[Bergen Angler]

Originally Posted by Lard Almighty

With the milder temperatures teasing the imminent arrival of spring, I headed to the same local pond where I crushed them on Monday. No sooner did I arrive there, however, that clouds moved in and the wind started to blow. And blow. And blow. With each passing moment the sun was swallowed more and more by grey clouds, and the wind became stronger. Any trace of warmth brought about by the afternoon sun was a distant memory, as the merciless howling wind seemed to suck the strength from my very bones. After an hour of this face-stinging, hand-numbing madness I couldn’t take it anymore, and retreated to the sanctuary of my car, the heat blasting on full. All during the drive home I lamented that, with spring so close I could practically taste it, Old Man Winter decided to play one final cruel joke before giving way.

Tally on the day: one decent bass, two dink crappie, and a pair of chapped lips.

Fisherman Poet?