A Mighty Minty Morning On The Ice

WARNING:  This story might not be for young or sensitive readers.  While it contains no actual coarse or vulgar words or phrases, it does contain words and phrases that rhyme with coarse and vulgar language.  These rhyming words and phrases are all written in italics, and they intentionally represent the genuinely coarse language used by many of the people I’ve known, worked, and even fished with, over the years.  Some folks, most of whom are very good people, do talk this way.  There was a time in my life when I was prone to it myself.  I try my very best not to use that kind of language any more, and do pretty well most of the time.  However, this kind of rough talk is germane to my story, and so I’ve rhymed it out.  Call me a coward if you must, but it’s what I’ve done.  If you think this literary technique does not reduce the offensiveness, I beg your forgiveness and ask you to read no further.  This story is not for you.  If you do read further, and are still offended, you have no one to blame but yourself.

Something from the tackle box:

       Jesus’ disciples came to him and asked, “Why do you use nothing but stories when you speak to the people?”

       Jesus answered: I have explained the secrets about the kingdom of heaven to you, but not to others.  Everyone who has something will be given more.  But people who don’t have anything will lose even what little they have.  I use stories when I speak to them because when they look, they cannot see, and when they listen, they cannot hear or understand……… But God has blessed you, because your eyes can see and your ears can hear!  (Matthew 13:10-13, 16 CEV)

       Once, early in the morning of the day after Christmas, a young man went out to fish through the ice.  The young man figured that he might well have the lake all to himself, for a time at least as, being the day after Christmas, most people would be sleeping-in after all the celebrating and over-eating of the previous day. 

       The young man was coming off a very full day himself, having observed the Holiday with his wife and three young children in all its facets, presents in the morning, worship at church a bit later, then an afternoon trip to the in-laws for a big dinner complete with mulled wine and pies for desert.  But he had gotten the new ice auger he had wanted for Christmas and he was very anxious to try it out despite the long day previous.  So he was out on the ice, ready to set up at the spot he figured on fishing, before it was fully light.  Which isn’t really that big of a deal in this part of Michigan, as sunrise isn’t until after eight o’clock on days late in December.  In any event, he did seem to have the lake to himself as much as he had hoped he would. 

       His new ice auger worked like a dream.  It only took a few seconds to drill a nice clean hole through the nine inches of ice that covered the lake.  In less than a couple of minutes he had two holes drilled, his folding director’s chair set up, and two baited lines running down in the water, and was waiting for the first tentative morning nibbles from the ice cold pan-fish hugging the bottom of the lake.

       It was a clear and very cold morning for December, but it was dead calm, which makes the deep cold almost enjoyable.  The very top sliver of the sun had started to show through the leafless trees to the east of the lake, and the young man felt very blessed to be right where he was at.  And so, he thanked God for it all, which was not an uncommon thing for this nice young man to do.

       He remembered his wife’s words as he left the bedroom earlier, “Have fun.  Catch a dozen and we’ll have ‘em for lunch when you get back.  Catch two-dozen and we’ll have ‘em for supper when your folks are here for ‘Day Late Christmas’ dinner.  Your dad would like that.”

       The young man would like that, too.  Either option, actually.  He was blessed with a great family all around, and he thanked God for that as well, — again, not an uncommon thing for him to do.    

       The first fish came when the sun was only half a ball showing through the trees above the horizon.  It was a nice fat, eight-inch bluegill.  A good eating fish.  He tossed it on the ice, re-baited his line and, within seconds of letting it back down into the water, had strikes on both his lines at once.  It looked like he was going to have a very good morning.  Three nice pan fish in his creel as the sun was just barely showing itself as a full orb above the horizon.  His life was very good, and he thanked God once more. 

       And that’s when he first heard the cussing coming from a couple of hundred yards down the ice from where he was set up.  He didn’t have the ice all to himself after all. 

       “Sun On A Beach!  Well, I guess that ice spud is at the bottom of the lake now!  And you Damp fish aren’t going to send it back up to me, are ya? – I guess you’re all safe now, you little Bass Tarts!  If I had better gloves on I wouldn’t have lost my grip in this Brass Freezing cold!  Car Rust!  And the hole I’ve got ain’t even big enough to fish through yet! – Oh, Key Wrap!  Now I’ve stepped on and busted my rod!  Holey Sheet!  What a Cluster of Flux this morning is turning out to be!  Sun On The Beach!  I guess I’ll just have to go home and eat Another Trucking baloney sandwich for lunch – again!  Got Damp In Hall To Hail!”

       The young man rolled his eyes.  Even though he wasn’t overly offended by the vulgar tirade coming from down the lake, it definitely was taking the nice edge of his otherwise perfect morning.  He’d shared a lot of ice time with other fishermen out on the lake in his thirty odd years of life, and he’d heard worse. 

