Wednesday, February 29, 2012

The feeling of unknowing ...


It's hard to question life. Life; meaning what we do, why we are where we are and where we're all going. But, but we all do it. We all look for explanations, make attempts to justify and realistically make excuses for decisions we make.
Sometimes it's the thrill of not knowing, the always hanging question marks – that makes life most worthwhile. Or knowing that regardless of what it is you are doing, it's for the right reason.
We all go through stretches where we probably wish we could be somewhere else, have the answers to all the questions and just be able to shake clear our head. I'm there. I look at the next few months of my life and really can't say where the rest of it after that will be headed. I know I have the support of a loving family, some great friends, a few motivators in there as well and a good head on my shoulders to make sure I don't put myself in a position of having to not know where my next meal is going to come from or whether I'll have a roof over my head when I go to bed at night.
I sometimes wonder if the life we live everyday takes away from the focus of what we're really trying to do. It's never hard to smile, but for some reason we attract ourselves toward those problems, those hard times in the world that get us feel down. I for one think if it weren't for the perspective those events in life give us, it would be hard to live, laugh and love the way that makes us happy. And when I realize how lucky I am, it's pretty simple to find the small things appealing again.
I spend a lot of time lying in bed, just listening to music and the stories it tells. I struggle sitting down, reading a book and letting my mind wander, but I put a keyboard in front of me and some good music around my ears and for some reason it all seems right.
I know I am meant to spend my life making someone else's life, better. I enjoy seeing people, enjoy. Whether it be a perfectly blended cocktail at the bar, a photo, an article or the joy on a kids face when what you've told him to change with his swing, results in a solid liner back up the box.
Life is what we are doing, and why would we rather be doing anything else? I for one, wouldn't!

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Mercury falling fast

It's funny ... There isn't a time I wander onto the ice where I am not thinking to myself "Gosh, today is the day the big one comes up from the bottom."
As is the case with a number of fishermen, I am usually let down by this daily theory, but each and every time I go out, I start the night with the same focus.
The other night, the temps were in the upper 20's, moonrise was set for about 7:40 p.m. and the conditions seemed conducive for a big fish bite. I was set up on a series of 18-22 foot humps that were located off a weed edge that extended out into a sand flat at about 25 feet of water. Over the top of the other side of the humps was deep water, reaching downwards to about 50 feet. My tip ups were scattered in amongst the raised bottom, waiting to see if something might appear over the top on into the weeds for an evening feed. One end of the humps fed into a trough that led up to about 6 feet of water near a shoreline shelf, and it was there we had the most action.
The perch bite quit about the time I had figured the walleye would start moving into shallower water to feed, briefly. As I watched my Vexilar inside my shack, the small lines that were perch quickly disappeared and I knew the time was getting close.
Fishing at night is equivalent to reading a suspense novel. Your mind plays tricks with you on each and every turn, thinking that just about everything you do is setting the plot for a big fish diary.
It wasn't to be this night, but with the setting sun over the west horizon, followed by the full moon rise in the east shortly after, it made for another gorgeous night on the lake hunting the Big Walter.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Busting past the cliché, passing the tradition

We've all seen it, heard it, read it and some, supposedly lived it.
My 120 minutes spent on top of the ice last Wednesday afternoon with my friend Dustin and his son Evan, was anything but, cliché.
For the ripe age of 5, Evan's well past his stature when it comes to intellect. That being said, it offered up another challenge for the day. After all, he'd clearly understand when either I, or his father, were trying to pull the wool over his eyes.
"Doug, why aren't the fish biting?," he'd ask.
"Because they're sleeping, Evan," I responded back.
"But Doug, why do fish sleep when the sun is out?," he said.
As the games ensued.
Fishing on an unfamiliar plot of water located west of Minocqua, the challenge of finding fish wasn't top on my list. Dustin's either. Making sure Even had a snack, or two, a juice box and something to take his attention was a must.
What started as a day of trying to catch a young man his first fish turned into a outdoors lesson that many people learn at a much older age. Not every time you go fishing, are you going to catch a fish. Not every time you try to achieve something, are you going to be successful.
Evan caught onto this quickly. Never once did he complain, not once did he whine about how bad the fishing was. Instead, in a light-hearted manner as most adults would, Evan took it with a grain of salt and instead enjoyed wrestling around with his dad on the soft snow cover, playing with his retriever, Oliver, and learning some of the basic ins-and-outs of ice fishing.
Looking back on the experience I worry. I worry that maybe I got more out of taking Evan fishing than he did.
It made me realize how caught up in the superficial we are sometimes. How we as outdoorsmen can forget where the priority lies, and how lucky we are to have such an intriguing environment in our back yard.
Evan was happy at the end of the day. After all, he was the only one who caught a fish – even if it was a large pike sucker courtesy of Kurt's Island Sport Shop.
As most parents do, Dustin encouraged Evan to come up and thank me for the two-hour fishing excursion. I said you're welcome, but looking back, Thank You Evan.