
Back in the 1970s and early 1980s, I didn't wear a beard, but I did keep a well-trimmed mustache during my high school days until today, more than 50 years! I wore that same orange and blue nylon sport shirt for practically everything I did outdoors. It was so comfortable for a guy that's always on the go and too warm, whenever I played softball, football, or volleyball. I wore that thing for more than 15 years, until the outer trim started fraying. It was a sad day, when I eventually tossed it in the garbage can.
The 19th Short Story
Perching for Cribbage
"Perching for Cribbage"
ANDY'S LESSONS FROM LIFE
My 19th Short Story
I hope you enjoy more of Andy's life experiences and the lessons that come with them.
"Perching for Cribbage"
“Bartering can be fun, especially when you garner a win-win deal.”
--Andy Skrzynski
Usually, I hated negotiating much of anything when I was younger. It made me feel like a salesperson, and I always felt at a disadvantage to the older, more experienced people dickering with me. But on occasion, I’d run into a kind person who made such discussions oh so much easier.
Shortly after my first wife and I were married in the summer of 1973, we headed Up North to get away for a week. Our first stop included the sandy beaches of the Sleeping Bear Dunes. From there, we drove up to Petoskey, where we checked out a few of the shops and stayed overnight.
The next morning, we headed across the Mackinac Bridge, and traveled west on Highway 2, across a portion of the Upper Peninsula. I loved how the green pines and ferns seemed to hug the shoulders of the roads for a good part of our trip. Sure beats those ugly highways around the big cities.
Shortly after crossing the famous the bridge, I kept seeing café signs touting “pasties.” I wasn’t sure whether it was a fruit-filled dessert or something entirely different.
Wanting to sample the pleasures of our new surroundings, we stopped at a restaurant with a sign that vividly displayed one of their pasties. The meat pie of a thing looked scrumptious -- full of all sorts of goodies.
Immediately after opening the door of my 1966 Chevrolet Impala, I sniffed the savory fragrance drifting through the air. Yummy, that smells wonderful! I loved my hamburgers, but I couldn’t wait to try something that tantalized my nostrils in such a fashion.
My wife and I were seated, and after placing our order, we chatted about our final route and what we had seen up to that point. Meanwhile, I was chomping on the bit to sink my teeth into one of those pasties. The aroma alone got my foot to tapping like I was off to the races.
As soon as my plate hit the table, I took that first big bite. The juicy ground beef and seasoned onions, potatoes, carrots, and a few other choice vegetables started my mouth to watering. The amazing sensation never ended until I swallowed the last savory morsel. We’ll have to stop and get some more on our way back home!
We bid our farewells to the owner and headed off toward our intended destination. After checking in at a motel with cabins near Lake Manistique, we rested for a bit before renting a rowboat. Though our exploits included more fishing than catching, we had a fabulous afternoon, before longer shadows settled in across the area.
The sunset was absolutely gorgeous, but a billowing cluster of orange crested clouds line the horizon to the northwest of us. I kept my eyes to the skies as I rowed back to shore and sighed. We might be in for some rain tomorrow.
As expected, we awoke to menacing clouds that threatened to play havoc with our fishing plans. Being young and daring -- some might claim foolish -- we ventured out onto the smaller of the two lakes.
To be on the cautious side, I kept us within eyeshot of the dock, where we rented a larger aluminum boat than on the previous day. Fish as we tried, we never even get a nibble as the clouds darkened, and the wind picked up steam.
After a few minutes of rocking, my poor wife’s face turned sour. “I hate to say this, but I can’t stay out here much longer. I feel like I’m going to throw up any minute now.” She showed all the signs of seasickness.
Doing what any good husband would do, I rowed toward shore, and we headed back to the motel. What are we going to do now?
Along one narrow, curvy road, I spotted a sign that read, “Indian Fishing Guide.” My heart wanted to leap with joy, but I bit my lip and kept my mouth shut.
After getting my wife settled in back at the cabin, she looked at me. “Did you see that fishing guide sign?”
Now, that was a stupid question, but who was I to point out the obvious. I simply nodded with a sheepish grin.
