Take Two and Call Medicine Man Charters in the Morning
I’ve known Captain Ed for about 6 years now. He is a man with a plan and plenty of jokes to keep the fish biting. We went out today on a walleye charter in Canada waters where we could keep 6 walleye each. I lost track of the upgrading we did to come in with a bucket full of finger licking good eaters. Today’s trip included Steve Kovacs and his wife, Laurie, who was AMAZING. She began fishing before she could walk.
The morning was custom ordered. Light winds, warm temps, and a Ranger boat with a 300 Merc, 4 stroke on the back. Pedal down to Motown on Lake St. Clair, one of the best fisheries in the United States. Within 1.5 hours, we had our limit on the Detroit River, by the Canadian Club plant. Figures.
Captain Ed said he could put us in the range of trophy smallmouth bass (my favorites) as soon as he cleaned the walleye and we headed back to the dock to regroup, slug some water and he put the dressed walleye on ice. ”
We busted a move 7 miles to the land of Oz and sure enough, the smallies were hitting, but they were tricky devils. We had the squirreliest minnows I’ve ever seen and they danced above the fish beds so we could land some lunkers. Steve and Laurie both shouted “Fish On!” at the same time and there it was….a double. Both fish were in the 19 to 20″ range and danced their way on top of the water, giving us all a heart attack.
Finally is was my turn. I had a sketchy minnow who slinked in the shallows, over the fish beds and rocks until finally, a tug. Then another tug. When the moment felt right, I set the hook and landed a 20-1/4″ smallmouth. He protested and spanked the surface, but Ed was quick with the net and we landed him. 3/4″ short of a Master Angler designation. Still, a great fish and a fighter to the last. We released all the bass, split the walleye and I made it back to Grand Blanc in time for my ballroom dance lessons. Whew. I stunk like fish but couldn’t wipe the smile off of my face when “Stayin’ Alive” played and we did the hustle.
Deer Me
Paddling in the August sun made my bare shoulders smell like burnt potato chips. Purposefully, I put my wrist up to my tongue to taste pure salt. Time to ditch the canoe and fulfill a promise I made to myself earlier in the day to go swimming with my dog. I haven’t been in a bathing suit in 10 years, convinced that no one wants to look at old lady parts –yet I was yearning for the childhood thrill of making three backwards somersaults in a row underwater and floating on my back, looking up at the sky.
My objective all along was to be brave, not be seen, and be quick. My swimming hole would have to be secluded. After passing up two possible sites, I settled on one across from a lively beaver dam. I love beavers and hoped to get some brownie points by aggravating one bad enough to slap his tail at me. I shivered for a minute in waist deep water, steeling myself for the plunge. Hmmm….much colder than it looked. I kept saying, “Just do it….do it….GO!” Elvis was singing “It’s Now or Never” as I pushed off hard, leaving the earth and years behind, sinking up to my neck in orange tannin-colored water, common in Michigan’s upper peninsula.
Now my legs were working like eggbeaters in the water, treading it, as I called Remi out to me. She had been on the shore doing a pretty good impression of Scooby Doo’s “Rutt-Roh” look. I blew bubbles at her, clapped and called her out to me. After a sufficient amount of begging, she figured, ah, what the heck, and took the plunge–steering towards me with her built-in tail rudder and pumping her back legs until we were nose to nose, hearts smiling.
All of a sudden, to my left, I heard a huge kersplash followed by a smaller kersplash. Surreal. There we were, out in the deep water, the two of us dog paddling with a doe and a fawn. The doe was in high gear, cutting 30 yards straight to the mainland from this island cove and her spotted baby was bawling after her. Remi and I had the “deer in the headlights” look as we shared this spectacle. Safe on the other side, they shook off and quickly disappeared into the woods, thinking nothing of it. All that was left on our side were the two sets of meandering hoof prints on the sandy beach and a miracle I will be thinking about for decades.
Bear Makes Great Catch – Should Play for the Tigers!
During a recent trip to a park in Seattle known for its “waving bears,” these motorists had an awesome encounter. A giant grizzly, who had perfected his begging, was sitting up on his haunches, looking for an easy mark. He was very close to the road and only a few strands of electric fencing kept him in check.
It wasn’t long before the couple in this 24 second video fell prey to his shenanigans.
They stopped the car and waved. Sure enough, Yogi waves back. He even flashed them a teddy bear smile. This guy knew how to work it and before long, the passenger was putty in his hands. She disobeyed every “Don’t Feed The Bears” sign and flipped him a hunk of bread. Incredibly, the bear reached out with his catcher’s mitt, like a pro, and snagged it. CUTENESS OVERLOAD as they all share a special moment. Click on the orange type below – to see it all go down.
Old Man Winter Needs to DIE
When that cold-hot-cold-snow-melt-ice-hot-cold-windy-slushy in between season called March in Michigan gives me a headache, I chug a cup of hot cocoa with marshmallows to quiet the fever. With a blankie wrapped tightly, I keep warm, waiting for camping season. Last year the fever hit when the sun came out and melted all the snow, exposing some green for the first time in forever. To top that off, I saw a skunk in the road and had to wonder if it meant six more weeks of anything?
Then I spied my first robin bursting with blue eggs, as she collected sticks and little pieces of this and that to pad her nest. I’m deliriously dreaming about roasting hot dogs over a snapping flame –with a stick customized by my trusty “Swiss”. My hibernating mind is starting to wake up with the crocuses and it drifts above my consciousness, letting in the smell of cowboy coffee percolating in my Grandpa’s dented pot as I listen to bacon sizzling in a heavy cast iron skillet.
There is nothing like the sound of kerosene gas flowing up into a Coleman lantern at night which, upon ignition, takes on a life light of its own–bathing us in soft yellow hues. Every kind of insect is attracted to it’s nectar core. I can see my Dad striking the match and posting it on a nail, way up and off to the side.
Soon it will be time to go mushroom hunting and time to put all the lawn chairs in a circle around the fire and time to sing Three Dog Night’s Joy to the World and time to collect mint leaves to brew Grandma’s mint tea and time to gather drift wood in the bow of a row boat and and time to pick daisies and black-eyed susans and time to wear flip-flops and time to chop wood and time to catch a fish and time to discover new trails on hikes and time to see eagles soar and time to see deer in the woods and time to catch a lightning bug and time to skinny dip and time to tell ghost stories and time to drop blueberries into a tin cup and time to appreciate a full moon and time to dig up a can of worms and time to take a picture of a sunrise and time to grill and time to just be happy and time to open the graham crackers and time to fire up the ‘ol 1964 Johnson 20 and time to strip down into your skivvies and crawl into the sack….exhausted from not having enough time when it comes to camping!
Dairy Air