![]() ![]() The plan now was to go even deeper with a sinker and to put a halter of hooks on one of the small bass we'd caught and kept alive for lunch. We had been trolling for an hour, and there was a lot of line out. He was reeling in a Pikie Minnow, which went deep but not deep enough for the big pike he was hunting. I was about 10, on Lac-Ste.-Marie, near Ottawa, idling in the middle seat of an aluminum boat while my father stood at the bow with the visor of his tan fishing cap turned backward to keep the sun off his neck. A warning, or was it a prophecy?įishing was how I first understood about death. "Battery low! Battery low!" they squawked occasionally. ![]() I bustled in the world, but that world was somehow farther away now. Doorbells, telephones, dialogue didn't always register. Almost overnight, or so it seemed, my hearing had quit on me, too. Who sang fishing in the dark skin#There were wrinkles now (my forehead looked like an aboriginal map) my skin had started to crepe and some kind of wattle had appeared under my chin. My eyes still had a shine, but beneath them bags had formed into eddies of flesh. I feel young I take the aspirin I own the Fitbit I swim the laps but there was no doubt about it: "Death, the artist"-Saul Bellow's phrase-had started to paint his picture on me. with the Iceman Blues, checking myself out in the mirror. Not long ago, I found myself upstairs in the bathroom at 4:00 a.m. Sometimes, however, the strategy doesn't work. Who sang fishing in the dark Patch#There's a tempting patch of open dark water at the back, where, if you can get close enough, a well-aimed cast will certainly yield a bass. I begin at the dock, casting my chartreuse topwater frog beside the biscuit-colored reeds and working slowly down, past the sunken logs, toward the bank at the far end, where the lily pads are so thick that the boat can't easily move. I put myself in a canoe on a pond I know in Hudson, New York, and fish the right bank. "When you go to sleep," she said, "think happy thoughts." I think of fishing. My mother, who was a Ziegfeld Girl, gave me only one piece of advice, which has lasted down the decades. But where was the one fish he had always dreamed of catching? And how would past and present meet on a desolate lake in the deep north woods? Along with a love of theater, the author inherited an obsession with fishing from his father, a legendary comedian. ![]()
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