A few brief notes from the present first:
- This is the third of three sequential new posts.
- I’ve made a couple new T-shirts, which you can see at www.cafepress.com/permanentmark3, and maybe you’ll buy something from one of my three stores.
Now, on with Crowduck.
I got up around 1100 today. I persuaded Micah to come with me to the Square Cove. And man, let me tell you, he did nothing but complain. At first he fished too and just complained that there are never any fish there (a valid complaint, actually), but then his rod crapped out and he decided he only uses his very own (sucky) rod, and none of the other perfectly good ones in the boat would suffice. So I just trolled and drifted or a while, alternately, listening to him complain that he never catches any fish, he wanted to go back to camp, he didn’t like the Square Cove, he was bored, [and] his rod was crappy; and it was quite grating. He quoted Dad as saying to go back in if we spotted whitecaps, and Micah found some out in the open water, and after a lengthy wait just to get back at him for complaining, I turned back, but made sure to troll all the way, or a long way at least, back. Dad later noted that he said to move closer if there were whitecaps.
So, having gotten fed up with Micah, I teamed up with Dad, Mom, and Erin to go out to Gull Rock. It took a while for us to get going, but we eventually did, and it was really windy and choppy. I got soaked by the spray. When we finally reached the rock, the water was so down from last year that our former docking spot was two feet away on dry land. Dad rigged it somehow – it involved him getting waist-deep in the water – and we all started fishing.
It was a great day at Gull Rock. I sat next to Erin and discussed Homestar and Cake, and everyone pulled in fish. All except me. I got one good-sized bass, and much later on, one tiny one that we didn’t keep. Meanwhile Dad and Mom and Erin were pulling out bass (and walleye) one after another, and Erin pulled out this walleye that turned out to be an absolutely enormous bass. The official measurement was 19½ inches, and 18 inches qualifies for a Master Angler certification, so now Erin is a Master Angler. I guess I’m just bad at fishing.
There was dinner, after Nick (now 79) told his famous Mrs Pitt’s Pot joke, and before we even finished eating, I instituted a game of poker for imaginary bets. Some sample bets: three million dollars, six million dollars, eight billion dollars, Greenland, Neptune, Michael Jackson, a dozen empty beer cans plus a pine cone, and a dentist’s office. Once, Erin bet Sweden, and I called and raised six grains of sand, but she called my bluff!
[Then we got real] poker started up. I must really suck at poker, because I lost quite consistently. I lost I think three or six bucks, and then later (I think it was three) $1.50 more. It was down to Dan and Micah head-to-head or a while and Micah was surprisingly kicking Dan to the curb, but then I bought in and Tracy bought in (that was the $1.50 that I lost). (As you can tell, I’m not planning very far ahead with my writing here.) There was hot chocolate courtesy of Grandma. Crowduck is great, isn’t it?
The sky was dark with no moon, but that’s because it was covered with clouds. Dan and Tracy and Co. say there’s a storm blowing in – they saw it lighting up the sky off in the distance – so I’m going to go look at that.