Adventure #3: Part 2 The Spirit on the Lake

Brianna and I agreed that the next time we fish we go straight to Parker’s Lake.  So that is what we did.  We agreed to meet there early in the morn.  I arrived at 6:30.  The sun was glittering low on the water, and the morning was chilly but comforting with the promise of warming up.  Brianna had a later start than I did, so she didn’t arrive until 7:30.

As I waited for her I chose to just fish for sunnies until she got there.  After proof that there are descent sized fish in the lake, I went lure shopping before this trip.  I got myself some Power Bait rubber worms and spinner bait and I was anxious to use them, but I knew that if I caught a whopper I’d want someone to a) take a picture damn it, and b) help me get it on the dock.  I’ll be honest, I was scared to pull in a huge fish alone.   

I had the dock to myself for only about fifteen minutes.  Three teenage boys came onto the dock around 6:45.  I said hi to one of them who returned a “hi”, but the other two wouldn’t make eye contact with me.  (Must be because I come off scary).

When Brianna showed up around 7:30, I switched to a spinner bait.  A one dollar Wal-Mart spinner bait, mind you.  If you don’t know what a spinner bait is…. Here’s a picture of the one I used:

Allow me to preface all this with a brief history of my prized catches throughout my life.  It isn’t very impressive compared to other anglers, and compared to the amazing fishing that Minnesota has to offer.  New York has good fishing, but you really need to know where to go. 

So, in my childhood career of catching fish, here is the list of “whoppers” I’ve pulled in (including my out of state ocean fishing as well):  two flounder, two baby sharks (probably 14 inches and one pound), one ten inch trout, one three pound largemouth (which won me a fishing pole in a kid fishing contest) and…. Nope. That’s it.  I’ve caught about a thousand sunnies, bluegill, small crappies, and perch in my childhood though!  But that was the extent of it.  My brother Kyle was the true fisher in our family.  He went on some good fishing trips and has caught some good sized fish.  I wanted to be just like him when I was little, and I remember saving up my allowances to go spend on a ritzy five dollar lure to add to my tackle box in the hopes that I could catch big fish too.  I never had the patience for lures as a kid though, but quite ironically had the patience using worms.  Worms caught fish, guaranteed, though small as they were I just wanted to catch fish.  I always caught the most fish, but never the biggest.  But I will say this: I used a worm on all of the “big” ones I caught, even the sharks…  

Here's a picture of my GIANT shark.  I'm not in the picture (and I don't know why), but I pulled that in.  I think my dad took it off the hook though, so that's why he's holding it. 

Now, out here in Minnesota childhood fishing is not like it was for me.  There’s five year olds out here pulling in sixteen inch Northern pike and giant walleyes all the time.  So… it has become a goal for me to catch up to these five year olds. 

I have three goals:

To catch at least one of each of the following fish:

a Northern pike

   






                                                                             a walleye

and a largemouth bigger than the one I caught at age eight

So, now that you know my pathetic history of catching not-that-big-of-fish in my childhood, I was stoked this particular day with the opportunity to add new fish to my list.  Parker’s Lake is at an all-time high in numbers of Northern pike this year.  And clearly there’s some nice sized largemouth.  As for walleye?  I have no idea.  Still have to figure out how to catch one of those...  But I was definitely excited for the pike and bass.

So when Brianna arrived I switched to the spinner bait.  My ritzy one dollar lure.  The one teenage boy who had said hi to me was fishing on the other side of the dock while his buddies were elsewhere.  Brianna was catching sunnies while I was casting out closer to shore.  It only took a few casts before this wonderful Northern jumped out of the water and grabbed my lure.  My first pike!  If you’ve never been fishing you really don’t know the adrenaline rush that goes through your body when you’ve got a good sized fish.  And pike are super fun to catch because they put up a good fight.  And you respect that. 

I can’t remember if I was screaming too obnoxiously or not, but I was definitely squealing on some level.  I got it up on the dock and bossed Brianna into grabbing the camera.  “It’s my first pike!” I cried.  The teenager on the other end was watching silently. Bri couldn’t find my camera, so she used her phone.

