Growing up in the Land of 10,000 Lakes, fishing was just something you grew up with.
This was no exception for me. In the summer and spring we used the boat, in the late fall and winter we fished in ice houses.
Some just don’t seem to understand the concept of ice houses on the water. Yes. There are some on Flaming Gorge, but nothing like in Minnesota. It is like for the entire winter a whole new town is formed. The first time, my husband saw this all he could think of was it really was like what the movie “Grumpy Old Men” had shown. I can still recall what a big hit we were when we stopped by Pizza Hut to pick up some pizzas on our way to the lake. My family just kept asking “You finally got them to deliver out here?”
I guess they had been trying to get the pizza company to deliver on the lake, but had no luck.
For me, this was normal. It was like having a whole new home. We would spend most of the day in the fish house. My sister, Sarah, always seemed to have a knack for it. I, on the other hand, was the one who sat there patiently, and sometimes not so patiently, waiting for a bite.
As my sister and dad would reel them in, I would just sit there. They would check my bait and tell me to try different tricks, which I did, but I would still sit there waiting. Eventually, I would get bored and start eating chips and drinking pop. They would always tell me I was never going to catch fish when snacking; and I would always respond that I wasn’t catching them anyway so I might as well do something.
It didn’t matter if we were in a boat, fish house or on the dock, I was usually the one just standing or sitting there waiting and waiting, while others got fish. Now, don’t get me wrong. I did get some fish sometimes, but it always seemed like my sister Sarah, my brother John and my dad always caught the most.
I can still remember how proud I was when I caught my first keeper walleye. I was in junior high. We were ice fishing and I finally had a bite. Woo hoo! I continued pulling the line in, which seemed like forever. I kept telling everyone it was a big one, but they figured I did not know what a big one was since I never really caught much. When I saw the walleye at the end of the line I was so excited, but then just as I was about to pull it out of the hole it got off. My instincts kicked in; and I grabbed the fish by the gills and pulled it out. I was shouting that I was not going to let it get away. As soon as I got it out of the hole I covered the hole with wood. There was no way I was going to lose this one.
For once, my father, sister and brother were in awe. It was a medium-sized walleye, maybe 17 or 18 inches, but to me it was not just about the fish, but how proud I was that I had finally caught something worth bragging about.
Over the years, I had never caught anything that big again.
After moving to Wyoming, I just don’t fish as much. So, whenever we go back to Minnesota for a visit we are in the boat most of the time.
This year, was no exception. The first day we got there, we went straight for the lake. I was just fishing off of the dock; and was surprised at how many little fish I caught. None of them were keepers, but for a woman who never catches anything, I was having the time of my life. I stopped counting after 20 fish were caught and released. It was great because both of my sons were able to catch their first fish. At first, they were excited, but with many three and five year olds, they quickly lost interest. I tried explaining to them that fish do not always bite all the time and they should enjoy it, but they wanted to chase each other up and down the dock.
While fishing on the dock next to me, my husband caught an 18-inch walleye. I was excited for him. I believe he too also has the knack.
The next day we went fishing, no one caught a single thing. The day after, I caught a few sunfish and crappies. I caught more the next day. On the last nice day, we were once again fishing, my brother had just got done reeling in a 4-pound northern pike; and I was excited that they trusted me to put it in the net.
After he caught the fish, my brother gave me his pole with the new lure and we made another pass over the area he had caught the fishing. All of a sudden, my pole went down. I thought I had just snagged another weed, but it started fighting with the line. I started yelling “Help me, help me, help me. I have one.” My nephew held the pole, while I reeled the fish in. My dad kept saying it was weeds, but my brother and nephew said they saw a fish on the end. I continued reeling and reeling the line in, pretty soon I saw it. I had caught a 2.5-pound northern pike, which was about 22 inches long. I was so excited. My brother quickly got it in the net and we put it in the boat.
Once again, I was so proud of myself. I may not catch a big one worth keeping or worth bragging about all the time, but when I do I certainly enjoy it.
For once, I was the one with the big fish story.
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