The other day I had another opportunity to go to Camp American Legion in Lake Tomahawk, WI and take some disabled soldiers fishing. Every once and a while I volunteer to take them out on one of the Camp's pontoon boats for a two hour fishing excursion. However this afternoon would be a little different from past fishing adventures. You see my passengers were two former female Army Veterans.
Our dock man Jack, had already prepared the boat with bottles of water, night crawlers, fishing poles, and life jackets. The boat was already gassed up and my passengers were on board and we were ready to head off to "catch the big one". But this time though, I brought along some very large leeches we'd use as bait. With the flip of the key the motor started. Jack released the mooring lines and soon we were off and on our way. I powered up the fish finder and headed out across Little Lake Tomahawk and quickly started marking fish.
The air temperature was in the low seventies, but because the weather was very warm this week, and because of that the water temperature was seventy-five degrees. Far too warm for our usual Blue Gill and Perch catches in the shallows. But as we traveled across the lake the fish I was marking were not only large, they were also very deep. But we kept on going, through a small channel on the other side and entered into a much large lake simply called Lake Tomahawk. I was heading to a frequently visited spot known to us as Seagull Island, which is a pile of rocks, out in the middle of the lake on the West side.
Once we dropped the anchor, the lines were quickly in the water. Becky was quick to land the first fish, a keeper perch of about twelve inches. The girls had no problem dipping their hands into the leech bucket and grabbing their bait. Idle conversation revealed that Becky was a former fuel and munitions handler when she was serving. This was her second year coming to the camp. She brought with her, her son who was about 10, but rather than go fishing, he stayed behind to spend time with the other kids at the camp, all under the watchful eye of some of the camp's personnel.
On the way to this spot, we had crossed a bay that was marking fish in about twenty four feet of water, suspended at a depth of about seventeen feet. As we sat there idle and getting no bites, I though of those suspended fish. I wondered what they were. The depth sounder was marking them in groups of four to six, all schooled up in the same area. Because of how deep they were, and the upper water temperature being seventy five, I figured they were suspending themselves just below the thermocline in the cooler water. So if things did no pan out here, at Seagull Island, and they were not. One perch and no other bites. Time to move.
The wind was mild, but the water was very turbulent due to heavy boat traffic. This caused our anchor to break loose and set us adrift. But even though we were drifting over many different bottom features, and structural variations, we still could not get a bite. That is until the Eagle came flying by. Each and every time I have taken soldiers fishing an Eagle would spread its wings and soar above us. Whenever that happened we caught fish, and this day would be no different.
I suggested to the girls that we move and go back to where we were marking those big fish in deep water and try our luck. Linda was up front and with the push of a button the anchor slowly started to ride from the water below. I started the engine and we were on our way. Ten feet, twenty feet, thirty and more, were the depths I was recording as we slowly, but determinedly made our way across the lake to the other side. The bearing I was looking for was a very large rock, sitting alone along the shore........
At about one hundred and fifty yards from that rock we started to mark fish. I stopped the motor and Linda lowered the anchor. We were now sitting still, gently rocking back and forth, as the waves from other boats dissipated as they reached our pontoons. Linda was using night crawlers and Becky and I were using this big leeches. But Linda would be the one who got the first strike. He pole was bent completely in half as she fought the huge fish. But just as quickly as this monster struck, he just as quickly spit the hook. Certainly she was disappointed, but it made her that more determined to hook him again. Becky was next. I was amazed at the bend in the poles as these strikes occurred. Not like my normal experiences with other trips we've had. Linda grabbed the net and Becky soon landed a nice three pound smallie. A very nice fish. About nineteen inches long, with beautifully calico color running along the side. This fish must have been very hungry because he swallowed the hook. So we cut the line, and into the bucket he went.
Next up, my turn. The strike was just as heavy as the rest, and with the help of Becky, I quickly landed a nice two pound smallie. I tossed it into the bucket along with the rest. But then the action subsided and it was time to head back.
There were two pontoon boats that went out that afternoon. The other one had five male soldiers who were all dressed as avid fishermen. Vests, hats, their own fishing poles and tackle boxes, these men were out to kill the fish, if not by anything else, just their presence would have fish jumping into the boat. However, that day the girls put them all to shame. Blue gills and small perch were their "catch of the day". The girls were happy, and so was I. Another great day of fishing and our thanks for the presence of our eagle, who faithfully watched over us, bring us the good luck every fisherman need to be successful.
The time was now about four thirty. I am in the dining hall, when the dinner bell rings alerting all the campers that dinner is ready to be served. There is a table set aside and reserved for volunteers. This is where I sat, as all of the campers lined up and went through the chow line. There were people in wheel chairs, some motorized and some not, walkers and canes. Some of these came to camp with care takers to help them with their daily needs. I sat there quietly and watched and thought about these men and women. Men and women who, when they were younger sacrificed themselves for us and our country by serving in the armed forces. I wondered how many of them were now suffering or disabled form their injuries in battle or just simply old age creeping up on them. I imagined, as I looked carefully at them, how their bodies looked now, and what they must have looked like when they were much younger and in "combat ready" state. I wondered what stories they could tell, to a younger person who was interested in their histories. Some of these men and women would love to be able to tell those tales, if for nothing else, but to enjoy the company of another. I also observed their clothing and attire. Most every on of them was sporting some form of dress, whether it be a t-shirt, of hat, that let you know what branch of service they were in, or what ship they were on, or what war they fought in. From WWII, Korea, Desert Storm, they were all there. Their broken bodies all there right in front of you. This camp provides them some respite from dealing with the daily struggles of life. A place where they can go and everything is free, they need for nothing while they are there for their week of solitude. Silently, I salute them for the great sacrifice they made. It is always a pleasure when I go there and give of myself to help out in any way I can. There was a time that they served us, it's my turn to help and serve them.
