Racing

Elmer Phud liked racing. He watched all the televised stock car races. He watched all the televised drag races as well as open wheel racing. He even watched boat racing. Next to fishing, watching races was what he liked to do when he had some free time. So it was no wonder he heard about a new sport. This new sport was rooted in the back alley’s and streets of resorts and fishing holes all across the upper Midwest. It grew and prospered. From the beginning it was popular with fisherman/woman of all ages. It was an inexpensive hobby,if hobbies can be so. All one needed to get started was an old tackle box or two. Tackle boxes newer than five years old are prohibited. Lures not required.

 

No one knows who came up with the idea. Some say a canuck by the name of Big Jaw McGraw was cleaning around his fishing camp. He had several un-used tackle boxes in a shed. He sit two down on a reclining board. They promptly slid down the boards. Big Jaw thought that was the niftiest think he ever saw. Big Jaw was easily entertained. So when his neighbor came by a couple of days later, he showed this amazing act to him. After a couple of times, his neighbor bet him a northern the red one would slide down first and the furthest. He lost. Mostly, people thought some dang fool had too many tackle boxes, nothing to do and too many brewski’s to do it with.

 

Elmer has been racing fishing tackle boxes on the underground racing circuit. I expect you to scoff at the idea but he has become very good at it. Yes, it can be addictive. There’s nothing like the smell of smoking plastic along with the screaming and shouting. You have been wondering where Elmer spends his time during the late night hours. Elmer was not always fishing. But he can quite any time he chooses. Really. Its not addictive. Really.

 

It all started one moonlit Saturday night around 10PM. Just as Elmer Phud was unloading his pontoon, the Loony Toon, He heard a sound.

“PSSSST”.

 

At first he thought it was a leak in the air jacket on his live bait basket.He just got back from a night fishing trip out on the flats. He checked the bait basket. No leak.

 

Someone banged an oar on the dock an said “PSSSST, wanna race.” Loudly.

 

Startled, Elmer saw something move out from the dark shadows at the end of the dock. His hair stood on end. Elmer thought the DNR had caught up with him. A stranger emerged to stand next to Elmer’s new 32 gal master tackle box. A black one with a red and yellow racing stripe on each side. White wall inflatable tires with the mud tread, oversized to take a heavy load. Good for those long fishing trips on sand or mud flats. A real beauty. Electric start/open optional.

 

 “Say what?” Elmer screamed, jumping around, thinking it’s his neighbor Big Daddy Phunk up to his ears in something he thinks is funny.

 

“Man, don’t do that. You scared me so bad I almost dropped a fish. At least I would have if I had caught any!” Elmer screamed at him while dancing around and beating his chest. Elmer hoped the screaming, dancing and beating his chest would start his heart again. Elmer's nerves were on their own.

 

“They call me Watermelon and I’m an advance scout for NOTABOR, you know, the “National Organization of Tackle Box Racing. I saw your master tackle box and thought you may be interested in racing. We’re getting together on Flat Island for a race. It starts at midnight.”

 

Elmer’s heart finally started working properly. He sat down and popped open a brewski.

 

“Not a bore?” he said, needing a big drink. Elmer thought this was getting kind of strange. The guy was chewing on a dead cigar and his eyes were shifting all about as if he expected the game warden to appear any second. Thinking about the game warden caused Elmer to look around.

 

“SHHH.” Watermelon said, looking around like a ferret in a hen house. ”Not so loud. It’s not a sanctioned race. It’s for those of us who like to customize our outlawed tackle boxes. You know, 1%’ers”.

 

Elmer had been thinking about adding some features to his tackle box. He was particularly interested in the set of chrome baby moon hubcaps. Then upgrading to a new set of gas operated shocks. Chrome travel handle and bumper bars were not out of the question.

 

“Where and when?” Elmer asked, “Maybe you can write down the directions.”

 

“Sure” Watermelon said, “but after you read it you got to destroy it”.

