More Notes from the Dockside

© 2013 by Mike Yurk. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/21/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-1618-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-1617-2 (e)

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CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

A DOWN DAY

TIME WELL SPENT

MODEST EXPECTATIONS

A MUSKIE RULLING

HOT DOGS

GRANDPA’S FISHING POLE

BIG PINE KEY

ONE CAST

THE JOYS OF MISERY

THE PROMISE OF SUMMER

ON A RAINY DAY

SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW

THE PIE LADY

THE STREAK

THE PRINCESS

WILD GOOSE CHASE

IT WASN’T SUPPOSE TO RAIN ALL DAY

WHO YOU ARE WITH

A SHEEPSHEAD DAY

THE BOAT

THE SHAKEDOWN CRUISE

THE SPORTSMAN SHOW

MOTHER’S DAY IN MARCH

GETTING OUT OF THE WIND

THE OMEN

THE NOBLE BULLHEAD

THE PIE LADY’S MEMORY LIVES ON

WAX WORMS AND CORN DOGS

THE GREAT CANADIAN BREAKFAST

NEVER TOO HOT TO FISH

A QUIET SUMMER EVENING

RETRO FISHING

THE CHAINSAW MASSACRE

THE END OF THE STREAK

MY CELL PHONE

THE EXPERIMENT

FIRST TIME IN THE BOAT

FISHING IN THE WINDY CITY

THE MOUSE WARS

THE LAST HURRAH

OLD RODS AND REELS

ONE HIT WONDERS

LUGANO

MR. WARNER’S LEGACY

THE TIPTON AWARD

ANOTHER CRAPPIE VENTURE

THE BASS QUEEN AND THE EAGLE

NO BURGERS FOR US

WHISTLING IN THE DARK

IT’S TWO FISH ALL OVER AGAIN

KEY WEST COMES TO DEER LAKE

LIFE IS TOO SHORT

THE BOAT TRAILER

A COWGIRL GOES FISHING

BOTTLED WATER

THE DERMATOLOGIST

BIRDS AND OLD BAITS AND LINE

TWO SCOOPS OF MINNOWS

OLD MOTORES NEVER DIE

MULTIPLE SPECIES DAYS

THE SHEEPSHEAD TASTE TEST

WHAT IT MUST HAVE BEEN LIKE

WHEN TELEVISION CAME TO ICE FISHING

WE MAY BE CRAZY BUT…

Dedicated to my grandchildren

Elijah Michael Aguilar

Sophia Gabriella Aguilar

Maximillian Elroy Hein

Amelia Peggy Hein

Abigail Nancy Hein

Peggy Theresa Yurk

Maggie Anne Yurk

Grandpa Loves You

INTRODUCTION

This book is the latest collection of my column, Notes From The Dockside, that appears in the Hudson Star Observer. The Hudson Star-Observer is a weekly newspaper published in my hometown of Hudson in northwestern Wisconsin and my column appears bi-monthly in the first and third issues of each month.

Mores Notes From The Dockside is the second collection of these columns. The first collection of Notes From The Dockside was published in 2011

The column has been an interesting writing project. From the very beginning I decided the columns or stories could be no longer then four typewritten pages or about a thousand words. It could be shorter, depending on the subject, but never any longer then four pages. Sometimes, when I first wrote them the story may have turned out longer so I would rewrite or edit it until it met my self imposed guidelines.

The Notes From The Dockside has been fun to write. The Hudson Star-Observer has given me the freedom to write essentially anything I want as long as it has some kind of fishing related theme to it. Therefore I have written stories about bottled water and my on going war with mice because they destroyed the floats on my ice fishing rods as well as other tales loosely revolved around fishing.

I have enjoyed writing about food so there have been stories about hot dogs, the Great Canadian Breakfast and eating sheepshead as well as corn dogs and wax worms. The corn dogs are for people while the wax worms are for fish, just in case someone was wondering.

Equipment of various kinds play a big roll in fishing so we have stories about old rods and reel, baits both old and new and my on going dilemmas with boats and trailers. Weather is always a factor in fishing and the anomalies, inconsistencies, extremes and sometimes day to day patterns are always a part of fishing so therefore they are part of the stories and sometimes the story itself.

However, I would like to think these columns are really about people. Fishing is a social sport and people, such as The Bass Queen, The Commissioner, The Boat Doctor, Grandfather and Father who took me fishing as a child and now coming full circle to my grandchildren as well as all of my fishing buddies have added so much to my life and to these stories.