She picked up a book she brought with her. “I’m going to read for a bit while my stomach calms down. Go check out that fishing guide. I know you’re dying to.”
Barely able to contain my euphoria, my eyes grew larger. She knows me better than I thought!
Though I felt a touch bad at the thought of leaving her, I was unable to hold back a wry grin and reluctantly relented. “Oookay, but only because you insisted.”
My heart leapt for joy. After all, -- fishing is fishing, -- and there was no way I’d pass up such a grand opportunity.
After showering her with praise for understanding, I pecked her on the cheek. “Why don’t you take a nap while I'm gone. I’ll try not to be too long.”
Truth be told, I had no idea when I’d return and planned to leave that decision up to the guide. I’d plead innocence, if I had to, whenever I got back.
Off I drove to where I saw that sign. I had never fished with a guide and had no earthly idea what such an excursion would cost. I hope he’s not too expensive.
After arriving, I knocked on the front door, and we introduced ourselves. I looked at the deeply tanned, slender man, and explained what had happened earlier that morning.
I figured a good sob story might improve my chances of negotiating a better price. “My wife and I didn’t catch a thing, but I’d love to learn how to fish this area, if you’re available, sir.”
His face turned friendly with a smile. “We might be able to work something out.”
That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. I gave him my sad look. “How much do you charge?”
I immediately flopped open my wallet for him to observe while delivering my most pitiful look. “As you can see, I don’t have a whole lot of money.” A couple of 10s and a 5-dollar bill lined the inside.
He paused for a second. “Well, it's unlikely anybody else will be wanting to fish in this weather.” The man sighed. “I’ve got an idea. How about we go out and catch our limit? All it will cost you is a couple of games of cribbage and all the perch we catch. You can keep any of the pike you want.”
Wow, he’s gotta be kidding? Right? I was no dummy. I didn’t care if the perch were better eating than the boney ole pike.
To get a fishing guide for free and play some cribbage was a chance of a lifetime -- way too good to pass up! I stuck out my hand. “We’ve got a deal! Thank you, sir!”
He turned and hollered toward the back of his small cottage house. “I’m off to go fishing! I’ll be back in a little bit.” A female voice replied, “Be careful!”
As we headed out his door, I pointed at my Impala. “I’ll grab my fishing rods and tackle box.”
He shook his head. “Don’t bother. I’ve got everything we’re going to need.”
Hoping to show off what little bit of fishing prowess I possessed with my new collection of lures, I was sorta disappointed. Even so, I figured it best to let him lead the way. The man must know what he’s doing. He lives here, after all.
I snuck a peek as we strolled past his aluminum rowboat, which was already trailered and hooked up to his pickup truck. You’ve got to be kidding! Cane poles?
My heart sunk. I hated fishing with crappy bamboo poles. It’s the most boring way to fish -- ever! How are we ever going to catch our limits with those stupid things?
I bit my tongue. Beggars can’t be choosy. Besides, he isn’t charging me a dime.
Deciding it was prudent to go with the flow, I vowed to make the best of the situation. He seemed like a nice guy. Maybe he’ll teach me a trick or two that will help me later.
My newfound buddy drove less than a mile to a ramp, and after launching the boat, he picked up the oars and began rowing. As we headed out to deeper waters, the wind started picking up once again and the temperatures began to drop. Whoa, maybe I should have brought a jacket.
I never imagined it could get so cool in July, but we were Up North. Within a few minutes, the friendly guide steered us to a spot near the point of a rather large cove. “This will do. Why don’t you grab one of those poles for yourself and hand me one. I’ll show you how to bait the hook.”
He must think I’m pretty stupid. I already know how to stick a stupid nightcrawler on a hook. My dad had demonstrated the proper method, plenty of times before. It’s really not that hard.
The boat swayed as he reached over the edge of the boat and pulled up a small, galvanized metal bucket of sorts that was attached to a rope. Dipping his hand down through the spring-loaded top, he retrieved his wet paw which held a small, wiggly minnow between his fingers.
I was taken aback. Hmmm, never used minnows before. Maybe, I will learn something new.
He picked up his hook and peered at me. “Pay attention and watch how I do this. You poke the hook just behind that dorsal fin, like this.” He demonstrated the proper technique. “See how I did that?”