 

That’s how Elmer Phud got involved in tackle box racing and developed a fondness for the taste of paper. He found it goes down pretty good with a swallow of brewski & it hides the taste of ink. After a few months, the art of tackle box racing caught on with the public. It’s very popular with the night fishermen. You often hear the sound of outboard motors after midnight. Men can be seen whispering to others out of the side of their mouth, “Midnight at the Blue Lagoon” or the name of some other secrete hideaway and then sneaking away to the docks and their boat rig. Many a wife spends a lonely evening wondering where the father of their children had disappeared to. Some wonder about their husbands also.

 

The hard part was learning to talk out of the side of the mouth. The first week or so, having strained his mouth muscle, Elmer looked as if he was always chewing on something awful. He disguised it by smoking cigars. They even have a secrete handshake. I’d show it to you but then I’d have to shoot myself. 

 

Watermelon opened an after hours shop catering to the outlaw tackle box racers. He disguised it by putting up a large sign out along the main highway that reads “OUTLAW TACKLE BOX RACING STORE”. It has lights and a loud speaker. It can be seen for miles as you come into town from the south. Just as you drive by, a very loud voice shouts, “Watermelon’s--------“. You only hear the first part because the loud noise is scary and you suddenly develop an impulse to speed up.

 

Watermelon’s a sharp businessman. Business is so good; he’s been talking about a national advertising campaign. Pretty good thinking for a wanted person. Said he got the idea right after he won a European lottery. He won a million dollars which pays out a dollar a year for a million years. He decided to invest it wisely.

 

There has been some talk about getting organized into a union but so far nothing has come of it. Elmer has been elected to head up the new membership drive. He talked several of the neighbors into joining the secrete society. I can’t tell you where the next race will be for reasons of security. Don’t be surprised if I sneak up on you and whisper a secrete word or two. Try not to be startled, my face is getting lopsided from the sharp elbows and fists, mostly from the women folk. For some reason they get kind of testy when I whisper sweet things in their ear. Husbands seem to get startled too. There are not many rewards for this type of work.

 

I have been thinking about getting a T-shirt with NOTABOR advertised on it and flash it as I walk by. Maybe wear a long raincoat over it so the public can’t see it until I open my coat. Something similar to the following:

I’m NOTABOR and proud of it! Next meeting at ####### (sorry, can not reveal here, see t-shirt).

Works for me.

Fisherman Anonymous Meeting

Elmer grabbed a cup of coffee laced with rum and strolled to the podium. He was the guest speaker for the meeting. The podium was actually a channel marker that was acquired mysteriously. The members are pretty sure it just floated in one day. Big Daddy Phunk painted it day-glow yellow so the members (& visitors) could make it out in the dim light. Woody put in used 40w light bulbs he picked out of the garbage cans. Woody is not cheap just consumer challenged. 
 
“Hi. My name is Elmer Phud and I am a fishing guide” I said.
 
“Sit down”.
 
“Hi Elmer”.
 
So, with a few good cheers the Fisherman’s Anonymous meeting got started. We were meeting in the back room of Woody’s Bait Shack Resort. The resort is located on the west end of Smoke Lake in northern MN. At the end of a long dirt road. Woody’s caters to the Fisherman Anonymous group. We were the only steady year around customers the resort has. It was an old tackle room that was not open to the public any more. Located about 20 yards east of the main lodge. The room had acquired a distinctive odor over the years. Which was the main reason it was closed to the public. The smell was sort of a cross between old smelly socks and dead fish. Knotty pine not withstanding. The only member who could stand the smell for any length of time was Skunk. We were given the use of the room free of charge. That was the reason the rest of us tolerated the smell for short periods.
 
“How’s the porch guide business?” Yelled Skunk. He always yells ‘cause he’s deaf in one ear. He and his wife are year around residents in the resort. Sort of. They go to Texas for three months during the winter.

 “Well” Elmer said “I am getting busier every day. It’s starting to cut into my nap time. I’ve been thinking about expanding by putting in a porch swing so I thinking about taking on a partner. Pita say’s she may be willing to invest and learn from the master. So those of you who are getting lost so often, stop by and we’ll give you some real pointers”.
 