       The young man knew this kind of torrent was usually liquor fueled, and he figured this one was too.  Lots of ice-fishermen kept a thermos with more Kahlua than coffee in it next to their seat.  Some preferred a half-pint of peppermint schnapps in their coat pocket.  Why, he didn’t mind a sip or two of that kind of refreshment himself from time to time, but some folks could always be counted on to overdo it.  He figured that this was the case now, even though it was awfully early in the morning for it.  Oh well, he thought, nothing to do but walk down and see if he could help with anything, which is what he did.

       As he got closer, the young man’s first suspicions about the situation only grew stronger.  From where he had been set up, all he could see was a slightly built older man, with a grey or white beard, dressed in a red snowmobile suit, red hat, and black knee boots, hopping around and flailing his arms as he cursed his luck.  If he hadn’t been so scrawny and foul mouthed, you might have been able to fool a little kid into thinking that it was Santa Claus out there, but up close, the details came into better view. 

       The old man didn’t have black boots on at all, just tennis shoes.  His red workingman’s insulated coveralls, with the name ‘Sam’ embroidered above the chest pocket, were discolored with old motor oil and grease from the knees down, and had only looked like black boot tops from a distance.  The cuffs on his old red coveralls were pretty well frayed right away at both the ankles and wrists.   If they hadn’t been so oil stained it would have looked like fur trim.  The red hat was an old Detroit Red Wings ball cap, the brim and Winged-Wheel logo being about as oily as the cuffs on his overalls.  He did have a white beard, though.  Or, at least the outside edges of his beard were white.  The parts of it beard closest to his mouth and directly below for several inches were distinctly yellow-brown with very unattractive tobacco stains.  Other than that, he was just as scrawny up close as he had looked from far away. 

       “Hey there friend.  Sounds like you’re not having a single thing go your way this morning.  -  Anything I can do to help?” offered the young man, as he got up close enough to detect a strong whiff of peppermint schnapps on the breath of the old fellow who turned to reply. 

       “Oh, - Hey there yourself. - I don’t think so,” he said, a bit sheepishly.  Then, in an instant, he got very animated again.  He started hopping, gesturing with his hands, and shouting,  “I was chopping this Damp hole through the ice to catch a few Trucking fish for lunch today.  But, in this Bawl Shrieking cold, my gloves frosted up and my Trucking iron spud slipped out of my Trucking grip and shot right to the bottom of the Trucking lake!  Sun On A Beach! – And if that wasn’t enough to Fish Won Off, - then I stepped on my Trucking fishing rod - and busted it all to Hail, - Got Damp In Hall.”  Then he stopped, hung his head, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coveralls, and said, as he looked like he was about ready to start crying, “I’m sorry about that little outburst.  – I just came out to catch a few fish and enjoy a day on the ice after working ten hours yesterday on Christmas day, and I end up not having a good morning at all, - as you can see.” 

       “Well, - we all have bad days, I guess,” replied the nice young man.  “But I don’t think the cold was the only reason you let your ice spud slip through your hands, or stepped on your rod.  You know, it might have helped if you hadn’t tried to catch up on the Christmas ‘cheer’ you missed out on yesterday, all at once – before nine o’clock in the morning.” 

       “What do ya mean by that?” scowled the old man. “I hain’t been drinkin!”

       “Come on.  I’ve been on the ice for tip-up festival when the schnapps wagon rolls around.  You’re breath is smelling mighty minty for this time of the morning.”

       “Oh, - that!” chuckled the old man.  “That’s not schnapps.  I don’t drink that stuff.  That’s left over candy canes from work yesterday.  I stuffed a bunch of ‘em in my pocket when I finally clocked out.”   He laughed, then noticed the young man wasn’t laughing, and added, a bit more soberly, “I had permission to take them.” 

       “Whatever. – If you really want to catch a few fish for lunch, I’ve got an extra rig and a couple of holes opened up just down the ice a ways.  Grab whatever stuff you haven’t lost under the ice already and you’re welcome to join me.  You can have some of my coffee, too,” said the young man, - and then added, “There’s no Kalhua in it though.” 

       “Oh, that’s fine.  Like I said, I don’t drink any more. — Of course, — I don’t drink any less, either!  haw, haw, haw, haw — Get it. I don’t drink any more — but I don’t drink any less! —  Eh, well, anyway, — I’d love some of your coffee.  — Lead the way.”  

       So they made there way back to the young man’s spot, cleaned the holes out, and started to fish.  The young man sat in his director’s chair, the old fellow squatted down on an upended bucket.  It was quiet, and the fish that had been so anxious to be caught just a short while ago seemed to have moved on, so the young man opened the conversation.

       “So, you had to work yesterday, on Christmas day.  That’s too bad.”

