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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Duckslayer100" data-source="post: 262092" data-attributes="member: 1485">Grandpa Ray lived on a tanin-stained lake in the Iron Range. Later on in life he got a nice AlumaCraft Deluxe console boat with a 60 horse gas motor (which is in my garage as we speak). But what I remember most about Grandpa Ray and that lake was his small aluminum boat.The seats would get so hot in the sun that you had to be careful sitting down. Which is why he'd usually take me out early in the morning. I'd gingerly step into the creaky boat and we'd bail out whatever dew or rain water had collected in back. Then he'd hand me rods, tackle boxes and the mesh basket for fish. When he'd get in the back, it would groan disapproval before settling lightly on the water. Taking oars in hand, he'd grunt a few strokes hard away from the dock and we'd be fishing.In no time, we'd get to the edge of the weeds -- first cattails, then coontail and cabbage -- where I'd be instructed to cast a hefty red-and-white DareDevil away from the boat. At some point it was decided that chartreuse with red dots was much preferred, but that was later when I started thinking I knew more than grandpa. As soon as that spoon splashed down, grandpa was off, wrestling the oars in his herky-jerky way, causing the boat to lurch forward, then pause, then lurch ahead again. I'm convinced his without-rhyme-or-reason rowing is what caused that curved hunk of metal to get bit as often as it did. Like Babe Ruth, grandpa would often call the shot with startling accuracy."Get ready," he'd say, and the grip on my rod would tighten. "This spot looks mighty fishy."A pike strike is every bit as violent as the outdoor stories claim it to be, and there wasn't a single one that didn't take my breath away. The drag on the Zebco would be screaming as every fiber of glass in that rod bent to the extreme. We didn't catch any lunkers -- and there were a few that got away that most certainly of that class -- but we always caught some. And just as the mid-morning sun crested the pine trees and the winds of the day started making it a bit more difficult for Grandpa Ray to steer that little aluminum boat, we'd had our fill and would head to shore. I can't think of Grandpa Ray without thinking of those mornings. And I can't think of red-and-white DareDevils without thinking of Grandpa Ray.</blockquote>

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