So, I took Thursday off and went bluegill fishing....
Yeah, that's a lie.
Who is that young guy holding that northern pike?

August 30, 2019 - Friday morning

40 degrees/clear skies/calm winds

Pentoga Road

Unless you want to see pictures of a computer screen, some with confidential material, I have no pictures for today's blog. 

It's time to dig into the archives.

As you might surmise, the opening picture was taken in late August in front of my cabin on the Noatak River in northern Alaska almost twenty years ago. I'd walk down to the river, make a few casts, and prepare to battle whatever monster fish happened to hit my lure. 

Getting the giant pike (whose favorite treat seemed to be ducklings, baby loons, or an infant muskrat) to hit wasn't a problem. Landing one was the trick. 

Okay, story time, but a true one.

Dad had just passed away and knowing the pike would hit anything that moved, I flew back to Alaska with a pocket full of his old bass lures. 

Yeah, well, I had probably thirty lures and thirty casts later, they were all gone. The large pike made hamburger out of each by either breaking my line (with a steel leader) or bending the treble hooks straight. I not only mourned Dad's passing, I hated that I lost his lures.

I remember feeling Dad's presence. He'd have said, "That's okay, Charlie. If you're going to lose a lure, better to lose it to a big fish than a tree limb or snag."

I was determined. In the end, I made my own lures by drilling holes in an eight inch long stick, then threading picture wire through and attaching treble hooks meant for salt water fishing. The homemade lure, along with a heavy steel leader and 80 lb braided line, gave me half a chance of landing the large pike. 

The fish had no problem attacking a stick that was twitching on the water's surface. If it moved, it was eaten. In the end, I was able to finally land a few large arctic Alaska northern pike.

Ice fishing wasn't horrible either in the arctic. These are shee fish, a relative of the white fish. Catching a forty to fifty pound shee fish was not uncommon. They are some of the best tasting fish in the world.
(Note the Tundra SkiDoo with the rifle scabbard mounted on the side.)

Thursday was a yawner at Florence Elementary. The teachers were busy getting their rooms ready for the school year, Miss Holly was commanding the front office, doing whatever it is school secretaries do at the beginning of the school year, and for the first time, I was left to my own devices.

I spent a couple of hours reading various discipline reports and a few more researching classroom and hallway management methods.

Who was I kidding? I've been around the block too many times and taught too many classroom management courses at the university level to be reading freshman level undergraduate "how to" articles. Heck, I even knew a couple of the authors. 

My eyes grew heavy.

Then heavier.

The wind blown rain was beating against the windows. Lord, I was sleepy. 

It was Miss Holly who told me to go take a walk around the school. I may be the boss, but believe me, it's in name only. If Miss Holly, twenty-five years my junior, said to take a walk, then you'd better believe that's what I did.

My blood started flowing once again and educational leadership was restored to Florence Elementary.

Neil came to see me later in the afternoon, mostly to say his goodbye's. I'm going to miss my friend. Like me, Neil's from the old school with an old-time philosophy and belief in education that seems to be fading away as the younger generations take over... and that's as it should be. If not, the students would still be scribbling on smooth pieces of wood using charcoal raked from a fire place.

Time for an Alaska picture. Here's one of my favorites, taken in SE Alaska. I'm bringing in a crab pot. 

Boy, did I get spoiled. It was easy getting used to the occasional meal of freshly caught crab or shrimp or the latest catch of the day. 

Sargie and I arrived home about the same time last night. She had a big smile on her face and said her day had been a good one. I think she's really enjoying her new job. She's very fond of her coworkers and doesn't miss the hour commute to work. More importantly, Sargie loves being home and calling her life her own.

We're heading to Iron Mountain this morning for groceries and to pick up a few things at Home Depot. The grass should be dry by the time we get home and the rest of the day will be dedicated to (as Sargie says) spiffying up the yard.

It's time to rock 'n roll. The Mighty Milligan Labor Day Celebration is just two days away and there's work to be done.

While living on my boat in SE Alaska, I awakened to Mt Edgecumbe each and every morning. I'd exit the cabin, step out onto the deck, and there it was.

After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Surrounded by third graders in Buckland, Alaska
I don't care if they're Inupiaq Eskimos in the arctic or munchkins in Florence, Wisconsin, I love 'em all.