Of all my fishing tales, this may be the fishiest. But I swear this one’s true.
By Bill Prater This is one of those unlikely stories that sounds an awful lot like the usual fishy stuff you hear at Friday breakfasts with the Loveland Fishing Club. Bear with me. I have a witness. So there we were on Tuesday, this witness and I, at a high country place I try to be every spring at ice out. You know, another situation the lovely Linda Lee wishes the fishing club would avoid, bobbing around like old water-logged corks in our Fat Cat belly boats, fishing a lake notorious for scary weather and big fish. I was fishing of course with Club Vice President Darryl Knight, an Alabama native who’d relocated to Colorado by way of Florida. We were on the prowl for trout that, a few days earlier, had been exiled under several feet of North Park ice. And if you ignore the cold, and the blustery winds, and those dark storm clouds to the north, we were doing pretty well. No hail, and in a couple of hours several gullible fish had been brought to net, admired, and freed to be caught ano...