 It wasn’t a very big pike.  And in this picture I look like I'm choking it to death.
Thirteen, fourteen inches?  They’re very long, thin fish so that’s not a very big one.  I’m angry with myself for not measuring it…. I was too focused on getting the hook out of its mouth without getting bit (their teeth are razor sharp) and getting it back into the water so it could live.  

The thrill of this woke up my whole spirit, my whole body.  I couldn’t wait to catch another.  But more importantly, I couldn’t wait to share the good news with my dad and my brother Kyle.  They were all I thought about.  I thought about all of those fishing trips as a child, how my dad taught me how to fish and how determined I was when I was little to do it myself.  I thought about how Kyle and I talked fishing all the time, how he taught me about lures and how which ones are for which kinds of fish.  I know all about bass fishing because of him.  It might sound sort of simple and ridiculous to some, but this was a special moment for me. 

Shortly after this, Brianna noticed that the teenage boy switched his lure to a spinner bait and she came over to whisper to me, “He just changed his lure to the lure you were using” and for some reason we got a kick out of that.  When you think about it though, a huge percentage, not all of it, but a huge percentage of fishing is dumb luck.  Know-how will up your chances no doubt, but a lot of the time it’s all up to those damn fish and what they feel like biting at.

It wasn’t long after I caught my pike that Brianna pulled in a nice sized crappie.   Another fish I wish we had measured, but if I had to guess it was at least twelve inches.  The air was feeling good.  Spectacular.  The lake took a liking to us.   

I had my second stroke of luck shortly after this.  I switched to a Power Bait rubber worm and was fishing directly out in front of the dock.  I was just starting to get bored of casting when I got a hit.  A big one.  My pole was bent so far I thought it would break.  In my adrenaline rush and excitement I started yelling to Brianna again to get the camera but she was in the middle of pulling in a sunfish.  I reeled too quickly.  I was just too damned excited!  I managed to pull this second pike up to the dock water, but it jumped up and thrashed and flung itself off the hook. 

“Noooooo!” I cried out to it in sorrowful longing as it swam back into the deep.  This one?  Was no fourteen incher.  I remember when I saw its mouth fly out of the water I had a split second thought of, “Oh crap I have to take a hook out of THAT?”  This was a whopper of a fish that got away. 

The thrill now, of course, was starting to become addicting.  I had to have that feeling of excitement again. 

The day went on with a rising sun that began to give us color on our skin. 

The teenage boys left after a while, and we had the dock to ourselves for a bit.  Brianna wanted to catch a bigger fish so she switched to lures as well.  She had brought with her a tackle box that she had as a child, a nice one, and it was bright pink.  She had made a comment to me saying, “I know it’s girly, but…” 

Now she and I are avid feminists, and one of the sexist things I can’t stand is to use the word “girly” in an inferior, demeaning, shameful way. In fact it was one of the first feminist’s things I brought up with her when we first met.  She was telling me a story about her and her friends and she was sounding apologetic for being “girly”.  I had looked at her and said, “What the hell is wrong with being girly?  There’s nothing wrong with girls liking the things they like.  It’s a double standard for men to use the word ‘girly’ as demeaning and inferior, but at the same time…what?  Do they want their women to be manly?”  I also told her that when I was her age I used to throw out the word “girly” in the same way.  I used to be proud that I wasn’t “girly” which meant in the sexist context of “irrational, pink loving, vain ridiculous creature”.  It took me awhile to figure out why I battled with my self-worth, growing up hearing these seemingly innocent phrases and implications that women are inferior and silly.  Once I finally pinpointed how phrases like “cry like a girl” and “stop being a little bitch” (man saying to a man) and “good thing you’re not a girly-girl” were so destructive, I’ve started to make some noise about it.

