Pet Talk with Vicki Davis

Friday night, the tents are all set up. We’ve moved civilization to the pucker brush. Bag chairs with footstools that double as coolers all laid out in the circle that holds the reflected firelight. Lanterns hiss and the campfire smoke is drifting to whom ever it bothers the most. Campfires sense that.

Breezes drift in and out and we can all hear the waves lapping softly against the shoreline. The sound we do not like is if a boat starts to play “aluminum rock”. That music means somebody did not tie off and then we all have to go check to see who screwed up. Tonight no boats lost there tethers.

Were talking and this follows with raucous laughter. Nobody can get by with a jab not landing or some verbal, my dogs bigger than your dog story. The fire spits and snaps. Leaves rustling can almost be the crowd without voice but listening none the less.

Loons bring up the melancholy and we become silent. Then somebody pops off with how a sound so forlorn can bring such peace. That sound rips across the lake and the echo answers the actual loon. You wonder to yourself, is the loon alone. We're not, there is nine ─ fifty year plus, guys.

This is not a basic camp. We all brought every item a sporting goods store could sell. When we were young we traveled light. Now we have cots with air mattresses and pillows. You unpack within feet of your own private truck of  “can’t live withouts”. Nine different guys who completely agree with, you gotta get some soft sleep.

With so many guys there is a revolving set of stories being told, that two to three of the members ear into. Elk story to my left, old bow hunting trip, African veterinarian story close right. One fellow in deep head nod with fire lit face, but the mosquitoes keep him twitching, so I know he’s not missing a word.

Cigar smoke is doing double duty. We have with us, this evening, a man who knows his stogies. He passes them out like there’s a new baby somewhere. In this crowd, it would be a grand child. Rolled and sold, we have some half hour, high buckers that actually top dinner off better than any dessert. Not all assembled appreciate the taste, but love the cloud it produces in warding off the winged pests.

Smoked, hardboiled eggs even make a comment or two. Then we all bark and bite at the upwind offender. Which just becomes an intro to some other less than colorful humor.
Its all part of dinner, just not the best part. The best part was seasoned garlic mash with grilled steaks and all the walleye fillets you want. Every body has there own brand of mouthwash. Mine reminds everyone else of pine needles. To me, no pine tastes at all.

The guys here seated, mentally digesting, some fantastic fishing success fried and eaten earlier. Its life! The eight month old lab puppy, that just about everyone has rubbed that dogs ears and then tells about the best dog they ever owned. New life. Nobody interrupts a dog story. They all end with a long gone companion. We all agree in our lives you get one dog, The dog. This Life’s going to end.

My cot is sending small messages to my boat rocked back. I send a preliminary shot across the bow of all seated and suggest I may be in for a seven hour power nap. Some rib me like they are on auto pilot waiting for the first "goodnighter "of the evening. I'm too old to worry about crashing first. The quiet ones agree with me, but no vocal defense of my sleepy condition.

At home, I would go brush my teeth and check all the doors, and as dad, give my daughter a dad loves you and a hug. Now I miss home. My ear plugs go in and I go out.

Tomorrow we begin again,
The trout whisperer  

Karl "Trout Whisperer" Seckinger is a respected JustNorth author and outdoor adventurer. His guide service, DuNord Guide Service, and the trout waters that he fishes in the Superior National Forest, are some of the most tightly guarded secrets among Trout enthusiasts in Minnesota and Wisconsin.

Contact Karl at 218 - 525 - 0442 or write to him at:

DuNord Guide Service - 6999 Culbertson Road, Two Harbors, Minnesota 55616