“But” Elmer said “tonight I want to talk about the fishing limits. I think it is unfair the DNR gives us a large lake with so many fish and yet only allow us to take 3 fish home. Have you read the label on a bottle of aspirin lately? They will sell you a large bottle with a zillion pills in it but they warn you not to take but three a day for three days. If you want to take more you should call your doctor. So what happens? You call and the Doctor tells you to stop taking them and come on in. Now you’re stuck with almost a zillion pills you can’t use. So I say why not call the DNR when you want to take more than the daily limit? That way you don’t need to stop fishing when you are on top of a school of fish and you can’t keep them off your hook. What’s the worse that can happen? You call the DNR and they yell at you to stop catching them. Tell you to go to the dock. You are stuck with a boatload of fish. Nice and legal. You can’t throw them back because its illegal for anyone other than the DNR to stock fish in a lake!”
 
Gasping for breath, Elmer continued “So if you ever catch more than 3 fish, call the DNR and explain the situation to them. They'll understand. And in closing let me repeat our motto “”Catch and release Hell, Hook’em and Cook’em!”” Thank you for your support.”
 
With that said, Elmer noticed most of the local caricatures were either holding their breath or breathing through their mouth. The smell was starting to become rather ripe. It was the normal fish bait smell along with the bacon, weenie and bean dinner everyone had. Elmer began to feel the effects of the cabbage he ate.
 
Someone shouted “Adjourn”.
 
“Starting to smell Like My home town,” said Skunk. “ Makes my eyes water just thinking about it.”
 
“Mine too” Elmer shouted “But for a different reason” as he headed for the small door.
 
People ran for the short narrow opening trying to get out. Not only did they pile up at the opening but also they could hear the effects of the dinner. Some of the more delicate people started to gag. When someone did manage to squeeze through, they ran to their fishing rig, started up and took off as fast as the rig would go, attempting to air wash the smell out of their clothes. Some shouts of “Get a stringer and Hang him” were heard so Elmer ran his rig for home as quick as he could. He found out later they were thinking of hanging Woody (for the small room and the choice of dinner menu) and not himself.
You are all welcome to come to the next meeting. We're having sausages and boiled cabbage.

Three finger Bob

I may be a terrorist.
Oh, I don’t mean the international kind that is willing to blow themselves up along with half the population. No, I am talking about the local kind that terrorizes the lake fish population. I have been known to actively hunt a good fishing hole with the expectation of taking some fish back to my dinner plate. I am reasonably sure the fish do not agree to this course of action. Therefore they move to a different location as soon as I find a likely spot. I have entertained the thought of throwing some explosives into the lake but gave up the idea when I realized how difficult it is to get my hands on explosives. Besides, I have a friend who has been known to do just that very thing. His name is Robert P. Phicket, known as “Three finger Bob”.
Three finger Bob and I started the pontoon and set a course to the main lake to “Terrorize” some crappies. Why we are going has more to do with the brewski’s than the dance around the fire the night before. Three finger Bob was doing his impression of a crappie on a hook and accidentally invented (along with Big Daddy Phunk) a dance we now refer to as “The Crappie Flop”. He got started on his new dance steps when Miles came up behind, giving him a friendly “goose”. This happened so many times Three Finger Bob became nervous and flopped around whenever anyone walked behind him. Thus imitating a caught crappie. The brewski’s encouraged us to go fishing.
There are people who look as if they are constantly in need of help. Three finger Bob is one of them. Men, woman, children and even dogs have walked up to him and asked if he was lost or needed any assistance. Two weeks ago he was standing in front of a candy bar machine, when a pert young lady came up and asked if he needed assistance. He said no he had already decided to purchase a chocolate bar. She went off in a huff not believing he did not require her help.
Last month, he had been out all night checking his Lutefisk traps, got confused and, by daylight, was wandering along a township road. By the time I found him he was half pickled from nipping on a large brandy flask he always carried. He would not admit he was lost. If the roads and other familiar land marks decided to move there was nothing he could do about it, he said.
I helped him into my new truck and told him no smoking, cussing, drinking or puking, all of which he ignored. He took a large swallow of brandy, light a smoke and cussed as he burned his fingers. As he was cussing he dropped the smoke into his lap between his legs. He was startled and jumped around trying to put out the now visible smoke. Not to be outdone, I started to cuss, jumped around yelling at him. As we went around a bend in the road, both of us yelling about the smoke, the smoking debris dislodged, landing on the floor just as he opened the door. He managed to hang onto the door as he tried and failed to kick the smoking debris out of the cab. I yelled for him not to burn my truck, that if he fell out he was to extinguish the smoke as he fell. By now he was almost out of the truck, his hat, still on his head, was dragging on the ground and he was puking. I finally extinguished the smoke and got the truck stopped, just as Three Finger Bob let go of the door an fell to the ground, head first. He promptly jumped to his feet and allowed as how he was fresh out of smokes could he borrow one from me?
Shortly after that occasion he took to using dynamite as fishing bait. He said it was less dangerous and more profitable than Lutefisk trapping. Unfortunately he did this while intoxicated thus losing two fingers.
On this day just before we got into the boat I frisked him for explosives so maybe the crappies are safe.
Hey! Catch a nice wave.