I nodded my head. “Yes, sir. Looks pretty simple.”
“Good. It’s your turn.”
He dipped his hand in the bucket and extended a minnow toward me. “Here you go.”
I tried to grab the tiny sucker, but it squirted right out from between my fingers and landed on the bottom of the boat. My guide chuckled. “They’re slippery little buggers. You’ve got to hold them firm.”
Easy for him to say. He’s probably been doing it all his life. After a bit of frustration, I finally grabbed the wiggler and baited my hook as the man had shown me. I proudly held it up for him to see. “Did I do it right?”
“Perfect. Now, let’s get these in the water so we can catch something to eat.”
After he swung his line out over the lake, he dropped the hook and sinker down through the water’s surface until the bobber floated freely. I followed suit with mine.
He inserted the fat end of his pole into a holder on the edge of the boat and proceeded to bait another hook. “See that other pole? Grab it and put a minnow on that line. Each of us is going to keep two poles in the water at once. That way we’ll catch more fish, faster.”
I followed the man’s instructions, but before I could even grab a minnow, my first bobber dipped below the surface. The guide blurted, “Hurry, lift that pole and bring your fish aboard before you lose it.”
Scrambling, I removed the pole from the holder, and as soon as the line tightened, I felt a jiggle at the other end of the line. I raised the tip high and lifted my catch out of the water.
My partner exclaimed, “There you go. That’s a beauty of a jumbo perch. Now, take it off the line and put it into that cooler.” He pointed behind me.
Doing as my guide commanded, I unhooked my first trophy and tossed it into the green, metal container. I checked the bait. “Hey, the minnow still looks good. Should I use it again?”
“Sure. As long as it wiggles and looks lively, keep using it.”
Encouraged by how fast, I caught my first prize, I quickly swung the line out over the water, but before I could even lower it, my partner hollered. “I’ve got one! Go ahead and get yours back in the water and bait the other hook. Keep two of them going. We’re going to be busy this morning.”
Man, was he ever right. We were hooking and tossing 'em in the cooler as fast as we could. One time, we had three perch on our lines at the same time.
For 20 minutes our hands were full. All of a sudden, they stopped biting, as if someone turned off a switch.
After a minute or so, a sly grin creased the guide’s lips. “Hang on to your poles. There’s a northern in the area.” He pointed toward the water. “When the perch quit biting and scatter like that, it means there’s a big pike in the area.”
It couldn’t have been a second later, when something yanked one of his lines and the tip of the pole bent sharply lower. He hollered, “Got you good!”
Something powerful pulled the line directly under the boat as the experienced fisherman fought it for a moment, then yanked it up out of the water. “Here we go. Now, you’ve got something to eat tonight!”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had never seen such a hefty pike. It was longer than my forearm.
My fishing partner didn’t even appear surprised one bit, as he worked the hook out of its jaws and shoved it in the cooler. “We’re doing great! Why don’t you count ‘em. How many do we have so far?”
I carefully lifted the lid to provide a slit just wide enough to see and started the tally. Closing the top, I turned toward him with a smile. “We got 11 perch and that pike you just caught.”
“Great! We’ve got a way to go yet. Keep those minnows in the water. You can’t catch a thing if you don’t keep that bait where they can see it.”
As soon as I stuck them in the water, the dark clouds let loose, and it started to rain. In no time at all, I was soaked through and through. With all the fun, I really didn’t mind one bit.
Besides, my tremendous fishing guide was spot on, once again. The perch returned with a vengeance, and we were hooking and tossing them in the cooler as fast as possible. Three more times in the matter of a half hour, the perch quit biting. During those pauses, I caught two pike and he caught another.
In less than a couple of hours of the best fishing I’d ever experienced, we had reached our limit for perch, and we were headed back to the ramp. As my new friend rowed the boat, I kept shaking my head with a smile. “I ain’t ever caught so many fish that fast before. I can’t believe we did it with cane poles.”
A mighty grin crawled across his weathered face once more. “See, it’s not what you use for gear, it’s knowing what bait they like and where the perch are located that matters most.”
I chuckled. “Well, you certainly know what you’re doing.”
