Tag Archives: fishing

Birthdays and spinnerbaits

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Imagine a future with more birthdays — a future without cancer.

It never hurts to dream big!

The American Cancer Society is celebrating its 100th birthday May 22 and, with it, the many milestones it has reached in the fight against cancer.

As Nobles County gears up for its 17th annual Relay for Life event June 21, in Worthington, 19 teams — 250 Relay members — are raising money to help in the fight against cancer locally, across the state and around the country. The money teams have raised over the past year, combined with those from luminaria contributions, donations and campsite sales at the Relay are used for cancer research, education, advocacy and service.

It isn’t too late to be a part of Relay and create or join a team. For more information, call Kim Lambert at 372-5305 or 360-6406, or email rflofnoblescounty@hotmail.com.

In recognition of its 100th birthday, the American Cancer Society is tooting its own horn, as well it should. For instance, did you know that two out of three people diagnosed with cancer today are surviving at least five years? ACS research has led to a 20 percent decline in cancer death rates in the U.S. since the early 1990s. In other words, the lives of nearly 1.2 million people have been saved in the last two decades.

So, happy birthday ACS! Wouldn’t it be great if, in the next 100 years, cancer could become a disease of the past?

Speaking of birthdays, I must say happy 19th birthday to my niece Jessie, along with her mom, Connie, who notches another “40-something” birthday.

With one mother-daughter birthday in the family, we’re all wondering if there might be another double birthday next month with nephew Matt and his wife expecting their second child. Matt’s already been told if they have a girl, he can expect Princess cakes for the next several years!

Matt, my fishing buddy ever since he was old enough to hold a rod and reel, took a couple hours out of his busy life to go fishing with me last Saturday night.

I still see him as the little boy who told me stories on the shoreline as we waited for bullheads to bite at Hawkinson Bridge, but thank goodness he grew up to learn fishing skills from more than just his “Aunt Juwee.”

I may have taught him how to bait a hook, but now he has taught me not just what a spinnerbait is, but how to use it. We weren’t successful in catching any bass the other night, but I did manage to catch my first northern pike of the season. (Matt even made me take it off the daredevil all by myself!) He had caught a much larger northern a few nights before my success, so I guess he has the bragging rights again this year.

Sky and Sea: Wright Brothers and fishing on the OBX

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The Wright Brothers Memorial at Kitty Hawk. The hill in the distance is Kill Devil Hill, and at the top of it is a tribute to the brothers’ first flights from that spot.

The Wright Brothers Memorial was one of the first

The memorial.

places we stopped during our stay on the Outer Banks, mostly because it was a bit drizzly that first morning and we could spend our time inside, looking at artifacts from Wilbur and Orville Wright’s quest to build and fly the first airplane. The museum includes paintings of many individuals who influenced flight, along with short stories about their efforts.

Outside the museum, markers were placed to signify each of the brothers’ first four flights and, at the top of Kill Devil Hill, which was their take-off point, a large monument stands in honor of the aviation pioneers. My parents opted to stay in the car while I walked the long, paved path to the top of Kill Devil Hill. (Signs urge people to stay off the grass because it is littered with prickly pear cactus.)

The view from Kill Devil Hill. Follow the sidewalk leading away from the memorial, all the way to the end, and the markers signifying the landings of flights one through four are beyond that point.

From the monument I had a great view of the Wright Brothers’ historical first flights — not to mention my first panoramic view of the Outer Banks coastline and the Atlantic Ocean. My only regret was that we didn’t return on a sunnier day to take better photos.

With the weather starting to clear by late afternoon, we found other indoor options to see in the area closest to our home away from home. Manteo, located on Roanoke Island and accessible from the Outer Banks by bridge, is home to the North Carolina Aquarium. Filled with fish species from the coastal and fresh waters of the state, it was neat to see so many species you won’t find in the waters of Minnesota.

It wasn’t until the next day, however, while taking the free ferry from Hatteras Island to Ocracoke Island, that we learned more about the fish of the Outer Banks. Joining us on the ferry were several fishermen (the southern Outer Banks are primary fishing villages, as compared to the large hotels, numerous restaurants and seemingly hundreds of gift shops in the area between Kitty Hawk and Nags Head). We had time to chat with one of the fishermen on the 45-minute ferry ride.

This is how fishermen on the Outer Banks travel with their rods and reels. (The truck was on the ferry to Hatteras Island when my mom captured this image.)

On this particular day, he was headed to Ocracoke for some “surf fishing,” after spending the day prior fishing by boat.

He told us he was still tuckered out from his previous day’s adventure — he managed to catch what he believed to be at least a 60-pound stingray. He battled with it for quite a while before getting it close enough to the boat that he could clip the line.

