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RallySweeps
Posted 4 y ago
Responses: 208
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Just finished watching Dr. Strangelove again. Had forgotten how funny it was.
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Love to fish live about 2 miles from Lake Lewisville Texas we love to camp and fish I have a 30 ft Keystone trailer and a 18 ft boat only problem is this year waiting surgery on both feet and right ankle can't hardly get in and out of boat which is the pits. VA screwed up paperwork three times so far trying to get it done have seen 2 different civilian surgeons hoping this time paperwork is right
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SSG (Join to see)
I have an appointment with the second surgeon on August 16 hopefully It will be to set a date for the surgery and pre-op appointments
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Anytime any place if there is water and fish, that is my favorite spot. I even ice fish but I didn't always enjoy it.
You just have to wonder who the first guy was who thought it was a good idea to chop a hole in a frozen lake so he could sit out in the bitter cold and fish. He must have been either very, very hungry or absolutely insane although I’d understand if you chose C, all of the above. My brother, Jim, talked me into trying it…..Once. He has also talked me into several other things but they are stories for another day. It was on a warm January day in Northern Illinois about ten miles south of the Wisconsin border on Wonder Lake where my parents had a home. A balmy 25-degree winter day with a mild zephyr of wind howling at 25-30 MPH. We packed two sleds with fishing gear, hot coffee and assorted ice fishing “Stuff” and, dressed in the warmest clothes we owned, pulled the sleds a mile or so down the lake to a likely spot to try our luck.
We arrived with little thought to how cold it would feel once we stopped working and sat still for a while. We chopped two holes through a foot or so of ice, upturned a couple of plastic buckets to sit on and began our lesson on the real meaning of “Wind Chill”.
I would have been miserable even without the endless parade of snowmobilers who came by to see just what the heck we were doing. They buzzed by us, around us, and even between us, as we sat and watched the water in the holes refreeze. Some stopped to chat, others to help out as they thought nobody would stay in one place on the ice unless they were in trouble. One guy looked around for our snowmobiles and seeing none asked how we had got out here. I told him we had walked and that seemed to be the funniest thing he had heard in a long time as he laughed, started his snowmobile and drove off shaking his head.
Fortunately we got a lot of helpful advice from the other guys that stopped to talk. We soon discovered that the water here was to shallow and we should move up the lake to deeper water, that’s where the fish were. Another was sure the water here was too deep and we should move down the lake to shallower water near some cover because that’s where the fish were. About the only thing everyone agreed on was that this was a bad spot and we shouldn’t be here! I agreed. After a couple of hours without a bite, no feeling in my fingers or toes, and a case of the shivers that just wouldn’t stop, I told my brother I’d had it and was going in. He marveled that a guy that had been known to spend twelve hours in a boat fishing would quit after only two hours on the ice. I marveled right back that I was surprised that a guy that spent twelve hours in a boat fishing on a warm summer day was to stupid to quit after the first ten minutes on the ice. As we trudged back toward the house, into the wind this time, I made it pretty clear that I hated Ice fishing, ice fishermen, snowmobilers, skaters, Hockey players and, after I lost all feeling in my face, I think I included Ice machines and Zamboni drivers.
That evening I sat on the couch in my living room with a glass of Scotch in one hand, my arm around my wife and my Golden Retriever laying on my frozen feet trying to get warm. I told my wife all about my day and how much I hated Ice Fishing. Then I told her that anyone that claimed to like ice fishing needed to be committed to an institution for the insane. Then I summed it all up for her by swearing off ice fishing forever. I think I may have left the impression that I was not in favor of participating in the sport.
It was several years before I set foot on a frozen lake again. Even then I didn’t go willingly. I was visiting a friend of mine named Ken in Minnesota in February. Why I would go to Minnesota in February is reason enough to question my sanity but I digress. Ken knew I was an avid fisherman and asked if I’d like to spend the day ice fishing with him. The weather forecast called for “Breezy conditions with a high near 20 degrees”. I answered that I didn’t have warm enough clothes with me and had no desire to sit out in the wind and freeze. Ken just gave me a strange look and said nothing. Our wives went off to spend the day shopping and Ken suggested we go for a ride. We climbed in to his truck and to my surprise and shock Ken headed straight for the lake and drove out on the ice. I panicked, grabbed the door handle and prepared to bail out of the truck at the first sign of cracking ice. Ken just laughed and pointed out all the other traffic on the lake. They all seemed to be headed in the same direction we were and in the distance I saw a shantytown that I hadn’t noticed before. Everyone including us seemed to be headed for it so I gritted my teeth and waited for the truck to go through the ice and sink.