His eyes grew large. “I should by now. I’ve fished most of the lakes in this area all my life. I know where those jumbos like to feed, and if you want to catch large pike, you’ll find them where those perch like to hang out. I love the taste of perch, but don’t care much for pike.”
We returned to his place, and after introducing me to his lovely wife, my friendly guide and I played a couple of rounds of cribbage. After having a blast fishing, playing cards simply added to the excitement of what had already been a grand day.
Turns out, he wasn’t just a good guide, he also provided stout competition. After a great set of games, we shook hands with the biggest smiles and bid farewell.
By the time I returned to the cabin, my wife felt much better and even offered to bake the fish, if I prepared them. In no time at all, I scaled and cleaned the northern pikes.
My clothing was still damp, and a chill had settled deep into my bones. I looked forward to standing near the oven while it heated up. Unfortunately, when she turned the knob on the top of the stove, the oven wouldn’t start.
I opened the door and smelled a slight odor but didn’t think too much of it. I turned toward my wife, “It’s just the pilot light. I need to relight it.”
After closing the oven door, I found a book of matches in the nearest drawer. I promptly lit one and reopened the oven door. As I extended the flickering flame near the opening -- KABOOM. A bright flash threw me across the floor and into the dining room chairs.
Stunned, I smelled something smoking. Most of the hair on my arms was singed and smoldering. I quickly felt around on my face. My mustache and eyebrows were crispy to the touch. What on Earth was I thinking?
I yelled to my wife, “Is my hair on fire?”
She hollered back, “No!” She ran to my side. “Are you alright?”
Dazed and still in a state of disbelief, I slowly looked up at her from the floor. “I think so, but I’m not sure. It’s a good thing my shirt was still wet. Otherwise, I would have been a flaming idiot.”
She shook her head. “You’re darn lucky you didn’t get killed.”
I grinned. “Tell me about it. I didn’t think the gas smelled that bad.”
Sighing, she helped me to my feet. “I guess you’ll know better next time, won’t you?”
**********
That's it for now.
All I can say, is that I'm thankful I survived some of youthful encounters with fate. Many experiences bring us face-to-face with life-threatening moments, and like many of you have done, we manage our best to survive those unexpected challenges.
I hope you enjoyed the latest of my experiences. Thank you so much for your wonderful support!
Andy Skrzynski
ANDY'S LESSONS FROM LIFE
My 19th Short Story
I hope you enjoy more of Andy's life experiences and the lessons that come with them.
"Perching for Cribbage"
“Bartering can be fun, especially when you garner a win-win deal.”
--Andy Skrzynski
Usually, I hated negotiating much of anything when I was younger. It made me feel like a salesperson, and I always felt at a disadvantage to the older, more experienced people dickering with me. But on occasion, I’d run into a kind person who made such discussions oh so much easier.
Shortly after my first wife and I were married in the summer of 1973, we headed Up North to get away for a week. Our first stop included the sandy beaches of the Sleeping Bear Dunes. From there, we drove up to Petoskey, where we checked out a few of the shops and stayed overnight.
The next morning, we headed across the Mackinac Bridge, and traveled west on Highway 2, across a portion of the Upper Peninsula. I loved how the green pines and ferns seemed to hug the shoulders of the roads for a good part of our trip. Sure beats those ugly highways around the big cities.
Shortly after crossing the famous the bridge, I kept seeing café signs touting “pasties.” I wasn’t sure whether it was a fruit-filled dessert or something entirely different.
Wanting to sample the pleasures of our new surroundings, we stopped at a restaurant with a sign that vividly displayed one of their pasties. The meat pie of a thing looked scrumptious -- full of all sorts of goodies.
Immediately after opening the door of my 1966 Chevrolet Impala, I sniffed the savory fragrance drifting through the air. Yummy, that smells wonderful! I loved my hamburgers, but I couldn’t wait to try something that tantalized my nostrils in such a fashion.
My wife and I were seated, and after placing our order, we chatted about our final route and what we had seen up to that point. Meanwhile, I was chomping on the bit to sink my teeth into one of those pasties. The aroma alone got my foot to tapping like I was off to the races.