For his day of surf fishing, he was going to use cut up pieces of mullet fish for bait, in hopes of catching some freshwater drum. The way he talked about the fish, I figured it was similar to how we Minnesotans worship the walleye.

Later that day, we stopped at Jennette’s Pier at Nags Head and talked to more fishermen. The pier is rather interesting in that it also contains an aquarium, bait and tackle shop and a gift shop.

A bluefish caught from Jennette’s Pier.

From what I read online, the summer months include fishing how-tos from the pier for those who would like to try their hand at fishing. For me, it was just fun to walk down the pier and watch the flurry of activity, whether it was people baiting hooks or reeling in fish, or the surfers down below, waiting and trying to catch a wave.

This surfer catches a wave near Jennette’s Pier at Nags Head, N.C.

Four days in the life of a reporter

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More than a few times over the last four days, I had to remind myself to just take a deep breath and exhale slowly — everything’s gonna be all right.

From Friday afternoon through Monday noon, I logged 262 work miles on my car. It began with the search for storm damage after numerous funnel clouds were reported across Nobles County Friday and ended with a trip to the newly expanded AGCO facility in Jackson Monday morning to tour the tractor assembly line (that was really awesome, by the way!)

Sandwiched between those two adventures were a trip to Windom Saturday to cover the Wings on the Prairie event and the release of five trumpeter swans; and then to Luverne on Sunday morning to capture the images and emotions of a wonderful reunion between our National Guard soldiers and their families after nearly a year apart.

I can’t even tell you how many people I interviewed during that span of days —I just know it was a lot.

It’s funny how, in the movies, the life of a reporter is often depicted to be a glamorous profession. Never are they shown eating fast food lunch in their car (I’m rather embarrassed to admit I did that three times in the last four days), frantically scribbling notes, and then, trying to decipher those same frantic notes back at the office.
By the end of the day Monday, that span of four days produced half a dozen stories, two photo galleries, more than 100 photos and this blog. Uff da.

After all of that, I must say these past four days have been an exciting, exhilarating whirlwind of work for this reporter, and nearly everything I wrote about fell into the “good news” column.

Topping the list, of course, was the troop welcome home. If I could have been in two places at the same time, I would have been at both Jackson and Luverne to cover the parades and reunions.

Sunday marked the third time in the last eight years that I’ve had the honor of covering soldiers returning home, and it’s an experience that leaves me teary-eyed every time. I’m so thankful that most of our troops are now safely home and reunited with their families. Thanks troops for the sacrifices you’ve made, for your dedication and service to a country that allows so many freedoms, including freedom of the press.

As long as we have that freedom, we will continue to bring you the news —the good and the bad —day after day.

I’ll be back at it in a couple of weeks, after taking a much needed stretch of vacation days.

I’m not sure yet how I’m going to spend my days off, but with the Minnesota fishing opener on Saturday, you can be sure I’ll get to the lake a time or two.

Mostly, I plan to sit at home, with my feet up and my overhead needlework light shining on my latest stitching project. There’s a little Godson in my life who adores John Deere tractors, and my Auction Day pattern is slowly starting to take shape.
I’d really like to have it completed by Christmas, but I refuse to set a deadline on my stitching hobby. Deadlines are for the newsroom, after all.

A handshake at the lake

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I’ve often heard that a bad day fishing beats a good day at work, but a good day fishing, well, that beats pretty much everything.

And I had a good day fishing — a great day fishing, in fact.

I may as well come right out and say it … I caught a walleye!

Oh, I’m not gloating or anything like that. My walleye certainly wasn’t large enough to hang proudly on a wall. My walleye didn’t put up a laborious fight when I reeled it in, and it wasn’t even worthy enough to have its photo taken (although I did it anyway — for proof, at the very least!)

The first time I ever caught a walleye was the summer of 2005. That, sadly, was also the last time I caught a walleye.

It hasn’t been for a lack of trying on my part — my tackle box is filled with gadgets and gizmos to lure in a mightyMinnesotawalleye. I just chalked up all of those unsuccessful fishing adventures to not using the right bait, jig or Rapala.

Or maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have the right fishing buddy by my side.

For years, I was too busy teaching the nieces and nephews how to rig a line, bait a hook, cast and take a fish off the hook. In reality, I should have spent a little more time being a student.

I tried to do that a few times this summer — going fishing with a few friends who all happen to be involved in the local Pheasants Forever chapter.

Outing No. 1 was filled with great conversation … but no fish.

Outing No. 2 was filled with plate-sized panfish that were biting so fast there was little time for chatter (and little time to fish due to my work obligations).

And outing No. 3, just a couple of weeks ago, was filled with lots of stories, an entire day without any work interruptions and a few fair- to fine-looking fish.

