On Friday evening the Deans and I headed for a honey hole figuring Jake would be happier with fish on the line than having to be content with the thrill of birdsong across the water. As for type of fish Jake wanted bass. Don't know if he's familiar with the other fishes but he does know bass. There are several sure fire lakes in the area that always produce. No problem. Our only concern was between quantity and quality. Though R. Dean and I feared for the boy's life, we went for quality. Like I said, Jake's an eight year old string bean. Couple that with a kid's innate desire to never let loose of the fish of a lifetime, we figured a five pound bass would no doubt pull him overboard. R. Dean said he'd grab the boy should anything like that happen. Seeing as how I was out of duct tape to lash Jake to his seat, that was fine with me.
You know you're a full blood city boy when you make a wrong turn trying to find a lake you've been to but weeks before. Could've sworn it was the nine hundred, thirteenth birch tree up the track. In my defense it was an entirely new wrong turn. One more road I'd never been down before. Slightly more educated error. Eventually we made it and had the water to ourselves for four hours. Glassed out water even.
I don't trust boat motors, even electric trolling ones. Two things can go wrong with the latter, the motor and the battery. Maybe there's a third and I won't know what that is until it inevitably goes kaput. Back at the cabin I'd trickle charged the battery till the meter said it was full. Then hooked it up to the motor and both worked. In my mind that proved nothing.
Back at the cabin we were so excited about leaving Lois had to run out to let us know we hadn't raised the wheel stand the trailer tongue rests on. Oops. Nothing was broken except the embarrassed smile across my face.
At the boat access we slid seamlessly into boner number two by leaving the truck and trailer in the throat of the boat launch. Oops. A quick return and all was well. Ahh, city boys in the woods.
Dog Days of August. Yup, the fishing can be slow in Minnesota. Usually bass like warm water so we figured we'd do okay. We didn't. Come evening we'd had a couple on the line but that was about it. Not the day J. Dean was hoping for.
However, there was a reprieve in the form of bluegills. Lots of bluegills with a few of them pushing a pound. The Saturday morning fishing show pros call them bull bluegills with real shoulders. That's a bit of hogwash but it is true a ten inch sunnie feels like a two pound bass on the line. Heavy duty enough to put a smile on an eight year old's face. A few entries ago I'd written there hadn't been a bluegill ever netted by the DNR in these waters. Times change. Maybe the stork was confused and delivered the baby sunnies to the wrong lake. Whatever the reason, we had a fine time.