It was the dead of winter, a day so cold that when you inhaled through your nostrils, they’d stick together. The snow was heavy and ice-coated while the thick clouds overhead were only discernible from the ground because they were greyer. There was only one thing to do that day.
Go fishing.
No matter the time of year, I love fishing. So does my friend Curtis. And it was one of the rare days where we were both off, and both our wives could watch the babies. So we decided we had to go fishing. Negative twenty outside? Bah, that’s what coats and beer are for.
In hindsight, we probably should have stayed closer to home. Maybe even fished on Blockhouse again (which isn’t illegal, they just don’t like you doing it. But there are a ton of pike down there). Instead, we walked about two hours one way through the snow and ice to one of the smaller lakes. The two of us hauled the ice shelter, cooler of beer, and all of our fishing gear through that on a sled. We may have also fallen a few times. We should have turned back, but both of us are too stubborn.
Finally, we made it to the lake and set up our shelter. Did I mention it was windy that day? Yeah, when the wind keeps pulling at everything you have, it takes longer to set up than you think. But then we were all set. Holes drilled, out of the wind, lines dropped, and first beers in hand. There may also have been a fire on the ice. In the end, it would all be worth it.
And by worth it, I mean we caught a single fish that entire afternoon. It was barely big enough to keep, but damn it, after all of that I wasn’t throwing our catch away. Funny thing is, that fish is still frozen today. Except now it’s in my freezer.