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The Ten Mile Trout

The recent storm delivered enough snow to cover the low road to the dam, I thought as I loaded the truck, pack rod, lures, net, all intact in the pack. Skis and poles followed along with a sticky note reminding, Get nightcrawlers at Stewart's.

Itll be an easy two and a half mile ski in, I explained to my wife as I exited the door, Ill be back with brookies for dinner.

Filled with anticipation, I turned down a desolate county road, huge snow banks lining its shoulders. Realizing the plow trucks had turned back nearly two and a half miles short of the low road, I cursed at the prospect of a five mile ski.

Ive come this far, I cant turn back now, I muttered as I slung the pack and set down tracks in the fresh snow. The day was warming and the sky remained a cobalt blue and adrenaline flowed. I intended to make short order of the trip in.

Every marsh along the route remained solid. Snow wasnt even melted out along the edges. Second guessing was creeping in; especially when no open water could be discerned from a distant view of the pond.

Cresting the last rise above the dam, I saw black water, a short stretch, hardly a fifty yards, but it was open at the end of the flow. This was the spot we had found brookies years ago!

I quickly shed skis and began to fumble through my pack. First the reel, tackle box, crawlers, and finally the pack rod. Desperately searching the tubular container, I realized I had grabbed the wrong one as only three of the four sections of the rod fell from the case.

No problem. Two tip sections and a handle. Attach the reel, tie the tip section to the handle and Im fishing. Short, but itll work.

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