So we spent a cool summer evening casting poppers just off the shoreline of a hidden mountain lake. When we called it quits, our grand total was one 4-inch bass. George was apologetic. "Honestly, Dave, it's usually much better than this." But to my mind, it couldn't have been a more perfect trip. Truth is, I had a fine time, and I have no doubt that his spot is every bit as good as he says it is. But, of course, the bottom line is that I can now can take him to my spot with impunity.