Oh ya, the ice was finally on, and it was late coming, but 6 inches is just fine for walking but not real hot for taking the VW. Dave and I trucked into the foot-access lake dragging my rig which consisted of a plastic sled, a couple of buckets for sitting and one for minnows. Oh, I forgot Dave took along a luxurious lawn chair for the ultimate comfort. Of course, we had my tip-ups, frosty ales and a couple of jigging poles.
Dave, and that is not me, did the pulling for the 3/4 of a mile as I feigned a foot pain, but it did hurt some due to age and he appeared to enjoy pulling as an exercise. Zoey, New York Dave's smiling dog, went along for moral support and the opportunity to stare in space, or stare at things of unknown value---at least to me.
It was a glorious day, low clouds, almost fog, no wind and a comfortable 43 degrees. Like summer really, but seeing we had just had a rain in mid January, thanks to global warming, the majority of the lake had a nice covering of 3 inches of water and slush, Still there was the south end where the water had not accumulated and all we had was a annoying one inch of slush.
We grabbed a couple of later day holes left just for us, slapped up a couple of tip-ups with 2 sizes of minnows, dropped a Swedish Pimple to the bottom and started jigging for the big ones. Dave snapped open a couple of brewskies from the local beverage shop, the ones they do for fisherman with lots of alcohol, and we laid back telling anecdotes and other witticisms.
This might have been when Dave told me of a car buggy collision in Amish country. He said the horse was "totaled" meaning it went to the final stall. I thought that was cute and we tried to figure out how the insurance company dealt with that. Was it too far gone to fix? Could they take it to the junkyard for some salvage? Then too, how do you set the value, $350 for a pony, $525 for gilding of note, maybe $730 for a horse really loved by the 10 year old kid? What if it had been in a previous accident and was dented? Did they call a wrecker? Was it sent to France to be recycled?
Fishing sure brings out the conversation. Then there was the flag up. We dashed over with the dog bounding ahead not knowing what was in store. I lifted the tip-up and the line was moving out. Bingo, I set the hook and in minutes a fat bass bounded out of the hole with me all full of myself and Dave jealous of my prowess. For reasons unknown, I took a quick look at the fat fish and decided it was not big enough, only to look at the photo above and realize it was indeed a keeper.
Oh well, we settled back into our beers and recliners and left the fishing to the dog who now must have known there was more fish on the end of the line, a fish she might catch. Nothing like going out on the ice, and that ain't no metaphor.
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