Here's a letter we got at the fishing club from a member that moved away a while ago:
To Ernie and the guys at the Iron Lake Fishing club,
A while back I told you about meeting some guys here with a fishing club. Well, things have been great since they let me join their club. Of course, I had to do all the fish cleaning for a while but they said every new member did that anyway, so I went along with it. Besides, there's nothing here you can’t clean with a big enough filet - knife and a hand axe.
Just last weekend Mark, one of the guys here wanted to take me ups to his fish camp on the Mississippi a ways north of here. I guess the guys go north fro here because the Gulf of Mexico keeps you from going too far south! So, off we went, up Highway-15 till we got to Blackhawk, Louisiana and off into the underbrush he went, I was pretty impressed with the speed and daring he showed when he hit that last little dirt road going about 45 miles an hour. Turns out he has a truck just like yours, Andy. Bright and shiny, starts every time, but sometimes won’t stop. Well, by clicking that transmission into park when he came to the last big muddy spot he got us to the camp in one piece. Most of the rods were still in the boat, the others we just walked back for. He told me that the trip out on Sunday afternoon would be better since it’s all up hill to the highway.
We got out early on Saturday morning; about an hour before the time I usually go to work on weekdays. But, you got to keep your priorities straight and fishing is more important than work. We fished in every little backwater and shady spot, up and down every bit of a little creek or slough that we could find, and man did we catch fish. I’m not sure there even names for some of the things we were bringing in. We caught catfish, bass, sheepshead, drum, gar, shoe-picks, gaspergous, more bass and bullheads. In fact we caught everything but walleye. I’m not even sure they have walleye here. But, if there was walleye, we were in all the right spots. About noon we had to make way for a towboat with a string of barges headed down river. I suppose they were full of that Iowa Corn, headed out into the world someplace, to feed the hungry. That old river is still the busiest highway in America you know.
When we slowed down to head into the waves pushed up by the tow we saw something swimming at full speed amongst the trash the river carries and it turned out to be a squirrel. Yup, either just out for a swim or a clumsy one that fell out a tree someplace. Well, we decided that it was our responsibility to save his fuzzy life, so Mark turned the boat around and made another pass by that squirrel and told me to net him, but whatever I did, don’t bring him in the boat. Too bad he didn’t have a chance to tell the squirrel. It didn’t take one second for that half-drowned tree rat to find the handle end of that net and head for the boat, up my left arm, over my back and down the other side, landing on my tackle box, knocking over my cold can of adult beverage and making himself to home. First came a tour of the boat. Now, it only takes about five more seconds for a squirrel to see the whole boat, bow to stern, three times. Finally, he decided to do his Leonardo DeCapprio impression from the movie where that ship sank and stood right on the point of the bow, watching ahead as Mark steered a beeline for the nearest bank. Once he turned around and I swear he smiled. The squirrel, not Mark. If a squirrel prays to some God of squirreldom, this one is a made evangelist now, because I think he was praying for a fishing boat to come by and save him.
When we got one good squirrel jump from a big cottonwood, then off he went, with never a word of thanks. The last we saw of him he was running as fast as little squirrel feet can go back into the brush.
About that time we noticed a boat that had been right behind us through most of this adventure. Turned out to be the Game Warden, of course. After the normal chitchat and license approval he looked over our fish. No problem. Then came the issue with the squirrel. He had seen the whole thing and had a hat full of questions about whose squirrel it was.... where it came from..... Why we let it off just where we did......did we have the landowners permission......and did we have a license to transport a wild animal form Mississippi into Louisiana We answered everything as best we could, but the last question stumped us. If we pay the fine within the next thirty days it will remain a local issue, otherwise it turns over to the US Fish and Wildlife Service and becomes a Federal matter. I don’t know what the fine would be if we had just let the little bugger drown out there. .
Anyway, it was a great trip. You guys should see a real river sometime before you get too old to enjoy it. I know now that the Iron River is a creek. Must have b in some salesman's idea to call it a river.
Tomorrow’s a workday, so I gotta go.
Keep the roof clean and say hello to everybody for me.
