The First Fiasco
Earl Gunderson prided himself on two things:
1. His ability to withstand temperatures that would make a polar bear file a complaint, and
2. His uncanny knack for catching fish only when no one was watching.
So naturally, he chose the coldest Saturday of the year to prove a point no one had asked him to prove.
The wind on Lake Minnewaska wasn’t just cold it was the kind of cold that felt like it had a personal vendetta. Earl trudged across the ice with his bucket, his auger, and a thermos of coffee strong enough to dissolve a spoon.
His buddy Duane was already out there, sitting beside a hole he’d drilled at an angle so crooked it looked like he’d been attacked mid‑drill by a rogue snowmobile.
“Mornin’, Earl,” Duane said.
“Is it?” Earl replied, stomping his boots like he was trying to intimidate the ice.
Duane shrugged. “Caught a stick, a boot, and what I believe to be a 1997 flip phone. Still gets better reception than Verizon.”
“Classic early bite,” Earl said.
They settled into the kind of silence only two Minnesotans can achieve comfortable, judgment‑free, and punctuated only by the occasional thermos slurp.
Then Earl’s bobber twitched.
“Duane. Duane. I think I got somethin’.”
“Well don’t just narrate it reel it in!”
Earl tugged. The fish tugged back. Earl’s boots shot out from under him like he’d stepped onto a greased Zamboni. He slid across the ice, arms flailing, hat flying off like a startled pheasant.
He finally stopped against a snowbank, still clutching the rod. The line went taut and Earl reeled in a northern pike the size of a toddler, glaring at him like he was the inconvenience.
Duane whistled. “Biggest fish you’ve caught since ’09.”
The pike smacked Earl in the face, flopped free, and slid back down the hole like it was late for a dentist appointment.
Earl sighed. “Next time I’m bringin’ a helmet.”
Enter the Crew
Marv arrived next on a snowmobile going fast enough to qualify as a poor life choice. He skidded to a stop, spraying everyone with snow that tasted faintly of exhaust and regret.
Linda arrived after him, parking her snowmobile with the grace of someone who had never once made a questionable decision on ice.
“You boys catch anything yet?” she asked.
Duane answered. “Earl caught a fish. Fish caught Earl back.”
Linda nodded like this was the most normal thing she’d heard all week.