Work in Progress - Complete!

[Special Ed]

http://www.fourseasonangler.com/?p=1388


- Dammit - forgot to spellcheck.....

Spellcheck complete, see anything looks weird?

[Ken G]

So why do I get an Error 404 page.

[Special Ed]

Fixed it Ken.


Thanks for the comment and inspiration.


Notice anything wrong with it? It reads mixed up when I re-read it, but when I go to edit I can't figure out what to change.....

[Ken G]

Finish what you want to say, then go back. Might not need it then.

Mile walk across ice . . . I don't think so. Crunch, crunch, crunch, like fingernails on a chalk board.

[Special Ed]

The condensed version:

- Once on a Blue Moon -



The full moon on New Year’s Eve 2009 was the second full moon of the month. That makes it a Blue Moon by most sources, and in the moments before sunrise that morning I found myself staring at that moon wondering just what in the world prompted me to be there in the first place.

I slipped the gear selector into park and stared ahead at the trees and willow shrubs poking up through the pristine white of snow pack hardened by days of sub-zero temperatures. A boot and sled cut trail marked a clearly defined path from the parking lot almost a mile out onto the ice. A quick survey of the horizon revealed a few chiseled anglers had already popped up their portable shanties in an attempt to shelter from the bone-chilling morning air.

“The snot is frozen inside my nose already! We must be out of our minds!”

Darrin, my long-time fishing buddy started in with the whining as soon as he stepped out from the warm comfort of heated leather seats and automotive climate control.

Suited up and fully packed we guide our sleds down the icy path and begin the morning death march. Wind whipped tears froze to our prickling cheeks, and early onset frostbite on exposed skin immediately became a concern.

Hurriedly, we found an area to stake our claim, erected my portable Frabill Trekker II and drilled holes in the Siberian Tundra. We ducked back into the shanty after our prep was complete, quickly removed our gloves and began warming our numb appendages in our armpits and the folds of our holiday meal fattened necks. Although words were never spoken, the teeth chattering, huffing, puffing, and the dense fog of exhaled breath communicated plenty.

I drilled my holes evenly along the edge of the channel, and around the weed transitions in a concentric circle. The anticipation of an aggressive radar blip appearing on my flasher below a handsomely presented purple Mon Jig was too much for me to bear. Still slightly numb, I gathered my equipment and headed outside the false comfort of my frozen tent.
To my dismay, the Arctic conditions refroze each and every one of my freshly drilled holes. I also found that my lucky plastic ice scoop was virtually useless at chipping away the layer of refreeze. Eventually, the cold and repeated blows to the ice caused a decapitation of sorts rendering my lucky scoop a lucky stick.

By the time I was able to locate a hole with promising flasher mark, I had already eliminated more than half of the holes I had drilled. Down the crystal clear water my jig fell into a dense jungle of twisted stalks and tangled twigs. I lost sight of the jig through the hole, and switched to watching my flasher for activity. Almost instantly a blip appeared. It increased in size and intensity of color as it drew nearer, my quivers and twitches seemed to call the fish in for a closer inspection.

“Fish on!”

I called over to Darrin who was also icing one of his first fish. A quick thumbs up and smile was barely visible in the blinding glare of the sun rising behind him.

“The coldest part of the day” I mumbled to myself.

As the sun rose higher into the morning sky, the big bluegills were getting less likely to move far from the dense cover to pounce on a dangling presentation. More crafty techniques like pounding the loose soil with a heavier jig and floating it just above the disturbed silt cloud were employed. Eventually even this was getting the turned-up nose response.

“Picky little critters.” Darrin exclaimed from across the gleaming crystals separating us.

Feeling the slowdown in action and bitter iciness take its toll, I opted for soothing reprieve in my shanty next to the propane heater. My freezer-burned partner must have been reading my mind because he shortly followed suit.

We re-positioned just off a dense up-cropping of brush, and settled in for some rest in hopes of increased fish activity. Slowly our body’s warmth returned, and warm blood began flowing through our numb fingers and toes.

There is nothing more surreal than nature’s beauty as seen from the inside of a dark shanty on a bright sunny day. The sun outside lights up the snow and ice, creating a neon blue/green glow that is only visible from the interior of your dark enclosure. The world below the ice becomes as vivid as you’ll ever see it, and it opens up a new level of excitement as sight-fishing in shallow water becomes a real cat and mouse game.

A scan of the depths below revealed a small cluster of fish clinging spandex tight to a wad of branches near the base of our nearby bush. I dropped a tiny baited offering into the tangled mess and bounced that jig right off the head of a now very pissed-off gillasaurus.

He bolted from his hiding place and feverishly attacked the lure causing a bent rod and a silt-stirring commotion below. Instantly I realized the tension of my fishing line caused him to spiral out of control, wrapping the line firmly around the same tangled brush he had been hiding in.

I’m not sure if it was hypothermic delirium or my inner stubborn mule, but I soon found myself stripping down to my t-shirt and probing the biting abyss below…. bare-armed….. through the 6″ hole in the ice. With the last bit of feeling in my hands I felt my way down the line to the tiny limbs. I pulled and slid my hand further down until I felt the writhing body of a chunky fish.

A quick yank up and out of the hole had broken my line but left me standing there, holding another fine fish, soaking wet in the arctic air, fingertip to armpit….

“Now I’ve seen it all. You are such a numb skull.”

For fear of a serious cold weather injury on the ice, we packed up our outpost and high-tailed it out of there.

Darrin’s taunting meant little as we briskly shuffled across the great desolate expanse, seeming to move only inches at a time towards the salvation of a warm dry car.

Of course we laughed about it the whole way home, making for a seemingly quick 2 hour drive back to our little homes in suburbia. Not much time for reflection or deep thought, but good times, good laughs, and a VERY high heat setting on the dashboard climate control.