As soon as my plate hit the table, I took that first big bite. The juicy ground beef and seasoned onions, potatoes, carrots, and a few other choice vegetables started my mouth to watering. The amazing sensation never ended until I swallowed the last savory morsel. We’ll have to stop and get some more on our way back home!
We bid our farewells to the owner and headed off toward our intended destination. After checking in at a motel with cabins near Lake Manistique, we rested for a bit before renting a rowboat. Though our exploits included more fishing than catching, we had a fabulous afternoon, before longer shadows settled in across the area.
The sunset was absolutely gorgeous, but a billowing cluster of orange crested clouds line the horizon to the northwest of us. I kept my eyes to the skies as I rowed back to shore and sighed. We might be in for some rain tomorrow.
As expected, we awoke to menacing clouds that threatened to play havoc with our fishing plans. Being young and daring -- some might claim foolish -- we ventured out onto the smaller of the two lakes.
To be on the cautious side, I kept us within eyeshot of the dock, where we rented a larger aluminum boat than on the previous day. Fish as we tried, we never even get a nibble as the clouds darkened, and the wind picked up steam.
After a few minutes of rocking, my poor wife’s face turned sour. “I hate to say this, but I can’t stay out here much longer. I feel like I’m going to throw up any minute now.” She showed all the signs of seasickness.
Doing what any good husband would do, I rowed toward shore, and we headed back to the motel. What are we going to do now?
Along one narrow, curvy road, I spotted a sign that read, “Indian Fishing Guide.” My heart wanted to leap with joy, but I bit my lip and kept my mouth shut.
After getting my wife settled in back at the cabin, she looked at me. “Did you see that fishing guide sign?”
Now, that was a stupid question, but who was I to point out the obvious. I simply nodded with a sheepish grin.
She picked up a book she brought with her. “I’m going to read for a bit while my stomach calms down. Go check out that fishing guide. I know you’re dying to.”
Barely able to contain my euphoria, my eyes grew larger. She knows me better than I thought!
Though I felt a touch bad at the thought of leaving her, I was unable to hold back a wry grin and reluctantly relented. “Oookay, but only because you insisted.”
My heart leapt for joy. After all, -- fishing is fishing, -- and there was no way I’d pass up such a grand opportunity.
After showering her with praise for understanding, I pecked her on the cheek. “Why don’t you take a nap while I'm gone. I’ll try not to be too long.”
Truth be told, I had no idea when I’d return and planned to leave that decision up to the guide. I’d plead innocence, if I had to, whenever I got back.
Off I drove to where I saw that sign. I had never fished with a guide and had no earthly idea what such an excursion would cost. I hope he’s not too expensive.
After arriving, I knocked on the front door, and we introduced ourselves. I looked at the deeply tanned, slender man, and explained what had happened earlier that morning.
I figured a good sob story might improve my chances of negotiating a better price. “My wife and I didn’t catch a thing, but I’d love to learn how to fish this area, if you’re available, sir.”
His face turned friendly with a smile. “We might be able to work something out.”
That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. I gave him my sad look. “How much do you charge?”
I immediately flopped open my wallet for him to observe while delivering my most pitiful look. “As you can see, I don’t have a whole lot of money.” A couple of 10s and a 5-dollar bill lined the inside.
He paused for a second. “Well, it's unlikely anybody else will be wanting to fish in this weather.” The man sighed. “I’ve got an idea. How about we go out and catch our limit? All it will cost you is a couple of games of cribbage and all the perch we catch. You can keep any of the pike you want.”
Wow, he’s gotta be kidding? Right? I was no dummy. I didn’t care if the perch were better eating than the boney ole pike.
To get a fishing guide for free and play some cribbage was a chance of a lifetime -- way too good to pass up! I stuck out my hand. “We’ve got a deal! Thank you, sir!”
He turned and hollered toward the back of his small cottage house. “I’m off to go fishing! I’ll be back in a little bit.” A female voice replied, “Be careful!”
As we headed out his door, I pointed at my Impala. “I’ll grab my fishing rods and tackle box.”
He shook his head. “Don’t bother. I’ve got everything we’re going to need.”
