All right. You had to know this was coming; the obligatory "stupid fish picture." This particular walleye was 26 inches long; there were so many like this. But you can't keep more than one. If the walleyes are more than 18 inches long and if the bass are more than 14 inches, you have to release them. At least those were the rules at around spawning time, I guess. In fact, as the week progressed, we really had a hard time catching fish small enough to keep. I know that sounds like bragging, but it's true!

Bruce told me that I had to hold it out towards the camera so it would look even bigger. So of course, I did as I was told. (Most of the time I do what Bruce tells me to do... right, hon?)

I was soon to learn that after Bruce cleans the day's fish catch, two volunteers are needed to do the "guts run." That means that the fish guts and other remains need to be placed on a high rock on the other side of the lake near the cabin. Ross suggested that I should be initiated into this little duty, so he motored the boat, and over we went. The first time I did this, I almost lost my balance trying to tip the bucket up onto the high rock and ended up spilling some into the lake. But the next time, I did better; no guts lost. Then the evening's entertainment begins: the gulls, big turkey vultures, and even a huge gorgeous bald eagle come to fight over the stuff. And of course the eagle is the "top dog"; the other birds are very respectful of the eagle. It's a hoot to watch the scene unfold.

I confess that it's hard for me to watch the fish being filleted, especially when it's evident that sometimes a fish is still alive (barely) on the cutting table. I am such a wuss about these things; I really enjoy meat and fish so I could never be a good vegetarian, yet I hate to see the actual process of killing these lovely creatures.... Just an hour or so before they were swimming around and had no idea that they were about to be fried with a light coating of Shore Lunch.

One night when Dick and I were just about ready to call it quits and head in for the evening, I saw a large dragonfly buzzing frantically in the water near our boat, so I fished him out with the fish net and held him in my hand and as we motored back to the cabin. (Dick must have thought I was nuts, but he was a gentleman and didn't say so.) The dragonfly clung to my hand very tightly, and I shielded him from the wind as we sped home. What gorgeous transparent wings; I could see right through them. Then it occured to me that maybe this was a very old dragonfly and drowning himself may have been his intent. (Like the old stories -- myths, maybe? -- about very old Eskimos that used to deliberately allow themselves to drift away on an ice flow.

When we got back to the dock, I put Old Dragonfly over on one side so we wouldn't accidentally step on him. The next morning before breakfast I went down to look. He was gone.