What a better way to end a hectic week than to spend several hours ice fishing… A friend invited me to go and I decided to see what this addiction is all about. With the NHL in limbo, the only place there’s action on ice is out on the lake. After hiking out onto the ice, we dug our holes and got out our tackle. I thought about bringing a fly rod just for kicks. I know I’m good enough to cast into a six-inch circle, but didn't think the fish would be looking for a fly on the top of the water when the ice is a foot thick or better. Besides, someone might think I was drunk and not pass the bottle my way. (We didn't have a bottle with us, but some neighbors on the ice were drinking Marker's Mark--known by it's red waxed seal--and passing it around like it was a jug of moonshine.) In no time we're pulling up nice speckled bass (they didn’t look like any bass I’d ever met, but they were fun to catch). We caught 14 and kept a dozen of ‘em. I might of caught a few more if I’d paid attention to my lines and not spent a significant amount of time watching the sun set and taking in the hues of pink cast across the frozen lake. It was dark when we hiked off the lake under the watchful gaze of Orion, aristocratically perched on the southern horizon.
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