So, when Brianna was apologizing for her pink tackle box, which is a kick ass tackle box by the way, and a spirit of her childhood, I said, “There’s nothing wrong with being girly.”  She laughed this AH-HA! I REMEMBER! laugh and said, “Yes!”  I might not be a fan of the color pink in general, but that doesn’t mean I’m not girly.  I’m girly.  I’m a freaking girl.   My voice goes up an octave when I’m talking to a man I’m attracted to.  I like to wear skirts.  I totally want my hair to look pretty.  And in all my girly wonderfulness I am intelligent, talented, rational, passionate and emotional, empathetic, efficient, hard-working, independent, strong willed, tough, funny and weird. Hell yeah I’m proud to be girly.  I mean…I’m chock full of ugly flaws too but even those are part of who I am, and even if you want to call those flaws “girly” instead of “human”, I still own them as part of my humanity not the delusional inferiority to men.   

So… in this magnificent, magical pink tackle box was a frog lure. 

Brianna went to try it close to shore in the weeds.  She ended up discovering two real frogs in the water, pretty good sized ones, enjoying some procreating pleasure.  She beckoned me to come see, so I came over to have a look.  Before I let you see the picture of the frogs I have to tell you our story.  Do not judge.  We meant well.  Keep that in mind.  We meant well.  And it testifies what the spirit of a good natured heart can do for a memory. 

(stay tuned for Part 3)

Adventure #3: Part 1 The Spirit on the Lake

There’s a fragility to life that only those who have lost tragically fully understand.  This post is firstly dedicated to my dear friend’s mother who recently passed away too young, and is overall dedicated to all those who have suffered a loss and still fight the grief thereafter.  There is healing over time as they say, but during that time there is a great pursuit to survive the pain while it is still so sharp in the soul.  This day was about easing the present pain so that the next day, and the next day after that, could bring promise of good things, the hope that the pain will someday not be so sharp and stabbing and suffocating.  

The day before my ice fishing adventure was the day I went to my friend’s mother’s funeral. 

I met Brianna at a daycare where I used to work.  She was hired at the age of sixteen to be my teacher aid, and I judged her instantly (the sour old bitty that I am). She was lively and chipper and quite honestly, way too happy and pretty, and it sort of wigged me out. 

I’m not that chipper. 

And my experience with chipper people usually (not always) equates to fake. I was a little terrified that we wouldn’t get along.  She seemed like such an unlikely match, meaning she seemed like the type of girl who didn’t like me in high school, and not the type of teenager that I could trust to be reliable in the classroom. 

She’s laughing as she reads this, trust me…  If you must know, her first impression of me was that I was scary.  We both unfortunately give off false vibes about who we truly are until you get to know us.  Judging really is a stupid thing. 

She proved me wrong in every way.  I felt like a fool as she proved herself to be hard working, reliable, fun, creative and on top of that, kind and generous and one of the best aids I’ve ever had.  Our chemistry became paramount.  As a team we worked flawlessly in the classroom.  She’s an extremely talented make-up artist, and this is where we connected the most: with art. Passion. The hunger to change things unjust, and the drive to be successful. 

She turned out to be one of my soul mates. 

Age difference be damned, this girl has given me so much light in my life and when you find that sort of compatibility with another human being you keep it healthy and moving along.  She has become a dear, dear friend. 

She is twenty years old now, and tragically lost her mother only a few months ago.  

Grief is a torment that proves how powerfully we need love.  Grief is a testament of that love.  Grief is painful and slow to heal, and many who have not experienced it underestimate its power on how it can change your life forever.  There is both an ugliness and a beauty to grief that paints the perfect portrait of human complexity:  it can feel like it is destroying you, while at the same time driving you into a fierce desire to live fully in the name of the one you lost.  As Brianna (and her younger sister) are falling into the darkness of this strange canvas, my heart has broken in the wake of their new reality. 

As the weather has crept in with warmth and sun and green leaves I told myself that this would be the summer I would finally purchase my own fishing gear and get back out into nature.  I grew up fishing, but have only fished a handful of times in my adult life.  I love to fish.  So I’ve felt like an idiot for not doing this sooner.  But I have finally got myself up and out, and I have been fishing almost every weekend for the past few weeks.  It has been unbelievably liberating and has opened a window of healing fresh air into my soul. 