“Minnesota winters are long and cold,” Ken said
“We take ice fishing more seriously than you southerners”
The work “southerners” struck me as strange. I grew up in the Chicago area and was living in Iowa at the time. Only a Minnesotian would consider me a “Southerner”
We stopped in front of one of the shanties and Ken suggested I go in while he got the generator going. I stepped out of the truck into the bitter cold and unlocked the door to a small one-room cabin sitting on wood runners. There were no windows so it was dark inside but the light from the open door revealed a single 10’by 12’ room with a carpet covering the floor and a sofa in the middle. Moments later I heard the generator start and the lights went on. I closed the door behind me and walked over to the sofa, in front of it were five trapdoors. Just then Ken walked in, flipped a switch and an electric heater started glowing,
“How do you like my ice shanty “, Ken asked.
I looked around and saw a camp stove on a counter, some cabinets on the walls, and a small television on a shelf in front of the sofa. I went over to the trapdoors and flipped one open to find a hole in the ice with a skim of ice on the top.
“We can seat four” Ken said
“Why five holes”, I asked
“The center one is for beer” ken said as he handed me a short ice fishing rod.
I opened the center trapdoor and found a rope. Pulling it up I found a net holding a six pack of beer attached to it. I sat on the end of the sofa, broke and skimmed the ice from the surface of the hole and dropped my line in.
“Why don’t you just put the beer outside”, I asked
“Then you would have to get up to get it and it would be frozen solid”, Ken answered
“It’s a little cold for beer,” I said
“It won’t be for long” Ken answered.
“Would you like something to warm up with until the heater warms the place up”, Ken asked holding a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in one hand and a bottle of Scotch in the other.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I said reaching for the Scotch.
The TV set came on and a Basketball game was just starting
“I don’t much like Basketball”, I said
“You don’t much like Ice Fishing either” Ken said
“Shut up and fish”.
Soon the shanty was toasty warm, the coat came off and between bites and during commercials I asked Ken about the shanty. It sat on wooden runners so he could pull it onto and off the ice behind his truck. The floor, roof and walls were all insulated and he was planning to replace the electric heater with a propane model to reduce the load on the generator. He got four to five months use from it and considered it a better investment than his camper that he only used a few weeks a year.
We came in late, the women had already gone to bed and I tiptoed into our room and crawled into bed. The next morning my wife asked what Ken and I had done that kept us out so late.
“Ice Fishing” I mumbled
“Ice Fishing?” she exclaimed
“You hate Ice Fishing”
“Me?” I asked
“Who told you that? I love Ice Fishing, always have”.
She looked at me skeptically
“So, did you catch any fish?”
“Yeah, we caught a few but, it isn’t about catching fish. It’s about the entire outdoor experience, communing with nature, male bonding, man against the elements”.
“He had beer didn’t he”, she said
“And good Scotch too”, I added
“Your outdoor adventures always seem to go better when there’s Beer”, she said.
“And Scotch” I replied.
You just have to wonder who the first guy was who thought it was a good idea to chop a hole in a frozen lake so he could sit out in the bitter cold and fish. He must have been either very, very hungry or absolutely insane although I’d understand if you chose C, all of the above. My brother, Jim, talked me into trying it…..Once. He has also talked me into several other things but they are stories for another day. It was on a warm January day in Northern Illinois about ten miles south of the Wisconsin border on Wonder Lake where my parents had a home. A balmy 25-degree winter day with a mild zephyr of wind howling at 25-30 MPH. We packed two sleds with fishing gear, hot coffee and assorted ice fishing “Stuff” and, dressed in the warmest clothes we owned, pulled the sleds a mile or so down the lake to a likely spot to try our luck.
We arrived with little thought to how cold it would feel once we stopped working and sat still for a while. We chopped two holes through a foot or so of ice, upturned a couple of plastic buckets to sit on and began our lesson on the real meaning of “Wind Chill”.
I would have been miserable even without the endless parade of snowmobilers who came by to see just what the heck we were doing. They buzzed by us, around us, and even between us, as we sat and watched the water in the holes refreeze. Some stopped to chat, others to help out as they thought nobody would stay in one place on the ice unless they were in trouble. One guy looked around for our snowmobiles and seeing none asked how we had got out here. I told him we had walked and that seemed to be the funniest thing he had heard in a long time as he laughed, started his snowmobile and drove off shaking his head.
Fortunately we got a lot of helpful advice from the other guys that stopped to talk. We soon discovered that the water here was to shallow and we should move up the lake to deeper water, that’s where the fish were. Another was sure the water here was too deep and we should move down the lake to shallower water near some cover because that’s where the fish were. About the only thing everyone agreed on was that this was a bad spot and we shouldn’t be here! I agreed. After a couple of hours without a bite, no feeling in my fingers or toes, and a case of the shivers that just wouldn’t stop, I told my brother I’d had it and was going in. He marveled that a guy that had been known to spend twelve hours in a boat fishing would quit after only two hours on the ice. I marveled right back that I was surprised that a guy that spent twelve hours in a boat fishing on a warm summer day was to stupid to quit after the first ten minutes on the ice. As we trudged back toward the house, into the wind this time, I made it pretty clear that I hated Ice fishing, ice fishermen, snowmobilers, skaters, Hockey players and, after I lost all feeling in my face, I think I included Ice machines and Zamboni drivers.