The Scooter Incident

Some of us can’t get a break. Or maybe one too many. Elmer Phud broke his nose jumping a snowmobile over a crossroad. The ditch on the other side was blown half-full of snow and formed a sharp drop facing the direction he was coming from. The sled cleared the road but dropped onto the edge of the snow bank causing the front of the sled to pivot sharply up. Elmer pivoted sharply down. The handlebar met his nose at a very fast rate of speed. The sled was at almost full power so the tracks dug into the snow causing it to shoot up and out of the snow bank. Elmer and his broken helmet, goggles, glasses and nose flew about 20 ft.. Without touching the snow. It came down and went up twice more before Elmer bailed off. The sled was unhurt. It stopped and grinned. Later Big Daddy Phunk set Elmer’s nose, straightening it and used a piece of ductape to keep it in place. What are friends for. All of this was done without a good brewski or common sense. Good Doctors are hard to come by. Today, Elmer’s nose is almost straight.
Skunk and Elmer had been trail riding one fall with their motorcycles when Elmer became a few inches shorter. They were in a back woods running on some old logging trails. The trails had small trees down across it and other obstacles. Going into the area they had to jump some of the obstacles with the motorcycle. Everything was fine going in. Coming out was different.

Elmer came up to the last fallen tree, which had been jumped once. The motorcycle misbehaved and struck the tree off center. The front of the motorcycle came down, causing the last half of the motorcycle to increase in velocity. This action catapulted Elmer straight up into the air. Surprise! Elmer came straight down on his helmet and balanced there for a few seconds. He toppled over. It was a good thing his shoulders stopped the helmet from going any further. The bad thing, his shoulders were at his waist! Elmer still has the urge to unzip his fly to take a drink of water. It is hard to get your family to understand when you leave the house 6ft 2inches tall and come back 5ft 9 inches. You may not be recognized. Elmer finally got in the house by showing a picture ID.

