With the end of another winter in Ontario I think I can safely
assume that winter sports are over.
I'm no longer able to snowmobile.
My back has told me flat out "Dave, babe... your time is over" Which is sad because I used to have such
fun bouncing around on those snowmobiles, freezing my ass off in -40C weather, going back to a chalet for hot chocolate
and alot of Bailey's.
Mr Happy and I talked about what other winter activities I could start perhaps next season.
We discussed ice fishing.
Well. My previous experiences with ice fishing leaves me with little desire to do it again. When I was taken ice
fishing, the first thing I was told was we sit in the chalet, insulate ourselves with snowsuits and a great quantity
of Southern Comfort. So of course, trying to fit in, I did so.
Stumbling down the snow banks to the ice fishing hut and going inside, I was placed sitting on a tiny piece of
carpet, my feet outside the bottom of the hut, one on each side of the corner beam (in case I got a big fish and
needed leverage), pole in hand. I was told to wait.
I could hear everyone else outside the hut, sitting in lawn chairs, talking and laughing, while I, alone in the
hut, watching the fishing line, insulated myself a little more every few minutes from the flask given to me and
occasionally lifted the line to dip it again.
There was a mighty tug on my line. Excited and enthusiastic, I heave on it. It was heavy, it must have been huge,
at least 25 lbs., oh yes! I started shouting for help. I could hear them out there, engaged in their conversation,
so I shouted louder and moved to pull my feet in to drag this mighty fish from the lake depths.
My feet wouldn't move. I could hear much laughter gathering around the outside of the hut. I yanked my feet again
while my hands held tightly to the makeshift fishing equipment, the huge fish struggling for freedom beneath the
ice. I shouted again and a face poked in at me.
" I GOT ONE! MY FEET ARE STUCK! "
The face just smiled.
" I SAID I GOT ONE! A HUGE ONE!"
The hut door closed and faces peered at me from under the sides
of the hut.
"Reel it in! Reel it in!"
I'm pulling, it's pulling back, even harder than I'm pulling
IT! My feet are still stuck. It was then, that I looked at the faces peering at me, then over to where my feet
are. They had tied my boot laces together. I inched closer to the edge, the fishing rod jerking hard in my hands,
I refused to lose this catch, I'd show those jerks that even if they tied my boots together, I'm still an expert
I peek under the edge only to see the other end of my fishing line, rigged by them, pulled up and outside another
hole cut in the ice and being yanked by THEM.
Realizing I'd been duped, I drop the line, lie down on the ice and drain my flask. No more ice fishing for this
Mr Happy suggests skiing.
Dave. On skis.
I am perhaps not the most "graceful" woman in the world. My co-ordination tends to be just a little bit
off at times.
So I picture myself, on the top of a mountain, peering down at the other skiers, the view spectacular, the fresh
air filling my lungs as I pull the goggles down over my eyes.
Gripping the poles in my hands.
The wind whistles through my hair.
The breath catches in my throat as I glide.
*Swish swish swish*
Turning my body this way and that, conquering each bump, each rise of snow... Ah the exhilaration of moving those
first two feet from the lift, to where I actually have to begin the descent.
Watching for one brief moment, my poles dig into the snow and I push myself off, instantly realizing that I don't
know how to ski.
My mind reels. I know that not only am I going to break bones, lose blood and damage trees... but I am going to
take out every skier ahead of me.
Ok I think skiing is out.
I think I'll just move to Florida.
At least I'll finally get to go to Disney. As I said before, imagine the Chronicles if I do.