       “Oh, I don’t mind too much.  I don’t really have much family myself, and someone has to keep the gas station down by the freeway off-ramp opened up for the folks that is so stupid they don’t know enough to fill their tanks the day before a Holiday.   And, I guess, some folks has a long way to go and would run out of gas even if they did fill up the day before, so — someone’s got to do it. I always volunteer. I do wish that old skin-flint Sun On A Beach that owns the place would pay me a little extra for it though.  He says, since I volunteer, he don’t see why he should pay me any extra. — And, if I don’t volunteer, he’d just as soon force one of the youngsters with a family to work the day for extra pay — just to spite ME for NOT volunteering to work the day!  How do ya like that! — The Sun On A Beach. He’s not all bad though.  He does pay me a dollar over minimum wage because I help folks with all the hard jobs that come in, like flat tires, leaking oil, cleaning up kid’s vomit out of the back seats, that kind of stuff. We offer Got Damp good service down at the B & M, let me tell you!”

       “I believe it,” said the young man.

       “Got Damp good service! I’ve been there over ten years now, and I’ve got seniority!  Which is another reason I get a dollar an hour over minimum wage.  No one else earns that much down there.  I can tell you that!”

       “I believe that, too,” said the young man again. 

       “But I don’t mind the hard work, even for an old skin flint, slave driving Bass Tart like my boss.  You know, the bible says, ‘if someone forces you to carry their sheet for them one mile, - carry their sheet an extra mile, - just to show ‘em who’s your real boss, — and — and — then it says not to worry about getting anything at all for it, neither.  Birds and flowers don’t ask for extra pay, and they got all they need and more, — and that comes right from the mouth of baby Jesus himself, son. — Well, young man, so do I. — I’ve got everything I need and more, Tick Beds like my boss running this world or not. Except, now, maybe I do need a new ice-spud! - haw, haw, haw.”

       “I believe that Grown-up Jesus said a lot of stuff like that, too.”  Replied the young man.

       “You bet your sweet Bass he did,” agreed the old man. — Said a whole lot of stuff like that, and we’d all be a Damp sight better off to take some to heed!”  He paused, - and then added, a little sheepishly, “Especially when you’re having as rotten a morning as I have been, I guess.”

       The old fellow took out some papers and a tobacco pouch and rolled his own cigarette, something hardly anyone does any more.  As he stuck it in his mouth and lit it up, he said, “I normally smoke a pipe, but I noticed that I had lost it while I was at work yesterday.  Don’t know where the Damp thing is.  These will do until I can get a new one.” 

       They drank the last of the coffee then, and fished on in the quiet of the morning for quite a long time.  But the fish really had moved on, and the breeze was starting to pick up, turning the crisp air from enjoyable to uncomfortable. 

       Finally the young man said,  “I don’t believe we are going to catch any fish today, and I have to be back home by lunch-time.  Before you showed up I already had three early rising bluegills in that creel over there.  If I take them home for lunch the kids will just fight over ‘em.  But three that size makes an acceptable meal for just one fellow.  Why don’t you take them home with you?  It’s no feast, but it’s got to be better than another baloney sandwich.”

       “Why — thank you!  I sure have had a hankering for some icy-fish. — I’ll do that.  Thank you very much!” 

       “And to be perfectly honest.  I just hate that rod you’re using.  Worse fishing tackle purchase I’ve ever made.  I’d consider it a favor if you’d keep it, too. — Can’t replace your ice-spud though! (chuckle) that one’s on you, my friend!”

       “haw, haw, haw!  I guess it is!  But thanks for the rod, too.  I’ll use it. — Here,” the old man said, as he patted around the pocket with the name ‘Sam’ embroidered above it on his coveralls, “Take one of these candy canes I took away from the station last night.” 

       With that, he unwrapped a cane and handed it to the young man, who really wished he had just left the wrapper on and handed it to him.

       “Go ahead! — Try it! — They’re mighty minty, let me tell you!” said the old man with a wink and a smile.

       “Why, it is pretty good,” replied the nice young man as he took a lick.  “It’s very, - very,……. very,……… goooo” - - -  And, with that, the young man was fast asleep in his director’s chair, — on the ice, — in the middle of the lake.

       When he awoke, he sat drowsy for a minute, — until he realized where he was, — and remembered what had just happened.  Then he jerked up out of his chair with a start.  He had every intention of doing great bodily harm to the old Bass Tart who, he was quite sure, had slipped him a Mickey! — But — there was no one around.

       He spun around, - and looked around.  One rod was gone, - but he had given that to the old man after all. Everything else was there, right where it had been, — and more besides!

       He checked his watch.  He wasn’t sure of the exact time when the old man had handed him that laced candy cane, but he calculated that he couldn’t have been out for more than a few minutes, at most.  Which made other things very unexplainable.  For there on the ice, scattered all around his director’s chair, lay a man’s daily bag limit of big fat bluegills, two-dozen plus one.  And written in the dusting of snow that covered the ice were the words, ‘have a great day late Christmas dinner with mom, dad, the wife and kids.  thanks again, S.C.’

Something to take home in your creel:

“Wishing and Praying for a Very Merry Christmas, filled with blessing upon blessing, to fall happily upon ALL of my Friends, and everyone else in this Good Old World as well!”  M.J.