Riding any kind of trail machine can be and is dangerous. Skunk, Wild Bill and Elmer were riding snowmobiles along a nice and friendly, deep ditch. Snow was not very deep so they were traveling at a very good clip. Weaving in and out, up and over and through the wind blown snow banks. Elmer was, at that time, riding by half sitting and kneeling on the seat to keep balanced with one foot on the running board. It was not a good idea. Elmer was zipping along having fun when he hit a patch of bare dirt. Never a good thing. The sled slowed down very quickly, catapulting Elmer forward at the speed the machine had been going. As he was balanced, this action forced him into a run so fast (he later calculated the speed using scientific methods as 90 mph) his body overshot his legs by several yards. He ran directly into the side of the steep ditch, which broke his fall and ribs (with a loud POP). Because there was not much snow on the side of the ditch, Wild Bill and Skunk did not have to follow the cries of pain to find him. The machine stopped unhurt. Later they would agree the machine was grinning. Being good friends, they sat around the sleds drinking a few brewski’s waiting for the pain to subside. The next day, Elmer bought some elastic wrap and wrapped his rib cage tight and took two aspirin. He wore the elastic until the ribs healed. He reasoned that’s all a good doctor would do.
Not long ago, being a little bit older, but not wiser, Elmer tried out Grandson’s scooter. Not one of his better ideas. He was at the lake place talking to his neighbor, Shirley Jo Phunk when he said, “If you go get the movie camera I’ll try to ride Grandson’s scooter.” Not believing him, she did not move. They continued to drink brewski’s. Later he mentioned the subject once more. She didn’t believe him.
By now they had several brewski’s. The brews did not help. Elmer picked up the scooter, went a few feet to the road and got it going down hill by pushing then jumping on it. Three pieces of advice. Number one, for those of you who may want to try this, don’t. Number two is if you must, pick a hill not so steep. Due to the following, number three was forgotten. Elmer got going and was doing a one legged stand past The Arizona outlaws and hollered at them. Arizona Bob was heard to say “What was that streak”? The hill suddenly got steeper and he was headed for the docks and lake! By now he was going faster than he could think. Elmer could not remember where the brake was or even if it had one. He reasoned dirt would slow him down so he would stop and step off. He went into the dirt just missing a tree. The dirt acted as a brake. He fell head over teakettle. He jumped up dazed and disorientated. His ribs hurt, eyes out of focus and crossed. Elmer was looking straight ahead but could see his right shoulder! He slapped himself up side the head trying to get his eyes straight. The scooter lay there grinning, unhurt.
The first comments heard after everyone stopped laughing long enough to take a breath was “Hey Elmer, did you get into the demon 151 rum again?”
No Elmer said, but does anyone have a bottle of aspirin?

Dream Catcher

Elmer awakened with a start. The moaning and groaning suddenly ceased. It was suddenly very quite. Where was that sound coming from? Elmer moved to get up when he suddenly realized what was making that terrible noise. It was himself! Another morning after a night at the campfire. Not a good morning either.
After doing his morning routine, Elmer needed something to eat. He wanted to go for a doughnut. But he didn’t think any of the usual caricatures would give him one or even let him in their lake place. Most of them have installed a security light and alarm for just such a situation. So he got a cup of coffee and went out to sit at the deck table.
Elmer Phud had a dream last night. About a new kind of “Toon. One that would make every guide jealous. It would be a larger “Toon somewhere around 9^ft wide and 26^ft long. Able to carry more clients than others of comparable size. It would be fitted with a 240 horsepower diesel motor with twin inboards for running to the far side of the lake in a hurry, but still be able to throttle down for trolling. The “Toon would have a 200-gallon tank for diesel fuel allowing it to stay out for a long extended trip. Of course it would have all the latest gadgets both mechanical and electrical. For docking, the captain would just push a button on the space age console then the “Toon would shorten itself to 18^ft using electricity and hydraulic machinery, guide itself in and tie itself to the dock. No deck hands needed. No wages to pay. Thus he would be able to tie up to a 18^ft dock and not be charged rent for a large dock space. Just think of the money one would save.
It goes without saying the radio would play only country and western music. It’s a well known and documented fact fish prefer this style of music. Playing this type of music saves on the cost of bait. Once the fish hear the music they want to get closer, thus they tend to jump on board.
The rods and reels would be state of the art only. They would be made from materials mined from the surface of the moon thereby glowing in the dark. They would have GPS built into it. It would communicate via wireless to an on-board computer with access to worldwide data banks. It would know not only where the fish is in relation to the “Toon but what type, but how big & if you have programmed it right, whether or not it is one the customer would keep. It could then decide what type, size of bait (it would notify customer when to put on the bait) and knowing the wind speed and velocity, could go ahead and cast it for the customer. It could be programmed to keep track of the number & type of fish the customer has caught and when it has reached the limits, refuse to cast any more that trip. This feature would cut down on the number of DNR violations. Although the rod and reel (after setting the hook) could then reel the catch in and flick it into the right bin, the customer should do it. After all, one must be able to say they caught it. Bragging rights ya know.
Other new features to be built in. Example: an automatic fish scalar, flash freezer and packaging would be a big seller. When the paying customer catches a fish and he/she decides it’s a keeper, he/she would just toss it into the color-coded and highly visible chute. The machinery would take over. It would scale the fish, fillet it then flash freeze it. It would package the fish with the type, size & who caught it. It could be programmed to add the time, date and name of the guide and “Toon along with the name of the lake. Thus providing advertisement. The customer would collect his catch, once back at the dock, from a well-marked locker. A good time would be had by all.
As you can see, this “TOON would be a natural extension of the state wide franchise “THE PORCH FISHING GUIDE SERVICE”. If you bought one of these contraptions, as the captain you would still sit on a porch and help others. The porch would just be on the “Toon.
Other models could be made. Example: a ”large family” model or the “just married” model. The market is huge. Estimated to be in the billion-dollar range.
Elmer Phud had a dream last night.

