LAKE HAMILTON , Ark. — Sunrise hits differently in the mountains and on the water.

I suppose I’ve known that most of my life. My dad was a trotliner, and I spent countless mornings helping him haul in catfish as the sun came up on Watauga Lake or the Nolichucky River — both of which are surrounded by the beautiful East Tennessee mountains.

When I see a sunrise now, it’s usually on my way to work, so it was nice this past week to get away for a few days and clear my head before starting my 38th year as a sportswriter in East Texas.

My lovely wife decided a trip to Hot Springs, Arkansas, would do the trick, and before I could come up with my usual excuses for why we should stay at home, she had a room booked, the bags packed and the VW Beetle gassed up and ready to go.

We did all of the touristy things in Hot Springs, and it was nice. But, the actual head-clearing came during morning sessions that included sitting on a bench, talking to the turtles and ducks who dropped by to mooch food and watching Lake Hamilton come alive as the sun made an appearance over the Ouachita Mountains.

The first morning, it was just me, the turtles, the ducks and a woman on the other side of the pier smoking cigarettes like she might never see another one. I’m not judging since I was already working on my third cup of coffee and was deep into relaxation mode.

That all ended the second morning when I turned into my dad.

When I was 6, my dad bought a new, 1972 Chevrolet truck and made the folks at the dealership remove the 8-track tape player and radio from the truck before he would drive it off the lot.

Dad drove that truck for more than 20 years and swore he never missed being bothered by what he called “noise pollution” during his travels.

He had the same boat and motor for more than 20 years, the same pocket knife for more than 30 years, held on to a pocket watch I bought him for Father’s Day for more than 20 years, and when he died, we buried him in blue jeans, a flannel shirt and a red sweater.

There was nothing fancy about my dad, and I honestly believe if he had lived long enough to see cell phones invented, he would have been the last person on Earth to actually own one.

Dad didn’t have anything against others having fun, until that fun infringed on his peace and quiet, and that’s one of the main traits I inherited from him.

I once saw him aim a shotgun (it wasn’t loaded) at a boat load of “ski idiots” who came so close to our boat they sprayed us with water. The person skiing let go of the rope, and his buddies left him there to get chewed out by dad about the dangers of messing with old trotliners.

When the boat returned, Dad made sure to tell the skier — loudly — what useless and disloyal friends he had.

I thought about my dad Wednesday morning as I was enjoying another sunrise.

The dozen or so ducks I had befriended the morning before arrived just as daylight broke. This time, I brought a little food for them, but a few minutes into the meal all heck broke loose.

If you’ve never heard 12 ducks shatter a dead silent morning with a group panic “aquack,” I don’t recommend it.

I hope the guy operating the drone that spoiled my quiet morning, terrorized my new friends and caused the Marlboro Woman across the pier to light up four smokes at the same time got some great photos and video.

I hope he also realizes how lucky he was it was me sitting there instead of my dad. I just thought about how nice it would have been to see that stupid drone crash into the water.

Dad might have made that happen.