There’s a place on Lake Hartwell called Broken Bridges. I finally drove to it last night with the dogs and have to say it is one of the most peaceful places in this area. It is where an old iron truss bridge once spanned the lake helping to mark the boundary between South Carolina and Georgia. Today, the bridge has been “broken” or really the center section removed so no one will attempt to drive across it.
As I was leaving, I asked a fisherman, who was casting and recasting his lines off the bridge, “What are you fishing for?”
“Bass,” he replied. “Two years ago that is all I caught here. Lately, I’m afraid my wife wonders if I even go fishing because I haven’t caught anything in weeks!”
As I walked back to the car, I whispered a prayer, “Lord, please help him to catch ‘the big one’ tonight.”