Not really a fishing story.

I am going to share a story with you that you may find somewhat far-fetched. You may even go so far as to call me a liar once you’ve read it. Your disbelief is not only understandable but expected.

I am a fisherman. In the summer I scour countless miles of river with my rod and dry fly in search of the wise trout. I have been known to cast a spoon or two into lakes in the hopes of hooking that monster pike. I’ve baited many a hook with worm to trick the bottom feeding cat fish into taking my line; and I have cast into many a reed bed to lure the ever elusive bass.

This story however is not about rod, or fly, wise trout, large pike, cat fish or indeed elusive bass. As a matter of fact this story doesn’t really have anything to do with fish.....really.

Today, one of the many kinds of fishing that I enjoy is ice fishing. However my appreciation for the sport did not come until much later in life. As a boy both my brother and I went ice fishing with my father. We drove for what seemed hours, to a lake that was cold and boring, to cut a hole that we could not see down to catch a fish that never took our bait. Not so much fun.

Things have changed.

Nowadays they have augers and ice tents, heaters and padded chairs and as my luck would have it my very good friend and partner in all things fish has made investments in just such equipment. When invited to accompany him on such a trip I am more than eager to accept.

 We drive for some hours and arrive in the mountains at our favourite lake. We sled our equipment onto the ice with enough excitement to turn the auger with our bare hands; but we don’t. Once on the lake with the holes having been dug we turn our attention to the tent.

Totally self contained, I call it the ACME tent because much like most ACME products such as the ones Wil E Coyote used, all that needs doing is to either add a drop of water or in the case of our tent, pull a couple of strings along with saying the magic words pepto bismol and presto, the tent is up. In go the padded chairs, fishing gear and the heater. Thank God for the heater!

Now we drop our lines into the holes and the fishing begins.

I found myself just so positioned when my friend said to me

“I’ve got a story for you”

“Oh, well, let’s have it then”

I will now relate the story as I remember it.

It seems that a friend of a friend of a friend had occasion to be ice fishing in a tent much like the one we now found ourselves in, not long ago. As it so happened he had a friend (not to be confused with the above 3 mentioned friends) with him in the tent. The two had been fishing for some time with varying degrees of success when he caught sight of a dark shadow just on the edge of the hole he was fishing. Thinking that this must have been a large fish he readied himself for a good hit to his line. He loosened his grip on the rod to let some blood run back into his cold fingers and pulled his line ever so gently, tight; he was ready. He looked into the hole again and just as he did the shadow passed again. This was going to be a serious fish. Tightening his grip again and lowering his face to within inches of the hole his excitement began to get the better of him and he positioned himself half on and half off his chair; a precarious perch. No sooner had he done this than the shadow began to rise and came UP the hole. He closed his eyes not knowing what to expect and was promptly hit square in the forehead by the offending fish. Seated as he was, balance was not to be had and he fell backwards throwing the chair into the heater dousing the flame and landing with his posterior covering the hole.

 His friend began to scream, and when he looked at him his face was fraught with panic and he was pointing into the far corner of the tent. Sitting there squealing (at a pitch just about as high as his friend’s) sat an absolutely terrified MUSKRAT. Panic was still in his mind more so because of his friends continued screams than the animal itself. As he tried to get up he realized that his rod had gone down into the water and his butt was actually sitting in the hole. He looked up at where the muskrat had been sitting to find him no longer there. He couldn’t get up. Panic again, where is it? Just then the furry rodent catapulted himself head first into the friend’s hole. He looked up at his friend who was still squealing and sputtering trying to catch his breath and pointing to the hole where the muskrat had made his escape.

Both men left rather embarrassed at how much the encounter with the terrifying omnivore (you’d have thought he was a man eater) had affected them. They both promised never to tell; after all what happens on the fishing trip stays in the ice tent.....or something like that.

 Somehow though, the story got out. My guess is that it came from the wife of the screaming fisherman when he confessed his cowardice to her and she couldn’t help but tell the story. Regardless of where it came from;

                              It’s a great fishing story and it’s true.