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George Smith
Sunday, January 30, 2000 Page: 13C
On a bone-chilling cold morning, Al Remas is wildly enthusiastic.
No matter that the thermometer barely topped the zero mark.< No matter
that bitter winds from the northwest gust at 15 mph.
No matter that the holes Remas, of Pittston, has drilled in the ice at
Moon Lake in Plymouth Township freeze over in about three minutes flat.
Remas finally found safe ice, ice more than 5 inches thick, ice thick
enough to safely support an angler’s weight.
He’s ice fishing, and that’s what counts.
“Pull!” Remas screamed as the wind howled.
I looked his way. No thrashing trout tugged at his jigging rod.
I could not read the expression on his face, for a full face mask afforded
no more than a peek at his eyes and mouth.
He threw his head back and laughed madly at my puzzled gaze.
“Get the net!” Remas shouted without moving from his seat atop a plastic,
5-gallon bucket.
More madcap laughter followed.
“It gets the blood moving in this kind of cold. People hear that, and they
know you’re half crazy,” Remas said, cackling with laughter.
Half crazy? I figured that just maybe Remas, his two buddies and I were
totally crazy to be ice fishing in such wicked weather.
“It’s not too bad when the wind stops blowing. It’s supposed to slow down
by noon,” said Dave Cole of Wilkes-Barre, his face wisely shielded by a scarf
as we stood talking with our backs defiantly facing the wind.
Moments earlier Cole removed ice that blocked the guides of his jigging rod
with his bare fingers.
His gloved hands were now jammed deep into the pockets of his parka for
warmth.
We watched as a few other daring souls ventured from their vehicles, left
the plowed parking lot and stepped cautiously onto the snow-covered ice.
They hustled stiff-legged back to shelter the instant the wind kicked up
and sent snow surging over the ice like waves of granulated sugar.
But never mind these newcomers. Remas, Cole and Tom Wilishefski held top
honors. They had bragging rights, for they were the first on the hard water
hours earlier that morning.
Holes were drilled with a hand auger. Jigging rods were rigged with tiny
bobbers and even smaller jigs and plopped into the water.
The tip-ups took more time to rig. Wet minnows are slippery; hands and
fingers were numbed by the time the job was completed.
“We should have gotten something with the tip-ups. Live bait usually works
pretty well,” said Wilishefski of Pittston.
“Get the net!” Remas bellowed.
The wind roared a frosty response.
“C’mon, fish! C’mon!” Remas shouted, his words lost to all but the four
of us who paced back and forth atop the ice on a bone-chilling morning waiting
for fish to bite.
Smith may be reached at georges@leader.net or 829-7230.