Tag Archives: lake

A handshake at the lake

Posted on by
Reply

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

Posted on by
2

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.

Oblivious to bobbers

Posted on by
Reply

Several years ago, I wrote a column for another newspaper about a day at the lake yielding more than fish.

Though I can’t recall the details of the story, I’m sure it revolved around my then-fishing buddy Matthew and one of the many fishing expeditions we had taken to an area lake.

Well, nephew Matthew grew up and got married and now has a son who, in a couple of years, will make a perfect fishing buddy, I’m sure.

Matthew was always the perfect fishing buddy — of course I’m recalling those memories through rose-colored glasses. I would imagine he tested my patience a time or two, but I really can’t remember when.

Testing my patience, well, that was done last Saturday. Dad’s idea was to take not just one, but two 5-year-olds to the lake with adult-sized fishing rods, sharp hooks, colorful bobbers and squirmy worms.

Ironically, it wasn’t the hooks — or the worms — that caused the problems. It was the bobbers.

Five-year-old kids just don’t have the patience to watch their bobbers. At the same time, a certain aunt of a 5-year-old niece and nephew doesn’t have the patience for kids who don’t watch their bobbers!

I was reminded in the newsroom Wednesday afternoon that 5-year-olds can’t be expected to watch their bobber — unless it is a really cool bobber.

I thought they were really cool bobbers! I found them at Ace Hardware — Neo-Brites with neon green on top and black on the bottom — and affixed them to Reece and Katie’s fishing lines, plus my own. Dad used a traditional, boring red and white bobber.

Anyway, the point was made that it wasn’t a fun bobber. It reminded me of the first fishing pole and bobber I bought for Matthew about 18 years ago. It was a Peanuts-themed rod, with the bobber consisting of Snoopy lying on his back on the roof of his red dog house. When Snoopy’s nose went under water, Matthew knew to start reeling in his line.

When Reece and Katie’s neon green bobber top was pulled under water on Saturday, they were too busy watching other people, chatting with each other or singing “Jesus Loves Me” in unison to notice that their bobbers had even disappeared.

Meanwhile, I was trying to enjoy the serene setting, watch three bobbers and figure out which kid needed to reel in his or her line.

I suppose it should be said that Reece, the kid most oblivious to his bobber, caught the biggest fish of the day.

He made sure to remind me of that all weekend long … and when he told his mom about his bass over the telephone, he told her it was 10 feet long.

Reece may only be 5, but he sure can tell a good fish tale — even if he can’t pay attention to a bobber!

My Minnesota fashion statement

Posted on by
Reply

I’ve never really been one to follow the fashion trends.

I prefer turtlenecks to those colorful silky scarves in winter, I’d rather wear jeans to work every day than have to dress up for the job and, if I knew I wouldn’t be razzed terribly at the office, I wouldn’t mind buying a pair of leg warmers again.

Yes, those knitted leg warmers were trendy when I was in about the fifth grade, but they’re making a comeback – and they really did keep my legs warm!

Knowing that I’ll be spending much of the afternoon outside on Saturday covering Winterfest activities and the Deep Freeze Dip in Worthington, I’ve been gathering up the warmest of my winter attire, and I can tell you right now, I won’t be making any fashion statements down by the lakeshore.

Right now, my plan is to wear two pairs of my favorite alpaca fiber socks (of different colors of course!) underneath my pair of clodhopper boots. The long underwear will be under the blue jeans and, if I dig out a pair of jeans I fit into a couple of years ago, I have enough extra room to put a third layer (maybe sweat pants) on as well (under the jeans, of course!)

The tops (plural) will be pretty easy – a long-sleeved turtleneck under a sweatshirt, under a sweater, under my winter parka. (It is only supposed to be about 7 degrees, after all!)

I bought new gloves tonight that had better keep my fingers warm. I liked them because they had grippers on the underside – perfect for holding a pencil to take notes. (Did you know pens freeze when the air is that cold? It’s happened to me before!)

Perhaps the most laughable item I will be wearing is my new bomber hat. (It was a birthday present, so no one can make fun of it!) In all honesty, it looks like a bunny rabbit gave up its life for my new hat. Sadly, the fur appears to be nothing more than decoration (although I think it will keep my ears warm). If necessary, I’ll also have a ski-mask along to cover up even more of my face.

Hmm, maybe I should just wear the ski mask anyway – it might serve as a good disguise. If no one recognizes me, I won’t have to endure teasing!

Then again, I’d rather be making a horrible wintertime fashion statement than don a swimsuit and jump in the lake!

If you can come for a little while – or stay for the afternoon – please join me at Chautauqua Park on the shore of Lake Okabena on Saturday afternoon and watch those crazy people take the Deep Freeze Dip. The dip starts at 3 p.m.

I promise I won’t make fun of your Minnesota wintertime fashion statement – if you don’t make fun of mine!

Scratch-n-sniff? No thanks!

Posted on by
Reply

It’s not often my boss makes a special request when I go out on assignment, but when I was tasked with writing a story about our weekend algae bloom on Lake Okabena Monday morning, he asked if I could make the photos the scratch-n-sniff kind for Tuesday’s newspaper.

Floating algae mat.

Scratch-n-sniff photos of an algae bloom – now wouldn’t that be something!

Just imagine reading the newspaper over your morning cup of coffee, all the while wondering where that smell is coming from. Is it a skunk? Could it be sulfur, or maybe it’s rotten eggs? Yeah, that doesn’t sound too appetizing to me either!

It kind of reminds me of grade school. Back then, scratch-n-sniff stickers were the rage. I particularly liked the fruity ones that smelled like strawberries and grapes.

Blue-green algae near the fishing pier.

They made disgusting scratch-n-sniff stickers too – like skunk, rubber tires, green grass and vomit. Oh, I never wasted my hard-earned babysitting money on that kind of garbage, but some kids did.

I wonder if they still make scratch-n-sniff stickers.

Anyway, no one would ever want a scratch-n-sniff photo of an algae bloom – trust me on this! I told Dan the Watershed Man that we could do the interview Monday morning down by Sailboard Beach because it was such a beautiful day. Besides, when I have a chance to get out of the office on assignment, I generally take it.

Yuck, yuck, yuck

The smell wasn’t too noticeable for much of the interview, but I think the aroma of decaying algae somehow soaked into my system. By the afternoon, my nose was telling me the rotten scent was nearby. I’m sure it was just my overactive imagination playing tricks on me.

Then again, maybe they were working on a scratch-n-sniff recipe for an algae bloom photo over by the printing press.