Thirty-five years ago on any given summer Saturday night you’d find me in Back Bay enjoying the best chain pickerel fishing you could imagine with my cousin Jon. Since those early days we’ve only seen each other about five times and only fished together once. Today Jon drove two hours all the way up from Peabody, Massachusetts so we could enjoy a morning session of bass fishing together here in Wolfeboro, NH. We lasted a mere hour on the water.
A nor’easter has arrived. Jon and I thought we’d deal with it so we pushed off in the very same canoe we fished out of as kids anyhow. Things were relatively calm and only a drizzle was falling. But when we rounded the corner from Wolfeboro Bay to one of my favorite smallmouth popper fishing haunts, gale force winds replaced calmness and a downpour replaced the drizzle.
We lasted just long enough to scrape up one smallie and laugh at ourselves then returned to camp soaking wet and shivering like we did many times together as kids. The only difference was that our Grammy wasn’t there to make us hot chocolate. Instead we made the hot drink ourselves and shot the bull for about two hours and watched the rain and wind from the comforts of the porch.
Jon left for home around noon and Granny and I are chilling out at the parent’s house with other old friends. Apparently this storm is huge and fishing opportunities look grim for the next 48 hours. Monsoon Currier strikes again. Stay tuned. . . .