Monday, November 10, 2008


Back in 2000 I met a very interesting fellow who had a degree in education, like myself, but unlike myself, made a surprising career change. He left teaching to pursue life as a professional fisherman. He had his own boat and a friend working with him who was his second in command and each and every day went out on the water with the express purpose of catching fish. Now this wasn't some guy with a fishing pole and some worms! We're talking professional fisherman, in Wisconsin, no less. We have what could be nicely referred to as unpredictable weather here in Wisconsin, so that meant rain or shine, snow or ice, breezes or gale force winds. I can't think of anytime he didn't go out on the water.

After a few long conversations and a couple of dinners, I got a real perspective on his love affair with the water. It was almost an addiction of sorts. Having never met anyone quite like him and seeing the hypnotic effect the water had on him, I wrote a poem for him one night when I couldn't sleep.

by Patty Lynn

The lake calls my name and I answer her call.
She's a challenge, my muse, she beckons, I fall...
Enveloped by fog, gently rocked to and fro,
Or tossed by a rage unexpectedly cold...
And vicious, vindictive, was it something I said?
Regardless just why, my soul she had fed,
And the day turns to night, I've survived yet another...
Time in her grasp--it's a thrill like no other!
She's a challenge, my muse, I would have to admit,
But I'd not trade a moment, together we're knit...
Like two lovers entwined, she drains all she can.
Satisfied, she releases a mere shell of a man...
Who can't help but return, she refreshes my spirit,
She calls, I obey the moment I hear it.

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