WINTER FISHING

  Wayne called the other day wanting to set up a day or two to go pre fishing for an up coming bass tournament on Brownlee Res.

 I love fishing bass on Brownlee as the Small Mouth are usually hungry and come in some very nice sizes.
 We planned the trip for either Wednesday , Thursday, or Saturday. Tuesday night rolled around and the weather forecast called for blowing winds up to 35 miles per hour. Not fishing weather for sure, so I bowed out of the Wednesday trip. Thursday was much the same so we opted to stay home and let the wind blow itself out and just try Saturday.
 I arrived at Wayne’s farm on a frosty Saturday morning. The thermometer was reading a chilly 19 degrees.
We loaded our heavy shirts, coats, and coveralls into Wayne’s truck, hooked to his bass boat, and headed to the upper end of Brownlee.
We arrived at the parking lot full of already launched boats, the empty trailers telling the story, and a friend standing waiting for his turn to launch.
“Got to watch that ramp,” he said. “It’s covered in ice.”
 Roger was alone so Wayne backed him down the ice covered ramp and launched him. We just locked his truck and hid his keys in a specified place so he could just stay in his boat and go off fishing.
I was laughing to myself. It looked more like the start of the Iditarod sled dog race than a day of fishing. Everyone was bundled up so much you could not recognize them.
We stood around for a while trying to let the day warm up a tad bit before launching the boat. At last we splashed it into the cold, murky water and took off.
“This is a perfect speed,” I yelled over to Wayne as we headed down the lake.
“Ha, ha,” he shouted back, “You wish.”
We were idling out of the no wake zone.
 The big 200 roared as Wayne punched the throttle and the boat jumped out of the water. There is just no going slow in a bass boat. He took us on plane and then dropped the throttle back so we were just holding planning speed. The speed odometer read about 45 miles an hour.
 We both crouched behind our little windshields as best we could to stay out of the biting wind, but it still penetrated every area of your body.
 Once we got to our first fishing place we found out that the boat ride was just the beginning of the day’s misery.  Wayne had fingerless mittens so he had a little warmth, all I had was heavy gloves so I had to take them off for casting and reeling. In just a few minutes my hands were numb with cold.
 At about noon the day started warming just a bit. The water was showing a chilly 49 degrees and warmed to a whole 50 by afternoon.
We managed to find some good fish for Wayne.  He will be going back after them next weekend in the tournament. It is a real challenge to find fish this weekend and hope they will be in the same areas and biting the same baits an entire week later. Only time will tell.
Our final boat ride was just as the sun set behind the mountains on the west side of the lake. Wayne opened the big motor and I could feel the boat lock on the planning pad. The wind roars past your ears and makes communicating almost nonexistent. I crouched low and glanced at the speedometer. The needle was slicing through the 70 miles per hour. Man is that flying on water!
Through the cold air and cold water we still managed a great fishing day. We had so much fun chatting about old times and dreaming about the future.
I felt ten pounds lighter once I got out of all the heavy clothing at the truck.
Winter fishing… fun but has a little price to pay, look at my numb, red fingers if you don't believe it. 

GREAT RETRIEVE

  A big flock of snow geese was circling the decoys, slowly losing altitude. The little blond lab was watching intently, quivering with excitement, and quietly whining each time the geese passed right over the blind. I gently put my hand on her back to keep her still and whispered for the umpteenth time for her to, “sit, sit, sit…hold still”. White in the muzzle at nine years of age, she looks old but the eyes and her desire still seem young.

If you don’t think hunting dogs get into the sport as much as the hunters, you have never spent much time in a duck blind with retrievers. They live for the action.
 “Let’s take them this pass,” I whispered to Wayne and Jimmy. We slowly reached for our guns and then waited for that magical moment when the birds would pass the closest.
“Take them now!” We jumped up and began shooting.
Jasmine (I call her Jaz) lunged off the floor of the blind with a bark and out to see where the geese would fall from our shots.
We managed a couple of birds and watched as the flock flew out over the Snake River about a quarter mile away.
The flock was right over the river when one bird fell dead into the swirling water. That is the reason you always watch birds into the distance once you shoot into a flock.
Jaz was bringing a bird from the decoys to the blind. I took it from her and then took off running for the river.
At the river’s edge I found the goose, not floating in the center where it looked to have fallen, but on the far side of the river in the water under the brush. That is a long, long ways for an old dog to swim. The downed bird was in the brush enough that it was not floating down stream so we had all the time we needed.
 I looked at the current rushing by and knew I could not send Jaz from where we stood.
 I walked Jaz up river a long ways and then sent her on a “blind” retrieve.
As a puppy I have worked with Jaz to find things by following my voice and arm commands. I can send her “over” to the right by saying, “Over” and pointing with my whole arm to the right. I send her “back” by saying, “Back” and holding my arm straight over my head. She has retrieved hundreds of birds with those commands, but never one this far away.
At nine years old I did not know if she would have the strength to make such a long swim, but I would watch her closely and if it looked like she was tiring I would call her back.
“Jaz, Back. Way Back!” I commanded the little dog. She took off swimming like a little muskrat.
 She looked back at me twice and I just kept sending her “back” as I walked down river to keep pace with the current sweeping her down. If she turned back I would let her come, as I felt she would know her limitations. If it seemed too far for her, than I would not insist that she try, she is much too good a dog to push her beyond her limits.
 It was going to be close as the current pulled her down stream to where the goose lay.
She was pretty much on her own now as she was so far away. I could see when she caught sent of the bird, her head came up and she quickened her swimming pace. At last her feet hit the far shore and she raced over to the goose. She stood for a while catching her breath and resting, then she picked up the goose and began the long swim back to me. The snow goose was all I could see, just a white dot getting larger and larger.
 I walked down the river bank once again keeping pace with her and giving her encouragement as she made her long way back. I was bursting with pride as she just kept a slow and steady pace.
At last she made her way to the bank I was on and I made sure I was right at the water’s edge to take the goose from her. She had worked hard enough and I did not want the old dog to have to carry the heavy goose up the steep bank.
“Good girl! What a great girl!” I kept telling her over and over.
 What a great retrieve! I just could not stop petting her and telling her what a great dog she was. At nine years old she had just made her longest retrieve of her life.
 I raced back to the blind to tell Wayne and Jimmy. We all petted and made over her the rest of the day.
That whole hunt was secondary to that one retrieve the little blond dog made that day. It is burned into my memory. Jaz will be one of the best dogs of my life, if not the very best dog. I am so thankful to still be hunting and doing things with her.
 What a good girl you are Jaz.