What shall we talk about until Spring? If we just reminisce, we've got two decades to work with

 Well, there's always ice fishing, too. But a distressing number of Loveland Fishing Club's finest tend to spend our winters huddled around the television set watching Harold Ensley or Homer Circle reruns. If you have a subject you'd like us to cover this winter, let me know, lovelandfishing@gmail.com Otherwise, consider this the first of a series of  past columns published on this blog over the past two decades. Some names may be unfamiliar, or bring back recollections of members past. If you need a briefing, ask an old timer. 

At this Friday's club breakfast, while reminiscing about great old trips of the past, a member with a good memory pointed out that most of our most unforgettable club events don't seem to involve the catching of a lot of fish. I simply note that no one likes a smart ass. 

To start this conversation going, following is an article originally posted on March 1, 2011: the first of our ongoing speculations on "Who's Loveland's Toughest Angler?" If you have a new candidate to suggest, drop me line. Bill 

The legendary Loveland Fishing Club is comprised of fisher men and women with a median age well into the '70s, maxing out at just over 90, with a tendency to test ourselves against the elements. With March winds howling, it's time once again to ponder, "Who's Loveland's toughest angler?"

My own claim to the title of toughest came during a February journey to the Sandhills of northwest Nebraska, where I'd forgotten my heaviest coat but bravely kept whimpering to a minimum on a day where the temperature never rose above zero. Others arguably have a more legitimate claim. 

There's Shirley Smillie, for example, who just celebrated 80, who kind of stunned everyone a few seasons ago when she turned out for a legendary minus-23 degree ice fishing trip to Lake Grandby, followed by an equally memorable midsummer catfishing trip to Kansas a few weeks after a lengthy hospital stay for heart problems.  Followed in turn by her hauling in a 45- or so pound spoonbill catfish on an early spring outing to eastern Oklahoma.

Then there's Bob Kuhn, who gives the term "trigger finger" its truest meaning:  Bob shoots both shotgun and rifle using the right pinky finger, the only intact digit on either hand after a pair of unfortunate workshop accidents.  "It was pretty hard to learn to deal with," he admits.  "But what the heck. I figure you just have to figure out how to cope, and then do whatever it takes to keep going."  

Bob is a regular on both warm water and ice fishing circuits, and last September used that same "trigger finger" on a cross-bow and take down a nice-sized antelope.

So why does all this matter?

 "I think we do this kind of stuff just to show ourselves we still can," says our thoughtful past President Jim Clune, who may be a tad slower than in his youth but still churns along after twin knee replacement surgeries and that nagging major surgery on his neck. (editor's note: and since this report was published, a kinda scary heart attack)

So it DOES matter whenever we hear the latest update from Dave Harem, who once earned club respect  being chased by a bear on a solo archery elk hunt near Steamboat Springs, hampered by hips in bad need of replacement.  This season Dave renewed his credentials for toughness at solidly frozen Lake Antero when, like any disciplined angler, he wetted the knot securing his jig to the fishing line. Somehow, this time when he licked the jighead, he hooked the barb firmly into the meatiest part of his tongue.  Initial attempts to remove it just embedded it deeper, and finally forced our club treasurer to yell for help:  Probably something like:  "Tan tum one dive me a hand here, dammit?"  

Fortunately LakeIceUSA guide Dave Bryant came to the rescue.  But traditional hook extraction methods apparently don't work too well with tongues.  With many helpful onlookers at his side, Bryant finally, painfully, removed the offending hook with the kind of sturdy forceps usually reserved for the mouths of trout.

 "It was in deep, and it was pretty bloody," Harem recalls.  But it was also far from shore, and the big Antero rainbows were biting.  So Dave sucked it up and went back to his hole in the ice.  

You of course also have to give tough guy consideration to Frank Zupanc, who once went elk hunting on crutches in a snowstorm, and now fishes from a small inflatable raft because he can’t handle anything bigger since that unfortunate broken neck incident.  Despite an unreliable sense of balance and unsteady gate, he wrapped up one late-season ice fishing trip to Lone Tree Reservoir by wading from the rapidly melting ice cap to the shore. (editor's note: Frank's still around town, but no longer active with the club)

"Aw, what else am I going to do?" Zupanc asks.  "If I wasn't out fishing, I'd be sitting in a chair in front of the television, sound asleep."

So the next time you want to quit because your coat's too thin for comfort, think about Colorado's toughest, and suck it up.  And on Friday morning, we can all sit down with a hot cup of coffee at the warm and cozy Widow's, and discuss other potential candidates for The Club's Toughest. (Another editor's note, a warning: Don't start any new discussions of where we should hold Friday breakfasts) 

  # # #