Lake Time

“Hey, You old codger, are you up yet.” Yelled Miles, Elmer’s neighbor from across the road. Miles, a nurse, is the older cousin of “Big Daddy Phunk”, Elmer Phud’s best friend & neighbor. She buy’s a new car every two years and runs it into the ground. At least she’s loyal to General Motors.
“Yea, I’m up.”said Elmer, going to the door and out onto the deck while running one hand though his hair and scratching in not so private places with the other.
“What do you want so early in the morning. Have you come over to clean up after your dog?”
“No! You elbow. My dog didn’t leave that pile in your yard. Besides, I think you forgot where the bathroom was again.”
“Well thanks for bringing me that cup of coffee.” said Elmer, ignoring the jab while flopping down in a lawn chair.
“Go get your own, you milkweed. This is too good for you.”
She’s in a good mood this morning, Elmer thinks, she’s trying to butter me up for something. Otherwise why would she be here so early? It’s going on 9:00 am. Doesn’t anyone sleep late when they spend time at the lake?
“Well that was fun. Standing out here exchanging pleasantries with you is the high light of my day. Clean up after your dog” said Elmer.
“Not mine” Miles said. “I just wanted to know if you’re going to have a fire tonight.”
“H_ _ L NO! Don’t you know a fire attracts the neighbors.” Elmer shouted. This action caused Elmer to drop his early morning cigar in his lap, starting a brush fire in the wrong place. Elmer jumped up, started dancing around trying to put out the fire with last nights left over beer.
“Good moves” She said, ignoring his answer. “I asked Woody to deliver two bundles of fire wood to your lot and had the cost put on my bill. Several neighbors are coming over. See you about dark. I see you’re already practicing your dance steps! Get out your lawn chairs, fire starter and fire poker. Sandwiches would be a nice touch. Oh Yea. We’ll need ice cubes. And try not to pass out so early this time.”
As she walked back across the road, laughing to herself. Elmer started to think about the need for some family trees requiring a good pruning. Dare he? Naw. I’m just dreaming again, thought Elmer, no need to get the hopes up. At least the fire is out. I wonder if I’ll need to shave that delicate area or will the brush grow back even? Pass out Early! Who’s she talking about? And what did she mean “old codger”? Now where did I leave my teeth? Dang! Now I’ll have to put on different shorts.
Its Lake time. Elmer decided to sneak off to do a little fishing before people start showing up. Maybe he'll have time to listen to a few good country tunes while he’s cruising with the ”LOONEY ‘TOON”. Wish I could remember who passed out, Elmer thought, as he rounded up his fishing gear.

