Four less-than-sane fishermen went fishing at icy Walker Lake

By Don Quilici

Early last week, one of my fishing parnters, Bob "Slick" McCulloch, called and asked if I wanted to go fishing at Walker Lake on Thursday.

I nervously asked who else was going.

He laughed and said, "Just you and me, old pal."

I immediately became extremely wary and asked the obvious question, "What about that low-life friend of ours, Norm Budden? Is he going? And, then are the two of you going to pick on me like you usually do, when we go anywhere as a threesome?"

Slick snorted and replied, "Naw, my nearest, dearest, bestest friend, and I might add, my permanent fishing partner, has to work and he can't go."

I said, "Oh yeah! He can't go, so you're inviting me. What's the scam?"

Slick sighed and retorted, "Geez, we feel sorry for Elaine. She has been cooped up with you for a couple of days and want to give her a break. Oh and by the way, you're bringing lunch. So, don't bring any of those cheap peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on day-old bread. I want a real lunch."

With misgivings, I reluctantly said OK, and asked when we were leaving.

Slick answered, "6 a.m. sharp."

I said, "Geez, it's still pitch dark at that God Awful hour of the morning."

He responded, "Hey, Running Dummy, real fishermen get up early to catch big fish. Don't be a weenie."

We agreed to meet at a casino parking lot, where I would park my lpickup and we would go in his bigger truck.

On Thursday, I got up, looked out the window and it was really snowing.

I thought, "Whew! I'm off the hook and don't have to go."

I told Elaine, "I'll go down there and meet Slick. I know that we won't be going in this weather and maybe I can con him into buying breakfast."

On the way, I saw two snowplows going down the street and was confident I would have a free breakfast.

However, he was waiting in the parking lot, and told me to load all of my stuff into his truck as we were still going despite the weather.

I said, "Geez, this is crazy! It's snowing and you want to go stand in the water in your chest waders at Walker Lake. Are you out of your mind?"

Slick grinned and retorted, "Come on, get in, we have to meet Jack (Cooke) and Scott (Matheus) at the gas station. They're waiting for us."

I responded, "Who in the heck invited those two guys to go?"

He said, "I did, now get in and shut up, the four of us are going fishing."

I quickly loaded all of my fishing equipment, extra clothing and ice chest into his pickup truck and we drove to the nearby gas station.

Sure enough, those two guys were waiting for us, inside.

I walked in, got a cup of coffee to go, walked up to the cashier to pay for it and she hollered to Jack and Scott, "Hey guys, is this the 'Bozo' that you said was going to buy your coffee?"

They grinned, laughed and Jack replied, "That's him. Hey Q, pay the lady for our coffee and thanks."

I bought and we took off in two trucks for Walker Lake. Surprisingly, the snow began to taper off by the time we reached the Virginia City Junction and the snow depths began to decrease.

We reached the lake at about 8 a.m. It was cloudy, slightly windy with scattered patches of snow and bitter, bitter cold.

I reluctantly and very slowly got into my chest waders, put on a thick sweater, two heavy coats (one with a hood), thick wool gloves and a neck scarf and cautiously waded out into that icy, black-looking water.

I cast my lure out and began to slowly retrieve it.

After only 5-6 turns of my reel handle, I had to dip my fishing pole UNDER the water to melt the ice out of the eyes. It was freezing cold!

I cast that Chartreuse/black dot TOR-P-DO lure several times, while wondering what in the name of God I was doing on such a miserable day, standing in the water, when: BAM! A nice fish hit my lure.

After a short struggle, I brought in a nice, 16-inch Cutthroat trout and thought, "Hmmm, this might not be such a bad idea after all." All of a sudden, it wasn't that bitter cold anymore!

By the time we quit for the day, I had caught a total of nine trout and released seven of them.

Jack caught 7-8 Cutthroat, Slick had about the same number and poor Scott managed to catch only one.

However, you might like to know:

Jack brought a propane heater to keep us warm, which worked to perfection, until the darn thing immediately ran out of gas!

Scott, slowly but surely, began to fish further and further away from the three of us, until he was many hundreds of yards away. Hmmm, could we have said something that offended him? Geez, I really don't know.

On one occasion, Jack (who was standing in the water on my left) made a mighty cast, and cast his lure directly BEHIND me!

Wow! He could be dangerous in a crowd.

Slick kept sniveling and complaining about the cold and I repeatedly told him to shut up and not be a weenie.

When we finally quit for the day and took off our waders, it became obvious why he had been so loudly complaining: His entire right leg was soaking wet from a leak that he had in his waders.

It was a wonder the poor guy didn't freeze to death!

Then, he really got miffed when I asked him if he caught cold and died, if I could have all of his fishing lures.

Geez, apparently, some guys have no sense of humor.

In addition, Jack and I got into my flask of Manhattans, which is reserved for snakebites and other such emergency situations.

Most interesting, the more Manhattans we drank to ward off the cold, the more Jack and I began to like one another and the less we wanted to fish.

Finally, about noon, the cold got to the four of us and we called it quits.

Then, shortly after arriving home, Norm called to see how we did fishing.

I slyly answered, "Normie, I don't know about the others, but I caught and released 37 Cutthroat, today. You missed out on a great trip."

He loudly swore, called me a very bad name and hung up.

Geez, what did I say wrong?

So, if you are looking for something to do on a bitter cold, blustery day, why not drive out to Walker Lake and stand in the water in leaky waders.

If you do, and if you catch cold and die, can I have your lures, too?

• Bet Your Favorite Pigeon

Bet your favorite pigeon that he can't tell you what other color of lure was productive on that day.

If he grins and says, "It was a red/white striped, No. 2 TOR-P-DO lure, he could have been one of the other three fishermen."