the basement, strewn all over the place;

Reels to grease, rods to wrap, plugs to turn, line to wind,
Leaky waders to patch, and some dull hooks to grind;

I’ll be out buying tackle, and of course tying flies,
And on surfcasting websites reading good advice and lies;

But…for the next couple nights I’ll just play the game,
Do the Holiday thing, and convince her I’m sane;

Do some minimal housework and rack up brownie points,
While I recover from the fall run, healing muscles and joints;

Work on saving my marriage, prevent a divorce,
Or a fishing tackle tag sale…
Which would be even worse…

While anxiously waiting for that first warm spring breeze,
And the water temp to reach that magic 45 degrees;

And the stripers again have control of the night,
While we search and we cast, and we wait for the bite;

But for now I wish you, ‘cause the timing is right,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

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