Hoping to show off what little bit of fishing prowess I possessed with my new collection of lures, I was sorta disappointed. Even so, I figured it best to let him lead the way. The man must know what he’s doing. He lives here, after all.
I snuck a peek as we strolled past his aluminum rowboat, which was already trailered and hooked up to his pickup truck. You’ve got to be kidding! Cane poles?
My heart sunk. I hated fishing with crappy bamboo poles. It’s the most boring way to fish -- ever! How are we ever going to catch our limits with those stupid things?
I bit my tongue. Beggars can’t be choosy. Besides, he isn’t charging me a dime.
Deciding it was prudent to go with the flow, I vowed to make the best of the situation. He seemed like a nice guy. Maybe he’ll teach me a trick or two that will help me later.
My newfound buddy drove less than a mile to a ramp, and after launching the boat, he picked up the oars and began rowing. As we headed out to deeper waters, the wind started picking up once again and the temperatures began to drop. Whoa, maybe I should have brought a jacket.
I never imagined it could get so cool in July, but we were Up North. Within a few minutes, the friendly guide steered us to a spot near the point of a rather large cove. “This will do. Why don’t you grab one of those poles for yourself and hand me one. I’ll show you how to bait the hook.”
He must think I’m pretty stupid. I already know how to stick a stupid nightcrawler on a hook. My dad had demonstrated the proper method, plenty of times before. It’s really not that hard.
The boat swayed as he reached over the edge of the boat and pulled up a small, galvanized metal bucket of sorts that was attached to a rope. Dipping his hand down through the spring-loaded top, he retrieved his wet paw which held a small, wiggly minnow between his fingers.
I was taken aback. Hmmm, never used minnows before. Maybe, I will learn something new.
He picked up his hook and peered at me. “Pay attention and watch how I do this. You poke the hook just behind that dorsal fin, like this.” He demonstrated the proper technique. “See how I did that?”
I nodded my head. “Yes, sir. Looks pretty simple.”
“Good. It’s your turn.”
He dipped his hand in the bucket and extended a minnow toward me. “Here you go.”
I tried to grab the tiny sucker, but it squirted right out from between my fingers and landed on the bottom of the boat. My guide chuckled. “They’re slippery little buggers. You’ve got to hold them firm.”
Easy for him to say. He’s probably been doing it all his life. After a bit of frustration, I finally grabbed the wiggler and baited my hook as the man had shown me. I proudly held it up for him to see. “Did I do it right?”
“Perfect. Now, let’s get these in the water so we can catch something to eat.”
After he swung his line out over the lake, he dropped the hook and sinker down through the water’s surface until the bobber floated freely. I followed suit with mine.
He inserted the fat end of his pole into a holder on the edge of the boat and proceeded to bait another hook. “See that other pole? Grab it and put a minnow on that line. Each of us is going to keep two poles in the water at once. That way we’ll catch more fish, faster.”
I followed the man’s instructions, but before I could even grab a minnow, my first bobber dipped below the surface. The guide blurted, “Hurry, lift that pole and bring your fish aboard before you lose it.”
Scrambling, I removed the pole from the holder, and as soon as the line tightened, I felt a jiggle at the other end of the line. I raised the tip high and lifted my catch out of the water.
My partner exclaimed, “There you go. That’s a beauty of a jumbo perch. Now, take it off the line and put it into that cooler.” He pointed behind me.
Doing as my guide commanded, I unhooked my first trophy and tossed it into the green, metal container. I checked the bait. “Hey, the minnow still looks good. Should I use it again?”
“Sure. As long as it wiggles and looks lively, keep using it.”
Encouraged by how fast, I caught my first prize, I quickly swung the line out over the water, but before I could even lower it, my partner hollered. “I’ve got one! Go ahead and get yours back in the water and bait the other hook. Keep two of them going. We’re going to be busy this morning.”
Man, was he ever right. We were hooking and tossing 'em in the cooler as fast as we could. One time, we had three perch on our lines at the same time.
For 20 minutes our hands were full. All of a sudden, they stopped biting, as if someone turned off a switch.