The stories appear in this collection generally in the same order they came off my computer. When I first started writing The Notes From The Dockside I did not feel constrained by the seasons. However, as time has gone along I have tried to be more seasonal so ice fishing stories are published in the winter and summer fishing stories in summer.

I am deeply grateful to the Hudson Star-Observer for twice a month giving me the space in their sport section to tell my stories and share my observations about fishing and sometimes on life in general. I especially want to thank the Publisher, Steve Dzubay and Executive Editor, Douglas Stohlberg for their continued support over the years for me and the Notes From The Dockside.

I would also like to thank the readers of the Hudson Star-Observer for their interest in The Notes From The Dockside. I have been stopped in the grocery store and one time even in the parking lot as well as other places by people to tell me they especially enjoyed a particular column. They and those who take the time to read my stories make it all worth while.

Although last but never least is my appreciation for my wife, Becky, The Bass Queen. In addition to fishing with me, she is my first editor and greatest supporter and I am blessed to have her constant love and encouragement.

A DOWN DAY

My computer seized up. I finished the morning newspapers, grabbed my third cup of coffee and went down to my office. I had a story to write and I turned on my computer. Nothing happened.

I swore at my computer. Now I know swearing at my computer really won’t help the computer work any better or faster but it made me feel somewhat better. I hit the refresh button. Nothing. I swore again. It still did not help.

I tried to reboot but it did not help. I swore. I pushed a bunch of buttons on my key board. This did not help either and I swore some more. I shut the computer down, went back upstairs to the kitchen, got myself another cup of coffee, went back down to the office and turned the computer on again.

Still nothing. I swore again. In fact I swore a lot, linking swear words together in new and unique combinations. All my efforts on the computer and all my swearing was not working.

I do not handle these technological challenges very well. When I punch a button I expect the thing to work. If it doesn’t then I know a limited number of measures to try to correct the situation. When those do not work I become frustrated.

I went back upstairs to get another cup of coffee. If it wasn’t barely mid morning I might have been tempted to open the bar. I needed technical support. The Bass Queen is my computer wizard and she would not be home from work for another couple of hours.

Finally I told myself the story could wait. I had a bunch of chores around the house to take care of so I could stay busy until The Bass Queen came home. I wondered out to the garage and did some work on the boat and then I wondered down into the basement that is known as the Supply Room and took care of some rods and reels I had been meaning to get to.

A couple of hours and a pot of coffee later I head The Bass Queen’s car in the driveway. I told her my computer would not work. She went down to my office and got it up running again within a couple of minutes. Why couldn’t I get it working? She did not have to swear at it either.

While we were having lunch The Bass Queen said she had some chores to get done too but she was tired and it was a warm day so she suggested we just chuck it all and go fishing. I had to admit I still had a story I needed to write but at that red hot second I had lost most of my enthusiasm for it so fishing seemed like a good idea to me.

We went to her favorite lake just a few miles from our home. We had blue skies with a few white fluffy clouds and a light wind. The wind took some of the heat out of the day and made it comfortable to be on the lake.

The Bass Queen caught the first fish. It was a nice plump, scrappy, bright green bass. Then I caught one. We were fishing with tube jigs and we would feel weight on the line or just the slightest bump on the line when they hit. We would reel up the slack, feeling to make sure the fish was still there and then pulled back to set the hook. The fish would surge off, pulling strongly against the rod and staying deep. Once we turned the fish on its initial run it would race for the surface where it would burst out of the water trying to throw the hook. They put up a tenacious fight to the end; pulling away at the side of the boat each time I reached out to bring one into the boat.

The Bass Queen and I caught about twenty fish. They ranged in size from ten inches to fifteen inches. Even the small ones put up a hard fight. We were out on the water for just a little over two hours when we headed back to the landing and turned towards home.

It had been a delightful day of fishing. We caught fish which is always good. My frustrations with the computer melted away in the warmth and sun while sitting on the lake. The Bass Queen left the stress of her job and got a bit more sun to add to her summer tan.

The chores she left behind would still be waiting for her but she now felt relaxed and she did not seem nearly as tired as when she first came home. It really wouldn’t take long for her to complete those chores now.

My story still awaited me but I knew I would get it done tomorrow. As I was driving home I had a couple of ideas to make the story better.

Having a down day is not a bad thing. When things go wrong and your efforts are frustrated, taking it easy and going fishing might just be the best thing you can do.

TIME WELL SPENT

It has been a long days drive to Red Lake in northern Minnesota. We left the Twin Cities about mid morning, stopping for breakfast at a truck stop on Highway 94 before we turned north. By late afternoon we arrive at Red Lake.

