My son, a friend of mine, and I were crappie fishing in a quiet cove on Stockton Lake. It was a cold, but tolerable day in February. We had almost reached our limit when we heard it. The sound was almost like a scream. Sounds we are accustomed to hearing were the wind through the trees, waves on the rocks, crows cawing, geese honking, or the sound of an eagle who was out fishing like we were.
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