The digital thermometer reading on the bank display board read 50 degrees. It was almost five o' clock and I was bustin my tail to get out of there on time. Then...the phone rang. That's usually how it is. It's late January, 50 degrees, and the open water is calling my name. But what could I do? I took the call, and it was 5:21 p.m. before I was on my way toward an excursion to cure my itchy fishing finger. A quick pitstop at home to change and pick up the pup and I was gone. Luckily, the water that was calling me before was just across the street from my house, so the walk wasn't far. But time was running thin. With the girls at dance class and the horizon carefully caressing the sun's south pole, I didn't have much time until dad's other duties began.
I waded in up until the point where I began to sink into the massive amount of mud deposited by flood waters last summer. I found a few rocks for stability and started casting. About 50 yards away, into the marina, sat three ice fisherman monitoring rods and checking tip-ups. There are always a few big notherns hauled through the ice during a typical winter. I was hoping they would be feeling the fly on that night.

After removing the fly and snapping a quick photo, Lucy chased our fish back into the depths. Hopefully it will grow large and fight hard during its next encounter with an angler. I was pumped, and quickly went home to enjoy a relaxing evening with the fam. For this evening, the clouser certainly cured my cabin fever.
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