Storm Lake by Alan Loots

Author:Alan Loots
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-934690-36-9
Publisher: Itasca Books
Published: 2010-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

chapter 17

The fourteen‑foot boat slowed to a troll and bobbed slightly in its wake thirty yards from shore, not far from the Surfside Ballroom that sat on the eastern bank of Lake Emmet. Tall leafy trees anchored on the bank provided patches of shade for the vessel’s three mates. And two large decaying tree trunks submerged in front provided a good place to try one’s luck. A quartet of fishing rods and a landing net were propped against the boat’s stern pointing to a cloudless sky that signaled another hot Iowa day.

“This is one of my favorite spots,” said George. “See that old dance hall over there, it’s the old Surfside Ballroom. It still has a dance every Saturday night. Big band ­music … dancin’ music like Miller, Goodman and Dorsey. I have a lot of memo­ries from that place. Not many like this one left around the country.”

“I’ve seen it only from the outside on my runs,” responded Phillip. “I’ll have to give it a closer look sometime.”

“Grandpa took me and Mom to the dance two weeks ago. We had a great time. Maybe we can take Phillip with us next time, Grandpa.”

“Greta hadn’t been there since high school,” replied George. “We did have a fun time. And if Mr. Williams would like to come along sometime, Ben, he’d be more than welcome.”

“I think I’ll have to sleep on that one, Ben.”

George shut the motor off and lowered the anchor and its nylon rope over the side. The line went slack as the weight touched bottom. “Nine feet … maybe ten,” reported the captain to Ben and Phillip. He then slowly released the anchor rigged to the boat’s bow. “I think we’d better use both of them right now. We’ve got a little bit of wind this morning, but we should stay pretty steady.”

The Editor in Chief had organized this fishing expedition especially for Phillip. Although Williams had fished lakes a hundred times since he was a child, he graciously let his host act as the fishing master. He decided to take the time for this outing, that it wouldn’t much delay his first order of business in Rockwood. The last time he’d sat in a boat with a fishing rod was with Caroline, two years ago on Pelican Lake in northern Minnesota. It seemed like ten years … and it seemed like yesterday. He could hardly wait for his first cast.

“Which rod do you want me to use?” he asked.

George didn’t answer, but handed a rod with a spin cast reel to Ben, who in turn passed it to Phillip. “Here, this one’s yours,” the boy said.

“Thanks.”

“No,” said Ben. “We mean it’s really yours … to keep.”

“What?” Phillip’s reaction was one of genuine surprise.

George passed a small, plastic tackle kit the size of a cigar box to Phillip. “Here, this goes with it. It has the basics.”

Ben’s face was all smiles as he watched Phillip’s delight. “Grandpa said you needed one. He said he bets fishing will take your mind off things.

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