Grandpas are made for fishing
Published: 8/23/2012 10:35 AM
Last Modified: 8/23/2012 11:45 AM
My son Luke and I took our families this summer to one of Minnesota’s 10,000-plus lakes.
We stayed at Timber Wolf Lodge on Bear Island Lake, just minutes south of Ely, Minnesota, and 15 miles as the crow flies from Canada.
The weather alone would have been worth the 16-hour drive – daily temperatures in the 70s, about 30 degrees cooler than Tulsa at that time. The lake was beautiful, part of the same glacier-carved lake system that includes the world-famous Boundary Waters canoe area, and the Canadian Quetico Provincial Park, with rocky, tree-lined shorelines, loons, deer feeding at the water’s edge, an eagle pair raising their now nearly full-grown young.
The cottage was spacious and comfortable, with new sleep-number beds, a wood-burning stove, and its own dock, boat and motor.
While the women in the family visited the numerous shops and restaurants of Ely, a major tourist town and stepping off point for canoeists going into the Boundary Waters, the men took the boat and explored the islands of the lake, leaped from 20-foot cliffs into deep water, swam, and fished for the elusive walleye, the prize game fish of Bear Island Lake.
Elusive proved to be the operative word. We caught a few bass, a few northern pike, a few perch and blue gills, but no walleye. And Isaac, 9, had yet to land his first fish.
Then we hit pay dirt for the young anglers. About sunset toward the end of the week, Sam, 12, got into a school of large bluegills in a feeding frenzy. He was pulling them in so fast it was all I could do to get the fish off the hook and re-bait the hook. And then, just as suddenly, the frenzy ended. We took home a dozen of the largest bluegills, and a bass, and had them for dinner the next day. The boys insisted no fish ever tasted better.
But Isaac had missed that evening, and was sorely disappointed.
So the next morning, we went out again. With a tiny hook and little bit of a worm, Isaac hooked his first fish – a small bluegill - and triumphantly hauled it into the boat. Then he caught another and another. Fourteen fish later, we headed back to the cabin.
They say a photo is worth a thousand words. I didn’t have a camera with me, but trust me, the look on his face when that first fish broke the surface of the water was priceless.
Bill's previous blog entries:
Aug. 2: Yearning for the good old days
July 26: Should we now feel guilty about going to Batman?
July 18: Rocky Mountain high
July 11: Making memories in the garden
June 27: Preemies challenge parents and grandparents
Written by
Bill Sherman
Staff Writer
2 comments displayed
