Ice Out

     Spring's coming early this year.  The word down in Alabama over the winter sounded like the northland was under an ice assault straight from the gates of hell.  Guess I write that up to (oops had to run over and keep one grandson from bloodying the other) - seven hours later and I have no clue where I was going with that sentence.  Maybe that ice out is running a week or more earlier than normal.  Should put the smallmouth off the beds and then some.  That's good.  Should there be a quality black fly hatch, it'll most likely be on the wane.  That's also good.  Beyond that, it's a crap shoot.
     Checked the DNR's ice out map this morning.  Yup, seems things are running about ten or twelve days ahead of normal.  Don't know what that means for the Arrowhead region as their winter seemed a little more severe.  As for me, I'm heading into the yard to clean up the mess.  The joys of home ownership are never ending.
     In year's past mid-April would find me counting days, reading all I could find on the mating habits of fish (spring fishing is all about sex), and trying to nail down exactly how the fishing would go.  Did no good but did pass the time.  Guess, like the weather, there's too many variables as to when the bite'll be on.  Us German/Swede hybrids don't fancy variables.  If the world ran just like we wanted there'd be no point doing anything 'cause we'd have already done the math and would know what tomorrow would bring.  Ain't easy accepting the unknown inevitable.

Stuff

     Think I have enough stuff at the moment to build about eighty spinners of various sizes.  That should last me till the second, or maybe the third, coming.  Guess I'm gonna have to figure out how to survive those comings.  Once everyone is gone the fishing should get a whole lot better.  Wouldn't want to miss out on that.
     At the moment I'm sitting in the family room with a pair of grandsons watching one of the Alvin and the Chipmunk movies.  Didn't care for their songs when I was a kid or any of their cartoons in the following years.  Ah well, if I had a nickel for every time I read something like that in Lee Wulff's essays….
     Looking forward to tying the #8 treble hooks.  No doubt I'll grumble my way through them but'll figure it out eventually.  Now that I'm home there's new color combinations to choose from.  Grabbed the basics for Alabama and threw them together willie-nillie.  Ask any bass or walleye fishermen of note and they'll tell you that color's a big deal to fish.  No doubt in my mind they're right,.  Yet, outside of a change of blade color, I've paid color no heed.  I like bright.  I like natural.  Look in the box and tie on what feels right at the moment.  Eenie, meenie, mynie, squirrel tail.  Or maybe yellow and white.  Ooh, flashabou.
     Then there's choice of tackle box.  Think I have an old over and under out in the garage.  It worked in the past as a Boundary Waters box.  When we started doing the long trips into Canada it was left behind to gather dust.  Two week trips called for big food packs and tackle bags.  Lotsa lures and gear. But a five day-er calls for paring down.  As does my aging back and muscles.
     Then there's rods.  The two buck, sixty year old, thrift shop, fiberglass Shakespeare's going along.  Blast from the past and still a fine rod.  Also learned recently its sliding reel mount can do double duty as a fly reel mount.  Don't think that was the idea behind its design but what the heck.  The temptation of several rods wants to draw me into filling three rod tubes but no, two is the limit.  Two rods, three reels (if I bring a fly reel) and some backup line.
     More later.
   

The Future

     Three grandsons and a granddaughter, each with a future I'd like to see.  Also wouldn't mind spending some time on the water with them.  Already done that with Jakob but not in a canoe.  And, to me, a canoe's the way to go.  Takes longer to get where you want to go but only if where you want to go is a ways away.  In most of the lakes we fish, where we want to go is a right and a half dozen canoe lengths away so distance is rarely a problem.  And when it's a challenge, like a thirty mile paddle with five portages, the destination usually tastes that much sweeter.
     At the moment two of the grandsons, ages two and four, are doing artwork in the kitchen with their grandmother.  Part of their collages involves fish, funny looking fish with oversized eyes and eye lashes.  We're watching them for a few days while mom and dad are taking a break.  Till the boys are gone there'll be no lure making and not much writing.  I'll take that exchange any day.  Well, most any day.