There is a lot more snow on the ground the farther north we drove and gray clouds cover the sky. It looks like we are going to get more snow soon. We stop at a small bar on the shores of Red Lake.

The man who owns the bar also rents sleeper ice houses and a few weeks earlier I reserved one for this late February weekend. My two sons-in-law, Brian and Damien are joining me on this ice fishing trip.

My sons-in-law and I try to do two major fishing trips every year. We do one during the summer and another during the winter. I am extremely flattered they come along with me. I think sometimes they go out of curiosity to see what kind of strange encounters I have managed to get us into. We have had some interesting adventures.

We follow a pickup truck out on the ice through a maze of plowed roads to a green ice house which will become our home for the rest of the weekend. The pickup returns to shore and we are left in swirling snow and coming darkness as the wind is starting to pick up and a gray day dissolves into night.

There are sleeping bags, a couple of boxes of food and cooking supplies, a minnow bucket and a couple pails with ice rods sticking out of them to bring into the ice house. We first set out an ice rod with a slip bobber and minnow. There will be a second rod with an ice jig but we will set those out once we get unpacked.

It doesn’t take long before we make it home. Sleeping bags are unrolled, the food is put way in shelves and Brian mixes me a bourbon and water. We are here.

The folding chairs are set out next to ice holes and we each drop a jig through an ice hole for our second rod. As we hear the wind moaning around the corners of our little home on the ice it seems life does not get much better then we have it right now.

Outside is now dark. I look out the window and see lights twinkling across the ice from the other sleepers that are occupied. It is cold and windy but we are cozy in our sleeper.

It does not take long before the teasing and laughter begins. Stories are told. We pull up our rigs to check if minnows are still on the hooks.

We haven’t had a strike yet. We watch our slip bobbers intently and keep working our jigs. We are hoping for a night bite. Walleyes always feed after dark as I have been told over the years.

There is more laughter and more stories and the evening slowly slips away. We have been in the ice house for about three hours and still not a strike. What happen to the night bite? There was some talk on the way up if we caught enough fish maybe we would have pan fried fish fillets with our eggs in the morning. This is not looking like it is going to happen. Good thing we brought enough food we do not need to depend on fish for breakfast.

It is starting to be late evening now and it is time for dinner. I get out a big pan and drop a stick of butter into it. Once the butter melts I dump in a plate of onions Brian cut for me. As the onions are frying I add a dozen bratwurst to the pan. In a pot I dump a large can of beans and it starts to warm.

Damien does not like onions so as the food is cooking I tease Damien about not liking onions. He takes the teasing well, knowing sometime later this evening or tomorrow he will get me back on something. The house begins to fill with the smell of good food. Another drink is mixed and we check the ice rods one more time. The hooks still have minnows and they are lively. We have no excuses for not catching fish other than it seems the walleyes are not hitting tonight. We sit down to eat. It had been a long time since breakfast and everyone digs in.

A couple of hours later we still have not had a strike. It is now late at night. I am going to bed. Brian and Damien decide they will keep fishing for a bit longer. Most of the lights get turned out and I slip into my sleeping bag.

I know there are no guarantees in fishing but I had at least expected a few strikes and perhaps a fish or two. We have fished for over six hours without even a strike. I am disappointed and wonder if Brain and Damien are wondering one more time what they had gotten into when they decided to join me on this fishing trip.

I lay in my bunk and hear them laughing and talking quietly. Whether we caught fish or not does not seem to bother them. They are having fun and that is what this trip is all about. I was so concerned about catching fish I lost sight of what is important. It is time spent together that is significant. The three of us will remember our time together much longer then the fish we catch or do not catch. I fall asleep, listening to the wind outside and the laughter inside. It has been a good day of fishing and time well spent.

MODEST EXPECTATIONS

I am the first to get up. We are in a sleeper on Red Lake and my two sons-in-law, Brian and Damien are still rolled up in their sleeping bags. I look out the window. The morning is gray and winds are drifting a light dusting of snow across the ice.

I pick up my ice rod, dip a minnow out of the bucket, bait my hook and drop it down through the ice hole. I make coffee and perhaps the smell of it wakes Brian and Damien. I hear rustling from their bunks. Within a few minutes they are awake and have dropped lines down their ice holes.

For all of our ice fishing adventures our expectations have been fairly modest. We want a fish fry for our last evening meal. We have fished often at Lake of the Woods, the year before at Devils Lake in North Dakota and now this year at Red Lake.