riding with the kingfish

last weekend i went ice fishing with pops.  pre-outing, i shared the same opinion as my uncle: ice fishing is like boring plus cold.  post-outing, i was singing a different tune.  i took a bazillion pictures because i felt like it was my job to set the record straight and to confirm that pops does know what he's doing out there. 

it is an exhausting and demanding sport.

this was the set-up while i was sleeping for two hours.

the sherpa enjoying a cold arby's roast beef sammy for breakfast

drilling the hole.  and the sky!

did i catch the biggest fish of the day? yes. yes i did. did i refuse to bang it on the head, explaining my very very tight grip? yes. double true.

dad preparing the fillets.

my fish again.

carnage.

trekking across the wasteland. 

it was seriously gorgeous and a really great time.  as we left for home, he asked me if it had been as bad as i thought it would be, and i said The fishing was better; the sleeping was much worse.  we slept at the lake in the back of the pilot, and i was a little concerned the night wouldn't go so well when pops handed me a pair of earplugs before we turned off the lights. (we both remembered that time i put a sock in his mouth while he was sleeping because he was snoring so loud.  not my finest moment.)  i have never worn earplugs to bed, but turns out they are not for me.  luckily, i didn't need the earplugs because pops didn't sleep or snore a wink.  instead, he spent the night tossing and turning, rummaging for things, reading, being paranoid about noises outside the car, and asking me if i was responsible for the noises outside the car.  kind of like camping with a boy scout.

in honor, here's a little something i found on my computer that i must have written on another sleepless night. it kind of cracks me up. 

INSOMNIA

Have you ever stayed awake past life?  Have you found yourself in the geometric land of shadows and frightening foreign forces outside your open window, holding onto your bed sheets like a shield, or white flag, betraying your willingness to surrender to sleep if sleep would only claim you?  Have you seen your past transformed to the monster that chomps and slobbers and pursues you from out of the closet and under the bed, which pushes you into the corner of night and your room?

Thoughts that shape clearly by night slip and fade under the sun.  I can muster the parade of ideas to march around the walls in ridiculous costume, but when day comes I’m embarrassed by my circus.

Even if I bang my fists.

I can’t find any cold sides to my pillow.

One sheep two sheep red sheep blue sheep.

Still awake.

(kind of reminds me of bro ben's poetry.  "did you get the flowers i sent you? why are my ears hairy?" we have a family talent.)