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IN THE ICE BOX OF MY MIND

 

As some of you know I spent 45 years fishing with the same five or six guys on Lake Winnepasaukee in New Hampshire at the end of April.  That story is buried in this blog over the past four years and you can find it, but it would take a heck of a lot of work.

 

  Known by locals as the big lake, this year it never froze over until this past week.

 

I have never fished it through the ice

but this morning's cam capture sure looks like that sport could soon happen.

 

We would wait until just after that winter covering would melt and sink.  The ice would push all that warmer water down below to the top and the small bait fish called smelt would head to the surface followed by the bigger, hungry trout and salmon.  If we timed it right we would watch it sink just as we arrive in Wolfeboro, where we would buy what food, snacks, adult beverages, fishing licenses and new sure fire lures that we deemed necessary to withstand the rigors of non stop fishing and poker playing.  It was a ritual! 

 

But in the deep winter of my brain this morning, I was seeing different images.  Maybe it's just all the medication or just plain memory on steroids.

 

 

January through March is the time of year when a young fisherman's thought processes are hot even if the body is frozen in with the season.  This is the time when equipment is primed for the upcoming seasons and anticipation is honed to a fine edge.  The mental images  float to the surface, just like the smelt and salmon.

 



I cannot begin to tell you the number of hours spent in this old tin boat on those ice cold waters, but suffice to say it was in the hundreds.  That old craft, simply called "Putt", caught more fish over those 40 plus years than all the rest of the newer fancy craft we employed.  I am sure even with all the ice and snow she still to this day is lying upside down on the small beach called "Winter home", waiting for us to show up and put her to work.  Sorta like having an old bird dog waiting by the door as you put your boots on and grab the old double barrel.  Can't wait to get started.

 

 

But now the trips have come to an end and we are all looking at the sunset.  This is the way I prefer to see that image resting peacefully in that portion of my brain that has survived the lobotomy of life.

 

Good times.  Good people.  How can I be so lucky.  Thank you Lord!