Herman Hinders was my fishing buddy for this third and, most likely final, fishing excursion of the season. I met Herman at the Pheasants Forever banquet two years ago — and it happened to be about a month before he, a World War II veteran, and I, the reporter, were to depart on the inaugural journey of Honor Flight Southwest Minnesota. We became instant friends, and I think of him as the grandfather I never knew.

(I met a veteran on the fourth and final Honor Flight last month who actually knew my Grandpa Kohls, and I learned something about the guy who died when I was in third grade. It seems my Grandpa helped found the Sportsman’s Club inDanube. If one can inherit an interest in a particular subject from our relatives, I’m pretty sure my love of the outdoors and fishing stems from Grandpa Kohls.)

Anyway, I asked Herman earlier this year to go fishing and decided if I was going to learn how to catch a walleye, he and I needed to hit the lake.

First things first, though. Herman gave me an assignment.

I needed to learn how to tie up a Lindy rig (that’s what I call it, but that isn’t what Herman called it). So, the night before our fishing expedition, I was looking through YouTube videos on the Internet to learn how to put one together. (I had Lindy rigs in my tackle box, but they were still in their unopened packages.)

When I picked Herman up the following morning, he inspected my work and made me do it over — the line was too long below the moving sinker and the hook was too small.

The teaching didn’t end there. The next stop was the bait shop, and then the lakes.

We visited three lakes that day and fished about five hours, excluding drive time and sack lunch time.

I not only watched and learned, but I listened to Herman share story after story about growing up inIowa. I’m rather amazed he ever survived childhood after hearing the daring stunts he pulled.

I’m glad he did though, and I’m glad he agreed to go fishing with me. I caught a walleye (can you tell I’m still excited about it?) and Herman reached out and shook my hand.

Then, he proceeded to catch a bigger walleye.

Oh, what a good day it was.

The unwelcome fishing buddy

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I have never felt the urge to take my dog, Molly, fishing with me and, after this afternoon, I’m pretty sure I won’t feel the urge again for a good, long while.

You see, I was feeling a little guilty for not spending a whole lot of time with my loveable mutt these past couple of months. I’ve been busy with work, busy with 4-H and basically, too busy being busy!

So, with another day of vacation ahead of me, and an absolutely gorgeous day to be outside, I just had to go fishing.

The car was loaded with my tackle box, fishing rods and a niece and nephew before I climbed in and took one look outside the front window of my little blue car.

There, at the front of the garage stood Miss Molly. Her tail was wagging, her tongue was hanging out and she had tears streaming down her face. (Well, alright, maybe not that last part, but she looked like a rather sad pooch with those big, brown, pleading eyes.)

Who can say “no” to a face like that?

I stepped out of the car, opened the back door and, before I could say, “Let’s go, Molly,” she had jumped up on the back seat and sat down next to niece Katie. In appreciation for the car ride, she snuck up and hit my cheek with her cold nose before the car was even out of the driveway.

Our destination was a small pond, set back in a wildlife area where I knew Molly would have plenty of space to enjoy an afternoon outing. She’s been there before, but usually we just stop down in the bunny park for her to run and, well, chase bunnies.

As we walked toward the pond, Molly leaped like a deer through the tall grass one second, and had her nose to the ground the next. She’s rather entertaining to watch … but not so entertaining when it came to me wanting to fish.

I barely had my line in the water and my chair unfolded before I realized Molly’s first attempt at being a fishing buddy wasn’t going to go well.

She had found a garter snake.

I hate (fear) snakes … all snakes!

Molly knows this, and kills them for me. (Well, at least that’s my interpretation of the “gifts” she leaves all around the farm yard.)

Snake No. 1 faced a quick death a good distance down the path from where I fished.

Snake No. 2 … and this was when I screamed the loudest … was played with like a whip by my Molly. With instant visions of her losing her death grip on the snake and it flinging through the air and landing anywhere within 10 feet of me, I screamed for her to get away from me … and then I screamed at nephew Zach to handle the situation. He’s a boy, and boys ought to be able to take care of snakes (Well, except my Uncle Eldy and cousin Chad, with whom I share my snake phobia!)

Snake No. 3 was actually left behind by Molly to twist and turn in the grass. As I was moving to a different fishing spot, I caught a glimpse of it, screamed really loud and – again – yelled at Zach to take care of the situation.

As if Molly’s snake encounters weren’t bad enough, something apparently caught her eye at the corner of the pond and she took a mad dash for it – right along the shore line. She snapped Dad’s line, caused a fish to jump straight out of the water and got herself completely wet in the process.

That’s it!

Molly went home … with Dad … in the truck.