Back in the Northland

     Been tying buck tails for fifteen years.  Still haven't got it right but I'm getting better.  The last couple down in Alabama were pretty close to perfect, whatever that might be.  Don't know if they'll catch fish but they'll sure look pretty in a tackle box.  Almost a shame to use them and mess 'em up.  Two types of feathers, three colors of bucktail, some flashabou, all mixed together in a variety of combinations.  No two the same.  Sure not like a Mepps production line popping out matching colors and balanced lures.
     Sixty-five days till the Boundary Waters.  Figured I'd be long passed my counting down days by this time in life.  The thrill is gone but I'm still counting.  Guess I'm just a counting kind of guy.  Good thing I've got something to count.  And look forward to.

Lethargy on Perdido Bay

     Just can't get up the urge to fish.  I figure it's the fault of the fish. They're the wrong kind.  And they seem to be avoiding me.  Could be political, religious or maybe both.  So what I do instead is tie a variety of feathered, furred and tinseled treble hooks.  Still slow as molasses at it but they're getting prettier.  Don't know if they'll catch fish but they'll sure look nice in the bog stained waters of the Boundary Waters.
     Brian says he's willing to take a chance on my spinners and even reimburse me for materials.  What more could I ask?  Twenty bucks will get him sixteen spinners of varying sizes and configurations.  Unless the urge strikes me while at the vise and wire bender.  Maybe I'll fill his tackle box.
     Beyond that I continue the Emil's Cabin story.  First draft is near done and close to resting time.  Let it sit for a month before reworking.  Changed the name of the younger character mid-tale.  Calling him Archie feels better but will have to rework the introduction to the Canada Trip story.  Didn't care for it anyhow.

Whistling in the Dark

     Haven't posted in a while.  Like last winter me and my Uncle Emil are off to the northland doing man stuff.  Seems like I can't get the woods out of my blood.  This time we're building a cabin off the Arrowhead Trail within spitting distance of the Boundary Waters.  Not as exciting as a trip to an unnamed lake in northern Manitoba but it'll have to do.  I'm more than halfway though this pseudo memoir with the intention of eventually adding a third, probably next winter.
     The design of the building came from hours of daydreaming while driving the backroads of Minnesota and Wisconsin.  Helped pass the time between delivery stops.  When I hear of a semi freight-training off the interstate for no apparent reason I figure the driver may have been lost in the ozone and didn't make it back in time.  Guess I was lucky.
     The thought struck me around New Year's Day that I'll never get a chance to build another cabin, for obvious reasons.  You know the ones, age, common sense, ain't one hundred percent done with the first one.  Then it dawned on me I could build one on paper (or whatever the hell you'd call typing it out in a blog).  Didn't figure it'd take as long as the real thing but it has, at least to this point.
     Anyhow, I'm still down here on the Gulf coast waiting for the water to warm.  Been out fishing only three times with equal results.  Went out for near an hour one evening figuring night fishing might turn the trick.  Was a nice way to spend time in the dark.  And the fishing was not one whit poorer than in daylight.

Using My Noodle

     Yes I have been out with the noodle rod.  Outside of nearly falling off the pier each time I cast it, things are going well.  Don't know if it's my advancing years and lack of balance or I'm just so darned strong I fling it too hard.  Probably the former seasoned with a touch of fear I'll become one with the fishes 'cause of a slight misstep.  When casting I'm never exactly sure where my leading foot will come down.  I'm hoping for concrete but can't look down and throw a spinner at the same time.  Guess multi-tasking is a thing of the past.
     The weather's supposed to warm over the next few days.  Fish like warm.  So do I.  Warm is good.  Might even heat the water enough to activate the fish.   Don't know what I'd do should I catch something.  Most likely panic.  Each time out I have no expectations of catching but come prepared should I get lucky (unlucky?).  Needle nose, forceps, handgun and claw hammer.  All the usual.  Maybe I should bring my copy of "Now That You've Caught It, What the Heck is It?"  There's things out there in salt water I don't want to know about.  Scary things that eat people or at least cause near death level pain.  The intent of the book is to let me know whether I want to handle what I've caught or simply cut the line.  Good thing there's an Urgent Care just up the road.
      Might even give night fishing a try.  There's a whole series of sturdy concrete poles on the pier.   Tie myself off and I'd be invincible.