So, Mrs. Caped and I just got back last night from a week of fishing and hanging put by Tupper Lake. It was a well needed rest! The beauty of this lake never ceases to amaze me.
I'll be back to my regular routine of mocking news, over using movie links, and catching up on all of the awesome blogs I follow later on tonight. BUT for now, here are two pieces I wrote about the area.
Pillaging the jungle of Tupper Lake like
Vikings, we emerged with an appetite
even the Lumberjack House couldn’t conquer.
We coasted to the dock around 11a.m. Saturday and
de-boarded our Pequod with the bucket of large-mouths
we caught on some scented Gulp Bait.
With the Walleyes we caught last night,
we’re in for some good eatin'.
Thuds across each of their skulls with a
Blackjack causes them to spasm in my father-in-law’s hand,
the humane thing to do before they’re filleted and fried.
Though I caught a bass or two, even Melville could
call me Ishmael when it came to scaling our white whales;
I orphaned to the background.
In the camp, I could hear the girls mixing the batter,
a few eggs, flour, and breadcrumbs. A splash
of Guinness never hurt anyone.
Dip’em, roll’em pat’em; schools of three swim
at 350 in the fry-pan until they’re snared by the tongs.
Golden morsels on a paper plate.
The rusty glow from the
Center star lightens
The load we bare as we
Ruck up from the base of
Whiteface Mountain to the
Halos of soaked nimbus.
Twigs cracking in the tree-
Line speed our pace over
The slated staircase. The
Cliff’s edge is a deep well
Where Ausable Rivers
Dare you to take a plunge.
My soles soaked from the
Puddle I slipped in near the
Poison Sumac. Garter snakes
slide from beneath our footsteps
Into abandoned skink
Holes. The air burns the ridge
Of our noses and stings
Our eardrums. The jutting
Peak waits, watching out
Over Wilmington’s Placid Lake.