That evening I sat on the couch in my living room with a glass of Scotch in one hand, my arm around my wife and my Golden Retriever laying on my frozen feet trying to get warm. I told my wife all about my day and how much I hated Ice Fishing. Then I told her that anyone that claimed to like ice fishing needed to be committed to an institution for the insane. Then I summed it all up for her by swearing off ice fishing forever. I think I may have left the impression that I was not in favor of participating in the sport.
It was several years before I set foot on a frozen lake again. Even then I didn’t go willingly. I was visiting a friend of mine named Ken in Minnesota in February. Why I would go to Minnesota in February is reason enough to question my sanity but I digress. Ken knew I was an avid fisherman and asked if I’d like to spend the day ice fishing with him. The weather forecast called for “Breezy conditions with a high near 20 degrees”. I answered that I didn’t have warm enough clothes with me and had no desire to sit out in the wind and freeze. Ken just gave me a strange look and said nothing. Our wives went off to spend the day shopping and Ken suggested we go for a ride. We climbed in to his truck and to my surprise and shock Ken headed straight for the lake and drove out on the ice. I panicked, grabbed the door handle and prepared to bail out of the truck at the first sign of cracking ice. Ken just laughed and pointed out all the other traffic on the lake. They all seemed to be headed in the same direction we were and in the distance I saw a shantytown that I hadn’t noticed before. Everyone including us seemed to be headed for it so I gritted my teeth and waited for the truck to go through the ice and sink.
“Minnesota winters are long and cold,” Ken said
“We take ice fishing more seriously than you southerners”
The work “southerners” struck me as strange. I grew up in the Chicago area and was living in Iowa at the time. Only a Minnesotian would consider me a “Southerner”
We stopped in front of one of the shanties and Ken suggested I go in while he got the generator going. I stepped out of the truck into the bitter cold and unlocked the door to a small one-room cabin sitting on wood runners. There were no windows so it was dark inside but the light from the open door revealed a single 10’by 12’ room with a carpet covering the floor and a sofa in the middle. Moments later I heard the generator start and the lights went on. I closed the door behind me and walked over to the sofa, in front of it were five trapdoors. Just then Ken walked in, flipped a switch and an electric heater started glowing,
“How do you like my ice shanty “, Ken asked.
I looked around and saw a camp stove on a counter, some cabinets on the walls, and a small television on a shelf in front of the sofa. I went over to the trapdoors and flipped one open to find a hole in the ice with a skim of ice on the top.
“We can seat four” Ken said
“Why five holes”, I asked
“The center one is for beer” ken said as he handed me a short ice fishing rod.
I opened the center trapdoor and found a rope. Pulling it up I found a net holding a six pack of beer attached to it. I sat on the end of the sofa, broke and skimmed the ice from the surface of the hole and dropped my line in.
“Why don’t you just put the beer outside”, I asked
“Then you would have to get up to get it and it would be frozen solid”, Ken answered
“It’s a little cold for beer,” I said
“It won’t be for long” Ken answered.
“Would you like something to warm up with until the heater warms the place up”, Ken asked holding a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in one hand and a bottle of Scotch in the other.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I said reaching for the Scotch.
The TV set came on and a Basketball game was just starting
“I don’t much like Basketball”, I said
“You don’t much like Ice Fishing either” Ken said
“Shut up and fish”.
Soon the shanty was toasty warm, the coat came off and between bites and during commercials I asked Ken about the shanty. It sat on wooden runners so he could pull it onto and off the ice behind his truck. The floor, roof and walls were all insulated and he was planning to replace the electric heater with a propane model to reduce the load on the generator. He got four to five months use from it and considered it a better investment than his camper that he only used a few weeks a year.
We came in late, the women had already gone to bed and I tiptoed into our room and crawled into bed. The next morning my wife asked what Ken and I had done that kept us out so late.
“Ice Fishing” I mumbled
“Ice Fishing?” she exclaimed
“You hate Ice Fishing”
“Me?” I asked
“Who told you that? I love Ice Fishing, always have”.
She looked at me skeptically
“So, did you catch any fish?”
“Yeah, we caught a few but, it isn’t about catching fish. It’s about the entire outdoor experience, communing with nature, male bonding, man against the elements”.
“He had beer didn’t he”, she said
“And good Scotch too”, I added
“Your outdoor adventures always seem to go better when there’s Beer”, she said.
“And Scotch” I replied.
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for the first time I went out on a charter boat to San Diego to try my luck at shark fishing after three hours I had caught a 500 pound 10 ft. tiger shark , It is stuffed and mounted on an old friends eating joint in North Carolina .
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If you are 100% disabled combat veteran in Washington State getting reduced license tabs is like getting a ticket to Mars.
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SSG Hank Ortega
In Texas, any out of state or resident 100% Service Connected Vet with their award letter, can get a full sport pack (fishing and hunting) license, free.
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