About two weeks ago I let Brianna know I was going fishing again and hoped she could join me.  She joined me a few days before (a precursor adventure I’ll share too), but this invitation was more dire.  She had been having a hard time both with grief and other stresses that have piled on her back, and she said to me, “Yes!  Yes.  I NEED to go.  I NEED this.” 

Weeks ago, in my first time out to fish after buying my gear, I spent a couple hours hunting for the perfect lake.  Third time’s the charm as they say.  It was the third lake I found that has become my magic spot.  Parker’s Lake in Plymouth is now my permanent go-to.  The dock is just right. 

The quantity and size of fish is excellent.  It’s only twenty minutes away.  It’s quiet, serene, full of wildness, and the sun rises right up over the water in front of you.  I’ve seen bald eagles hunt and catch pike. 

There’s duck families and geese families, king fishers, pileated wood peckers, heron, egrets, loon and about a hundred other species of bird I don’t recognize. 

If there’s a reason for me to love Minnesota, this is it.  The wildness of this state is pretty awesome. 

The first time Brianna came with me fishing was my second time fishing, and for kicks I wanted to see what other lakes are out there.  Stupid to do when you’ve already found a good match.  So, we went to White Bear Lake. 

Bad idea.

There’s only one dock for offshore fishing, and when we finally found the dock (an hour after driving around the entire city of White Bear) it was loaded with people.  I looked at Brianna and said, “I really want something more private.  This feels wrong.”  She agreed.  So after two hours of driving around White Bear Lake, Beaver Lake and some other lake I can’t remember the name of, we decided to go to my spot in Plymouth.  Which, was an hour away from where we were. 

So our plan to fish at the crack of dawn didn’t work out. 

When we arrived at Parker’s Lake there were a couple people on the dock, so we settled into a little offshore clearing.  It appears to be a perfect spot for bass if you can handle fishing in the weeds, but we started out just fishing with worms and catching sunfish. 

Brianna sat herself on the bank of the water to fish trying to get the bit of sun that was coming in through that window of the shore when she noticed a particular creepy looking insect meandering through the dirt next to her.  Startled by its size and ugliness, she leapt up screaming, “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!”  It was a bizarre looking creature, no doubt, and to defend itself it stuck its pointy rear end straight up into the air and stood as tall as it could on its six legs.  It was about two inches in length, the color of the dirt, with two big round eyes and a triangular head.  Its body looked very larva like, so I assumed it was a baby something or other.   After some ridiculous close eyeing and leaping back I observed the shape of its head and theorized that it was a baby dragonfly.  Brianna looked it up on her phone (the magic of technology) and sure enough it was a dragonfly larva.  Being the nature nerd that I am, I was fascinated by its camouflage. She was too.

We saw a second one also, so clearly they had recently hatched by the shore.  Because they were so invisible in the dirt we had no idea how many there were crawling around us.  Trying to be responsible we scooped the one up on a stick and moved it out of harm’s way so we wouldn’t trample it.  This was our first testament of our nurturing, life-saving spirit.  The second testament turns out to be the real spirit of the story which comes later.

After a bit we craved to get some real sun, so we headed off to the dock, people be damned.  We caught plenty of sunfish, some decent size, but nothing too exciting. 

Nothing real exciting happened until after noon when this kid, about thirteen, came out onto the dock.  He fished for about fifteen minutes and caught a four to five pound largemouth bass.  Everyone on the dock was cheering for him and I swear acted more excited than he did.  I think he was overwhelmed, quiet and shy.  The rest of us however were whooping with congratulations. He tried to take a selfie with his fish and Brianna stepped up and said, “I’ll take that picture for you!”  So she took the picture and he quite humbly released his prize catch back into the water.  It was warming to me to experience the unity of something so simple.  Everyone was so genuinely excited for him, and it became a moment for all. 

Our next trip, the main event in this post, was the real day of adventures, first time catches and of a goodness that was so undeniably needed.  A spirit came out to us on the lake that day…

(stay tuned for part 2)