Gone Fishing
Gone Hunting
Gone Hiking
I’m Gone
Store the Fishing Gear for Winter, Storing Up Fishing Plans For Next Spring
It’s that time of year again when I put the boat in storage, clean and oil the fishing reels, and dig out the hunting duds. I know, some people go fishing when it’s cold outside. I’m not one of them. Having once found myself in the river while wearing heavy boots and coveralls in November, I’m not willing to risk repeating that experience. I don’t fish for that kind of a thrill, it’s more the “leaping largemouth” variety thrill that gets my heart pumping. I won’t follow a blood trail across a frozen pond (any more) either. There is no sound quite as foreboding as that of ice cracking under you when you know the water depth is too much to keep your head out. Winter and water don’t mix for me. I can’t even watch “Deadliest Catch” on television.
That’s not intended to indicate that I don’t like winter, especially if I can sit by the fireplace and look out the window at winter. The occasional hunting foray along the creek, running my traps along the creek or around the pond daily, or simply hiking in more clothes than I really care to wear are all activities I undertake in the winter. None of those activities require that I be on the water or on the ice in winter. Which, of course, is why we use dogs called “retrievers”. A “retriever”, by the way, isn’t so much a breed as it is a mindset or a character.
A buddy of mine thinks remote control robotic boats with grapple hooks would be cheaper to keep than a good retriever. Let me know how well that robot can keep your feet warm. I guess he never knew the real meaning of the phrase “three dog night”, which means a night so cold you to let three dogs into your tent just to keep your feet from falling off before morning. That type of night is one where I sit by the aforementioned fireplace, clean my guns, carve new lures, or wind more flies.
My dad got me onto making my own lures. I was about seven when I remember first watching him carve a rapala type lure from a piece of hard maple. We were both sitting by the proverbial fireplace waiting for the venison shoulder cooking in the coals. He told me it was a drumstick from an ostrich. Both the lure and the venison turned out good as best as I can remember after fifty years.
My name is Rick Osmon and I’m delighted to be one of the subject matter experts for the outdoor enthusiast target. I’m the perfect blog writer for outdoor stores, outdoor gear manufacturers, sporting goods stores and suppliers.
