The Man Truck being pressed into service on Saturday morning. Actually, it started, but I thought the battery could use a little rejuvenation.

December 23, 2012 – Sunday morning

14 degrees/ snow and wind

Pentoga Road

Things are quiet on this day before the day before Christmas. The weather is deceptive. If one looks directly out the back window, it appears as the inside of a snow globe might after a vigorous shaking; big lake effect snows lazily drifting to the ground, each flake dancing back and forth, yet no two hearing the same beat.

But, look out the front window, beyond the protection of the trees, and it’s evident the wind is blowing at a goodly clip. No dancing snow flakes there.

Saturday was a fun day. I dressed in my heavies and as soon as Sargie left for work, loaded the Man Truck with the ice fishing equipment and drove a mile up the road to our local lake.

It was beautiful, in the twenties, little wind and lots of sun, yet, I was the only ice fisherman on the ice. That's how it was to be for the rest of the day.

The lake, really more of a pond, isn’t known for it’s big fish. For the most part, local fishermen choose a near-by bigger body of water where the monsters dwell. I doubt there are any trophy-size specimens calling our local lake home. It’s small and I’m told that years ago, under better management, it produced some large catches in big numbers.

The lake seems to be making some headway towards normalcy. Last year, Andy and I caught some very keepable bluegills over Christmas break and when talking with a local resident, I was told that forty years ago, the lake often produced giant bluegills. Word spread and the population diminished due to overfishing. Only smaller ones have resided since. He said he’s been waiting for them to make a rebound and evidently, it’s happening.

The northern pike are small and somewhat stunted. The state lifted any size limits for the predator fish so they are gradually being thinned. It works well for me as I enjoy canning the flesh, a process that dissolves their tiny Y-bones, and makes the flesh readily eatable.

I fished for several hours on Saturday. Northern were hitting on the tip-ups, the unmanned reels that sends a flag soaring when a fish is on. Using large shiner minnows, I was kept busy throughout the late morning and afternoon.

Flag up!

The bluegills weren’t as cooperative. I had on several and of course, they all felt large, only to have them get off as they neared the surface. I never did catch one and I’m still perplexed as to why I couldn’t keep them on my lure. I checked the hook, often the cause of “near misses.” I changed rods, tried using a bobber, no bobber, and a spring bobber. For whatever reason, they were hitting light and setting the hook was a difficult chore. As Dad used to say, “That’s why there’s the next fishing trip… to go back and catch what was missed on the last one.” Amen to that.

After arriving home, I cleaned the northern in the barn. Sargie has an aversion to fish scales, innards, and odors, on and around the kitchen sink and counter. Some people have no sense of humor at all. I placed the eight nice filets in a baggie to marinate in liquid smoke before canning them today. They’ll be made into cracker dip or fish patties at a latter date.

Next, I threw a load of laundry in the wash machine then began assembling Sargie’s padded bench, the one I’d purchased for her birthday two weeks ago. A friend of Sargie’s volunteered to pick it up at the store, but grabbed the wrong bench. It was finally exchanged the day before yesterday.

Naturally, in today’s world, even the bench came in a box ready to be assembled. Thankfully, the Chinese who wrote the instructions were user-friendly. The print was large and other than a few misspelled words, easy to follow. In less than an hour, our newest piece of furniture was standing at the end of our bed. I sat on it this morning while putting on my socks.

Sargie says she’s going to finish the Christmas wrapping today. I was going to go ice fishing, but with the temperature in the low teens and a hefty wind blowing, I think I’ll take my walk then stay right here by the fire and watch the Packers play. After, we’ll drive over to Iron Mountain to enjoy supper with Mr. Milligan. No doubt, I’ll pound out some Christmas carols on the piano in the dining room. I’ve not played a one for exactly a year. I hope my fingers and my brain come to some sort of melodic agreement. As I get older, I seem to have a hand/eye coordination problem. I think its caused by age and by not playing or practicing. Oh well, one of these years, I’m going to get a full-sized electronic piano. It’s one of my many dreams.

It’s time to start thinking about getting dressed in heavier clothes and taking my five-mile walk. It’ll be a chilly one this morning. I see the firewood inside is on the light side and after resupplying that, I’ll watch the Green Bay game and try to keep my eyes open during the entire contest. It’s not always easy coaching from my recliner, but you know, a man’s work is never done.

And so are the tales from Pentoga Road…