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Twitch It

I cannot over express the power of the twitch. Ever.

You can be fishing a 10-ounce glide bait, a ¼-ounce bucktail, a 12-inch metal lip, a 3-inch Deceiver Fly. It doesn’t matter. Twitch it.

The twitch is life.

In the water, life hovers and twitches. It doesn’t wiggle. It doesn’t bounce, or jerk. Doesn’t even really dive. By in large, it sits still- suspended, hanging, or waiting- then rapidly attacks, or flees- darts, bolts, or jumps.

Yet, it’s a twitch. Not a hard, jarring jerk. It’s subtle movement of the wrist, not a cranking with the arm. You want to breath life into the lure or fly, without over doing it. Too much drama disrupts the illusion. You bring up the house lights too bright, and instead of seeing the puppet, the fish can see the strings. If you understand my meaning.

In particular, in the summer the twitch will save you.

Saved me last night. Without the twitch, I wouldn’t have had a single fish. Instead, I managed a smattering of six fish over approximately three hours of fishing. A meager count, for certain. And nothing large; only a single slot fish and the rest smaller. But something, is better than nothing.

Twitch it.


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