After a minute or so, a sly grin creased the guide’s lips. “Hang on to your poles. There’s a northern in the area.” He pointed toward the water. “When the perch quit biting and scatter like that, it means there’s a big pike in the area.”
It couldn’t have been a second later, when something yanked one of his lines and the tip of the pole bent sharply lower. He hollered, “Got you good!”
Something powerful pulled the line directly under the boat as the experienced fisherman fought it for a moment, then yanked it up out of the water. “Here we go. Now, you’ve got something to eat tonight!”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had never seen such a hefty pike. It was longer than my forearm.
My fishing partner didn’t even appear surprised one bit, as he worked the hook out of its jaws and shoved it in the cooler. “We’re doing great! Why don’t you count ‘em. How many do we have so far?”
I carefully lifted the lid to provide a slit just wide enough to see and started the tally. Closing the top, I turned toward him with a smile. “We got 11 perch and that pike you just caught.”
“Great! We’ve got a way to go yet. Keep those minnows in the water. You can’t catch a thing if you don’t keep that bait where they can see it.”
As soon as I stuck them in the water, the dark clouds let loose, and it started to rain. In no time at all, I was soaked through and through. With all the fun, I really didn’t mind one bit.
Besides, my tremendous fishing guide was spot on, once again. The perch returned with a vengeance, and we were hooking and tossing them in the cooler as fast as possible. Three more times in the matter of a half hour, the perch quit biting. During those pauses, I caught two pike and he caught another.
In less than a couple of hours of the best fishing I’d ever experienced, we had reached our limit for perch, and we were headed back to the ramp. As my new friend rowed the boat, I kept shaking my head with a smile. “I ain’t ever caught so many fish that fast before. I can’t believe we did it with cane poles.”
A mighty grin crawled across his weathered face once more. “See, it’s not what you use for gear, it’s knowing what bait they like and where the perch are located that matters most.”
I chuckled. “Well, you certainly know what you’re doing.”
His eyes grew large. “I should by now. I’ve fished most of the lakes in this area all my life. I know where those jumbos like to feed, and if you want to catch large pike, you’ll find them where those perch like to hang out. I love the taste of perch, but don’t care much for pike.”
We returned to his place, and after introducing me to his lovely wife, my friendly guide and I played a couple of rounds of cribbage. After having a blast fishing, playing cards simply added to the excitement of what had already been a grand day.
Turns out, he wasn’t just a good guide, he also provided stout competition. After a great set of games, we shook hands with the biggest smiles and bid farewell.
By the time I returned to the cabin, my wife felt much better and even offered to bake the fish, if I prepared them. In no time at all, I scaled and cleaned the northern pikes.
My clothing was still damp, and a chill had settled deep into my bones. I looked forward to standing near the oven while it heated up. Unfortunately, when she turned the knob on the top of the stove, the oven wouldn’t start.
I opened the door and smelled a slight odor but didn’t think too much of it. I turned toward my wife, “It’s just the pilot light. I need to relight it.”
After closing the oven door, I found a book of matches in the nearest drawer. I promptly lit one and reopened the oven door. As I extended the flickering flame near the opening -- KABOOM. A bright flash threw me across the floor and into the dining room chairs.
Stunned, I smelled something smoking. Most of the hair on my arms was singed and smoldering. I quickly felt around on my face. My mustache and eyebrows were crispy to the touch. What on Earth was I thinking?
I yelled to my wife, “Is my hair on fire?”
She hollered back, “No!” She ran to my side. “Are you alright?”
Dazed and still in a state of disbelief, I slowly looked up at her from the floor. “I think so, but I’m not sure. It’s a good thing my shirt was still wet. Otherwise, I would have been a flaming idiot.”
She shook her head. “You’re darn lucky you didn’t get killed.”
I grinned. “Tell me about it. I didn’t think the gas smelled that bad.”
Sighing, she helped me to my feet. “I guess you’ll know better next time, won’t you?”
**********
That's it for now.
All I can say, is that I'm thankful I survived some of youthful encounters with fate. Many experiences bring us face-to-face with life-threatening moments, and like many of you have done, we manage our best to survive those unexpected challenges.
I hope you enjoyed the latest of my experiences. Thank you so much for your wonderful support!
Andy Skrzynski