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The pain in my fingers not only hurts, its burns. But I’m going to cast one more time.
Blaze orange bobber hits the water and I close the bail. Not quite dropping the rod, but I set it down quick. I rub my hands and tuck them in my squall coat pockets. It slowly helps.

I wonder if they could manufacture gloves that not only held my fingers but would hold a lit warm cigar. Like cigar finger warming gloves. Room for one lighter, five cigars and Im gonna get rich with this idea.

Goose fluting from above. Wind pushing cold air off the lake. My eyes water, but I look for the bird or birds. My hood if it wasn’t attached would be gone. The pair is on final for the inside edge of the break wall. Landing gear dropping, the wings wobble as they glide in as separate birds, but one singular motion. The air show ends with some water skiing.

I wipe the water wind sucked out of my eyes and check the bobber. More interesting checking on the geese. They start to make a honkin fuss. The three of us can see the entire bay and nobody else is here, but they keep up the noise.

Lighting my cigar I thank mentally some engineer at the Bic lighter company. Warm tasty air right to my toes. How can something that tastes so good, be so bad for ya? Bobber bobbing. Geese honking. Im freezing. Fingers burning all over again.

If in days of yore, they could invent a smoking jacket, I want some cigar smoking, fishing, waterproof, line sensitive, camouflaged, inexpensive, un-lose-able, heated, non slip, extra large with retractable, finger tip, personally monogrammed, mitten style, fleece lined gloves. I puff that thought into my get rich pile of patents, I will never patent.
One lone golden eye whistles over head. The geese are quiet and swimming, head dunking, paired on the water. They immerse there heads in liquid refrigerant ice water. Inside the break wall little ripples dapple the surface. Nothing else across the surface to catch my watery eyes. Nothing.

It’s a shot to the brain. Nothing on the water, as in no bobber. I'm numb. I don’t instantly grab for the rod. My eyes look for the bobber, now I’m stooping; my hood comes off my head for zillionth time. Nothing, still no bobber.

Reeling as fast as I can the line tightens, and it’s in my stomach now. My fingers are shaking from the insides and not the cold. The rod line is coming on the spool and zippin' away into the water. When the two forces meet I haul back on the rod to slam the hook set.

The fish just tears at the reel drag. My cigar is on after burn. I bite the filter so I won’t lose it. I lift the fishing rod high so I won’t lose it. It runs, I yield. I reel, it concedes line. I finger tighten the drag and reel. It obeys, but grudgingly.

Into the water I reach and lift the rainbow. She’s dripping single eggs. It shakes and tail whips little water droplets. She’s an old hen with a yellow back tag. I get the looper bug out and set her back in. Big hens taste like poplar trees this time of year so I thank her and pull one final puff out of what was a fresh stogie.

I try to dry my fingers in my pockets. All fingers, every digit, is pink and burning. Now if they put a heater in my fishing pole cork grip, I could alternate warm hand to frozen hand. Yeah, this is where I get rich.

The trout whisperer

Inside the Mind of a Guide

Living the Dream in God's Country - Superior National Forest

Join author, professional guide, and master storyteller, Karl "Trout Whisperer" Seckinger, as he takes you on a 20 year, mystical journey into the Superior National Forest.

On this CD, Trout Whisperer's unique manner of storytelling, and digital sound effects, will transport you on a journey that will place you in the heart of the 'super natural forest' that is known as the Superior National Forest.

Learn More | Buy Now