Why Won't Bottom Feeders Bite Me?

My friends and I packed our gear into the back of the truck and departed for the tournament. Most of them, being experienced fisherman, had plenty of gear to spare, which meant that I would have to do little more than play the role of the mooch on this trip. There are both positive and negative aspects to being "the mooch" in any given situation. Sure you get to save money by not having to cough up for the gear, but it means you're stuck with the leftovers, and, depending on the content of your friend's tackle box, that can be pretty scary. The chances of your being able to catch a trophy fish are just as likely as your ending up with the rod, only two feet of line and a rusty hook, bent like a pretzel.

When we arrived at the tournament, I was amazed at the great hordes of people milling about on the frozen lake. Each of them dressed in bright, blaze orange. Every shade was in attendance, as your average, economical Minnesotan had found a second use for his deer-hunting cover-alls.

We headed towards an unoccupied spot on the ice and marked this as our ice-fishing territory. As I looked about, the sun glared down hard on us and I was surprisingly thankful for my sunglasses on this December morning. My friend had forgotten his and I chided him for being such an ice-fishing rookie. He took my sarcastic jabs like a true adult and, after only twenty minutes of my begging, a fee of ten dollars and my glasses, I as allowed to have my borrowed fishing-rod back. It's tough being the mooch.

This morning I had set out to catch a beast called an Eel Pout, that I had never seen before but my friends assured me existed. They told me that Eel Pouts feed on the dead creatures on the lake floor. Whether this was the truth or an elaborate scheme on their part to make use of the two dead minnows at the bottom of their bucket, I didn't know. But fish with this pair I did.

For four hours I dragged those two dead fish across the lake floor but to this day, I still don't know what they eat, because I never caught the elusive Eel Pout that morning. in fact, I never caught anything, even my bait eluded my hook most of the time. but I had a wonderful time at the tournament, mostly because of our close proximity to the concession stand and the fact that I could place my beer on the ground next to me without having to worry about it tipping over. Next year, I plan to return to that ice fishing tournament, with a wiser head on my shoulders, more equipment in my bag and the solemn promise to everyone else on the lake to never try casting again.