Inside the live well are four walleyes. He’s got three, I’ve got one. It’s just after 10 in the morning. We set out at dawn. His stomach was thinking like mine. We hit the backside of an island. He commenced cutting. I gathered the fire. He powdered the fillets. I had the oil hot.
Fried walleye fish, fresh fried eyes, and walleye cheek appetizers, with a cup of coffee, stretching, sunlight streaming through the tree tops canopy, not a bug to be seen so far, the walleye chop is as perfect as it gets. He says what I was thinking, pretty tough to beat this.
He’s thinking a mid-day siesta is in order; I’ve no complaints. I plumped my life jacket under my neck; oh, I most certainly nodded off. I woke to him trying to choke or strangle himself through his nose, so to save his life, I woke him up.
After about two more hours, we had five more walleyes; I had three, he had two. And we called it a day. He’s driving, I’m just staring out the window, looking for a moose. He says, I beat you today by one walleye, I said I know, and that’s okay with me, because you ate half of one of mine, but I ate two whole ones of yours. It all worked out just fine for me.
i Lisa,
--The trout whisperer
