Postcard from Minnesota

“Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.” - Henry David Thoreau.

Yellow Bass, Crappie, Perch. There is an abundance of fish waiting to be caught in these cold waters. We scoop sleet out of the water and watch the water turn back to sleet. The thermometer says it’s -28 Celsius, but truthfully, there is no point in checking. It’s cold, and it feels even colder.

While there are thousands of lakes to be explored here, I don’t need to see another one. I’m already in awe of the beautiful, fresh coat of white snow. It’s quiet out here on this frozen lake, and I’m constantly wiping my dripping nose off with my thick mittens. It’s funny how such simple things can remind you of your childhood.

For most, it seems pointless to subject yourself to frozen limbs. But breathing air as crisp as the alps while dining on wild mushrooms and catching tonight’s dinner, it’s starting to make sense. I now see how my ancestors ended up here in this quiet, remote paradise.