(62)Fire and Ice.
Haines pond. A large pond, two acres. Saturday, April 14, 1962, opening day of trout fishing season. I was running. Hard! Running as fast as I'd ever ran. Yet, I made no apparent progress. The sound of my pounding feet was a muted, far away thump, thump, thump, thump, thump...soggy snow splashing, mud flying. My pounding heart pumped so violently the blood in my head made a swishing noise. Ice cold pellets of early spring corn snow hit my face. My heart was a small, fast triphammer banging in my chest.
I watched the men sitting on the bank turn and look while everything unwound in slow motion. Agonizingly slowly, the men floated by with shock in their eyes, mouths wordlessly moving. Why didn't they react? Get up and help? …show more content…
I'd been ready for a week. Rods checked, new line installed, my favorite lures packed. I bought a fresh jar of fish eggs for Jim and new fishing licenses at the Haines Dry Goods Store.
My little brother Jim and I were going to walk the shoulder of Highway Thirty a mile and a half to the Haines Pond. I was twelve. Jim was seven and it was his first fishing trip with me, a large responsibility. "Make sure no one drowns!" Mother, who never learned to swim, exhorted me one more time. Drowning was her greatest fear.
The day arrived overcast, cold and wet, snowing with half a foot of old crusty snow still on the ground. We hardly noticed the weather on the walk to the pond. It was slightly above freezing; winter had lost its bite. In two weeks, it would be dry, almost warm.
The Haines Pond had been stocked with hatchery trout the day before. I saw the big green and silver Fisheries Department tank truck come through town. Hatchery fish are dumb. Fishing would be easy.
The stream fishing later in summer would be much more work. Low, clear water and smart native fish require a live grasshopper presented from a stooped crouch. The incautious fisherman who let these trout see him would be going home
Haines pond. A large pond, two acres. Saturday, April 14, 1962, opening day of trout fishing season. I was running. Hard! Running as fast as I'd ever ran. Yet, I made no apparent progress. The sound of my pounding feet was a muted, far away thump, thump, thump, thump, thump...soggy snow splashing, mud flying. My pounding heart pumped so violently the blood in my head made a swishing noise. Ice cold pellets of early spring corn snow hit my face. My heart was a small, fast triphammer banging in my chest.
I watched the men sitting on the bank turn and look while everything unwound in slow motion. Agonizingly slowly, the men floated by with shock in their eyes, mouths wordlessly moving. Why didn't they react? Get up and help? …show more content…
I'd been ready for a week. Rods checked, new line installed, my favorite lures packed. I bought a fresh jar of fish eggs for Jim and new fishing licenses at the Haines Dry Goods Store.
My little brother Jim and I were going to walk the shoulder of Highway Thirty a mile and a half to the Haines Pond. I was twelve. Jim was seven and it was his first fishing trip with me, a large responsibility. "Make sure no one drowns!" Mother, who never learned to swim, exhorted me one more time. Drowning was her greatest fear.
The day arrived overcast, cold and wet, snowing with half a foot of old crusty snow still on the ground. We hardly noticed the weather on the walk to the pond. It was slightly above freezing; winter had lost its bite. In two weeks, it would be dry, almost warm.
The Haines Pond had been stocked with hatchery trout the day before. I saw the big green and silver Fisheries Department tank truck come through town. Hatchery fish are dumb. Fishing would be easy.
The stream fishing later in summer would be much more work. Low, clear water and smart native fish require a live grasshopper presented from a stooped crouch. The incautious fisherman who let these trout see him would be going home