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Friday, February 1, 2013

Musings Of A Muddled Male

By Bob Stevens, The Muddled Male

Hole in the Ice

      I am happy to report that praying has helped our resident "old timers" force Mother Nature to freeze the lake from shore to shore.  As is my daily habit I looked out our window a few days back to see if the fog was still there, and it wasn't.  In its place were clear air and a large sheet of ice where the lake used to be.  The ice was speckled with black dots converging on one particular spot like ants heading for a sweet pickle dropped at a picnic.  I remember that the first thing I heard when I moved to Bear Lake was that there is a fishing "sweet-spot" on the lake where all the trophy size fish gather under the winter ice and beg to be caught.  I was also told that its location, known only by a privileged few, is guarded so carefully by those in the know that if I were to persist in asking and managed to discover its coordinates, a hit-man from Chicago would be called in to take me for a ride and then feed my carcass to the turkeys on Sweetwater Hill.  Fear of becoming turkey droppings has caused me to remain mum all these years.  But now, all those who are looking to catch the "big one" only have to follow the recent footprints out onto the ice just north of Gus Rich Point, cut a hole in the ice where the tracks end, and drop your lure into the water because you have reached THE SPOT. 

      With the spot now revealed I can focus on a related but different fishing issue that is causing me great concern.  My two friends, the math professor and Scott the fish addict, have been trying to get me out on the ice to fish.  Even though I told them that I don't like fish or fishing, and I especially don't like venturing out on ice that barely separates me from the cold slush that hides below, they continue to coax and wheedle as they assure me of the great fun I will have out there in the clear, cool air listening to the melodic pinging that signals a crack zipping across the ice toward my feet.  The more I protest the more they harangue.  I have attempted to discourage them by doing and saying little things to irritate them but, to quote Joel Stein in a recent Time Magazine article, "Getting on the nerves of a math nerd is inversely proportional in difficulty to a math nerd's getting on the nerves of other people."  That applies equally to fish addicts, especially because my two friends are harnessed to the same goal like a team of Clydesdales dragging me relentlessly toward the ice. 

      Last Saturday I was prepared to slip into a disguise and observe what really goes on at a Cisco Disco and then report my observations to the wives of those in attendance, hoping to direct the pressure away from me and toward the voracious participants.  Sadly, my long-handle jammies kept me so warm that I overslept.  But this is what I expected to find had I driven down the east side of the lake toward Cisco beach early in the morning.  First would have come the throbbing of the Voodoo drums, not heard but felt.  As I drove closer the sound of the drums would have become audible along with the chanting voices, "Cisco, Cisco, more scones, more scones, Cisco, Cisco, more scones more scones."  And finally, had I continued onto the beach, I would have come upon a circle of old men wearing hats adorned with fishing lures, waving fish nets, and dancing around a large gold statue of a dinky little fish.  I don't know if such actions are caused by something in the hot chocolate, or if it is the combined effect of scarfing down too many deep fried fish, French fried potatoes, and scones made with a secret fluidic ingredient and soaked in honey-butter.  Either way it would be a sight of gluttony and self-indulgence that would have shocked even Moses.  I guess it was better that I only imagined the scene without having to experience it in person. 

      And one more thing.  Do you remember the picture of Scott, the fish addict, in the January 20th, 2013 edition of RCTOnline holding a supposedly large fish he caught through a hole in the ice?  Well I happen to know that picture was the result of trick photography.  If you take a picture using a wide enough angle lens and stand really close to a subject who has arms extended to hold the fish way out in front and close to the camera, the fish will appear unnaturally large.  I know because most pictures taken of me are done that way.  What else would explain why my nose always appears bulbous instead of dainty and delicate as it is in real life.

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