Regards, Gershom
To Ernie and the guys at the Iron Lake Fishing club,
A while back I told you about meeting some guys here with a fishing club. Well, things have been great since they let me join their club. Of course, I had to do all the fish cleaning for a while but they said every new member did that anyway, so I went along with it. Besides, there's nothing here you can’t clean with a big enough filet - knife and a hand axe.
Just last weekend Mark, one of the guys here wanted to take me ups to his fish camp on the Mississippi a ways north of here. I guess the guys go north fro here because the Gulf of Mexico keeps you from going too far south! So, off we went, up Highway-15 till we got to Blackhawk, Louisiana and off into the underbrush he went, I was pretty impressed with the speed and daring he showed when he hit that last little dirt road going about 45 miles an hour. Turns out he has a truck just like yours, Andy. Bright and shiny, starts every time, but sometimes won’t stop. Well, by clicking that transmission into park when he came to the last big muddy spot he got us to the camp in one piece. Most of the rods were still in the boat, the others we just walked back for. He told me that the trip out on Sunday afternoon would be better since it’s all up hill to the highway.
We got out early on Saturday morning; about an hour before the time I usually go to work on weekdays. But, you got to keep your priorities straight and fishing is more important than work. We fished in every little backwater and shady spot, up and down every bit of a little creek or slough that we could find, and man did we catch fish. I’m not sure there even names for some of the things we were bringing in. We caught catfish, bass, sheepshead, drum, gar, shoe-picks, gaspergous, more bass and bullheads. In fact we caught everything but walleye. I’m not even sure they have walleye here. But, if there was walleye, we were in all the right spots. About noon we had to make way for a towboat with a string of barges headed down river. I suppose they were full of that Iowa Corn, headed out into the world someplace, to feed the hungry. That old river is still the busiest highway in America you know.
When we slowed down to head into the waves pushed up by the tow we saw something swimming at full speed amongst the trash the river carries and it turned out to be a squirrel. Yup, either just out for a swim or a clumsy one that fell out a tree someplace. Well, we decided that it was our responsibility to save his fuzzy life, so Mark turned the boat around and made another pass by that squirrel and told me to net him, but whatever I did, don’t bring him in the boat. Too bad he didn’t have a chance to tell the squirrel. It didn’t take one second for that half-drowned tree rat to find the handle end of that net and head for the boat, up my left arm, over my back and down the other side, landing on my tackle box, knocking over my cold can of adult beverage and making himself to home. First came a tour of the boat. Now, it only takes about five more seconds for a squirrel to see the whole boat, bow to stern, three times. Finally, he decided to do his Leonardo DeCapprio impression from the movie where that ship sank and stood right on the point of the bow, watching ahead as Mark steered a beeline for the nearest bank. Once he turned around and I swear he smiled. The squirrel, not Mark. If a squirrel prays to some God of squirreldom, this one is a made evangelist now, because I think he was praying for a fishing boat to come by and save him.
When we got one good squirrel jump from a big cottonwood, then off he went, with never a word of thanks. The last we saw of him he was running as fast as little squirrel feet can go back into the brush.
About that time we noticed a boat that had been right behind us through most of this adventure. Turned out to be the Game Warden, of course. After the normal chitchat and license approval he looked over our fish. No problem. Then came the issue with the squirrel. He had seen the whole thing and had a hat full of questions about whose squirrel it was.... where it came from..... Why we let it off just where we did......did we have the landowners permission......and did we have a license to transport a wild animal form Mississippi into Louisiana We answered everything as best we could, but the last question stumped us. If we pay the fine within the next thirty days it will remain a local issue, otherwise it turns over to the US Fish and Wildlife Service and becomes a Federal matter. I don’t know what the fine would be if we had just let the little bugger drown out there. .
Anyway, it was a great trip. You guys should see a real river sometime before you get too old to enjoy it. I know now that the Iron River is a creek. Must have b in some salesman's idea to call it a river.
Tomorrow’s a workday, so I gotta go.
Keep the roof clean and say hello to everybody for me.
Regards, Gershom
