By Paul Pekin
The second man was also wearing waders and one of those billed caps with earflaps pulled tight over his bald head. He was even older than the man from Kalamazoo. “That’s rough over there,” he agreed. “Last year one of those hillbillies said I was in his spot, said he was going to kick me into the river. And I said, ‘Come on over here and do it if you think you can.’ Sure, I could talk that way–I was in the boat and he was onshore.”
“We fish for them all winter,” the man from Kalamazoo explained. “Long as we find a place where there ain’t ice, we can fish. The colder it is, the better they like it. They come into all these streams up and down the lake, come up to the breakwater, come in the surf. You eat these steelhead you won’t want no salmon.”
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“Well, he sure got a lot of fish.”
A car pulled up on the road above, and a tall man clad in waders and a blue stocking cap climbed down the sand dune, rod in hand.
“Happened to me,” the man from Kalamazoo said. “Soon as the guy got his limit I took his spot. Then some new guy takes my old spot, and right away he gets a fish.”
