Welcome!


Each of us is experiencing a profound personal journey, and the stories we have to tell are beautiful and sad and awe-inspiring and scary. This blog is my story, and I'm excited to share it.


What this blog is about:

- The struggles of a northern country girl living in a fast-paced southern city.
- Homesteading research and planning, like deciding what food to grow and what animals to raise in the cold north.
- Art and creative projects I'm working on.
- My life goals including those related to art, writing, and homesteading.
- Nature and natural science, such as information on species I find interesting both in northern Minnesota and southern California.
- The journey that will lead my boyfriend and I out of the heat and into the snow.

Please read my first blog entry where I explain how I got where I am, where I'm going, and what this blog has to do with it: The Beginning

I would be honored if you joined me. Simply sign up your email address just below and to the right of this text - it's 100% free. By subscribing you become part of my motivational team, even if you never say a word. I need you!

Monday, July 27, 2015

Live to Fish, Fish to Live

Life is stressful.

There are a huge number of ways to relieve stress. Doctors recommend exercise, yoga, meditation, and even masturbation. Stress relief is important for our overall health. You have to find your happy place.

My happy place involves holding a stiff rod in my hand and waiting for a little action. 

I love innuendo.

It was my dad who taught me how to fish and ignited this lifelong passion. He took me fishing a lot growing up. We used to have a nice boat with a live well and I have many fond memories of trolling and still fishing on Devil Track, Trout, Cascade, Flour and Two Island lakes. I never wanted to leave the lake even as it was getting dark. I always thought there might be one more fish lurking around the bend. Maybe if I moved my rod a certain way, I could entice a big one to grab my lure. 

Catching fish is only part of it, though. I don't have to catch anything to enjoy fishing. The act of casting, patiently waiting, reeling, and casting again has a rhythm, a heartbeat. I feel a primal connection to nature similar to the one I feel while hunting. At the heart of it, fishing is hunting. My goal is to catch fish and put a meal on the table, but going hours without a nibble is certainly not a waste of time. There is much to enjoy and appreciate.

This entry was inspired by tonight's fishing trip. I left home around 6:30 and headed to Cascade River hoping to catch a few nice brook trout. If you've never had brook trout, you're missing out on what might be the most delicious fish there is (walleye is a close second).

The river was beautiful, as always.


I wore my Vibram Five-Fingers (toe shoes) because they work great in the water. I waded into the river and was surprised at how warm it was in some places and cooler in others. I put a worm on a basic bait-holder hook and started fishing. If I stood still, minnows would nibble at my legs and shoes. I tossed them a worm from the container in my pocket and watched them swarm and attack it like tiny, adorable piranhas. 

I caught two big chubs that I threw back, but no tasty brook trout. After losing worm after worm to the hungry fish and getting annoyed by the deer flies buzzing around my head, I decided it was time to move on to my next destination just down the road - Devil Track Lake. 

As I waded back to shore I looked around the rocks and weeds for my old friend - a mink frog I see literally every time I fish here. Sure enough, there he was!


Okay, so it's probably not the same frog every time. Still, it's always fun to see them there. Mink frogs are so named because they give off an odor when rubbed that apparently smells like mink. I've never actually rubbed or smelled one. 

I changed out of my wet toe shoes and into my sneakers and drove to Devil Track. There's an old seaplane dock at the public boat landing that juts out into the lake and it's the perfect spot to night fish. The sun was already behind the trees so I got my camp chair set up quickly and slapped a leech on a beaver flick (that's a fishing lure) and tossed my bobber into the lake. Only a minute passed before I had a bite. After a good fight, I pulled in a big smallmouth bass around the same size as one I caught in the same place a few nights ago. I was hoping for walleyes, but a big smallmouth has enough meat on it to be worth filleting. I put it on my grandpa's old stringer and tied it to the dock. I caught a second one not long after. 


Several people brought their boats in from the lake and a small party joined me in my shore fishing pursuits, though they left empty handed. I watched a beaver swim by and listened to a loon calling from across the lake. I can understand why early settlers thought they were hearing ghosts when they first heard the loons. 

My lighted bobber's light went kaput, and as the stars started twinkling into view I could no longer see it. It was time to head home.

I didn't see any other notable wildlife on this trip, but the other day when I made the drive down the Devil Track Lake Road I saw a young snowshoe hare, a red fox, and a whitetail deer. 

Fishing is so much more than fishing. It's living. 

No comments :

Post a Comment