Elmer & The Lutefisk

It was a warm, calm, sunlit afternoon. The water was as smooth as glass on Phume Lake. Elmer Phud was on his pontoon, the “Loony ‘Toon”, hoping to hook a large game fish. Phume Lake has its own unique variety of game fish. A mean, smelly flat fish sometimes found in clear, shallow water near Bear Island. Best caught using a few brewski’s. Not as bait but to drink before a line is tossed in the water. Enough brewski’s, country and western music on the radio, and you are almost quarantined to see a few Lutefisk. Every fisherman knows two things. First-the more brewski's you drink, the more fish you see. Second-the more brewski's, the bigger the fish. Ask any sportsman over the age of 21.

Elmer is a dedicated fisherman. Easily distracted while doing chores around the lake place. He has been known to tell his neighbors he is going into town. Then he is seen going out to his pontoon for a day on the lake. Town & whatever it was he needed is long forgotten. Elmer dislikes Lutefisk. Elmer believes it is his duty to personally rid the waters of Phume Lake of this vile creature.

Lutefisk is a close relative to the whitefish & northern cod. Whether preserved, cooked or just left out in the sun to rot, it is a smelly vile thing. The smell, (& presumably, the taste) is enough to gag a vulture. Just getting it off the hook after catching will stretch your senses to the breaking point.

Elmer's best friend and neighbor is Big Daddy Phunk. Don’t mention him by his given name of  Melvin Phunkle. He doesn't like the name & will not answer to it. You may remember Big Daddy. He wrote and still performs his single hit song “Who let the fish out” around campfires. He is also the co-inventor of the campfire dance, the “Crappie Flop”. A few brewski’s will get him in the dancing mood. A few more will get him to dance. Save your brew, the dance is not something for responsible adults to see.

Big Daddy claims to be descended from Norwegian Vikings with a little American Indian thrown in. Elmer believes the closes he has ever been to being Indian is just maybe his great grandfather had an American Indian family as a neighbors. Big Daddy loves Lutefisk. During the season, he prepares lutefisk almost every weekend. This is a source of contention between Elmer and Big Daddy. Elmer wants to rid the world of this smelly resource. Big Daddy wants to preserve this wonderful food item for future generations. So they have come to a compromise. Elmer catches said fish, gives to Big Daddy to prepare and eat. They both believe they have won. Elmer, by catching lutefisk, believes he is ridding the world of a foul critter, Big daddy, because he believes Elmer can not and does not catch very many, will never be able to empty the lake of a gourmets delight. They both are satisfied. Thus they live happily as best friends and neighbors.

Elmer was fishing over one of his favorite holes. It had in the past, produced a good stringer of sunfish. His favorite person to take along fishing was his young grandson. However, said grandson was a restless soul. When the fish were biting, grandson required Elmer to bait the hook. This took a lot of effort because the fish could be caught at a furious pace. Thus, Elmer spent all his time baiting and rigging the fishing pole for grandson until he was tired of catching fish. Then grandson would put the pole down and play under the table with his toys until he fell asleep. When Elmer finally had the time to fish, they stopped biting. So Elmer would sit there, fishing pole in hand and because he was tired from helping grandson, fall asleep. Thus would pass another great day of fishing.

When fishing with Big Daddy, Elmer was not allowed to fish in the area where the game fish, Lutefisk was known to hang out. So once again they fished over holes known to have pan fish. During these times a few brewski’s were part of the tackle supplies. Elmer, being captain & a responsible person, never got tipsy. Big Daddy was just the opposite. A few brews And he was ripe for singing & dancing. Would not be long, he would attract other boats to our area. The boats would tie up to Elmer's boat. Fishing forgotten. Party time! If Big Daddy did not fall in the lake at least once, it was a dull party.

Today, Elmer was alone on the pontoon. Sipping on a brew. A very nice, sunny day. The gentle wave’s rocked the pontoon. This made him sleepy. He had baited the hook, tossed it out, sat watching the bobber. Slow action. The fish must be napping. So will I thought Elmer as he fell asleep..

Hope you catch a gentle wave.