The Tastiest Ice Cream Sandwich in the History of the World

by Tar Devil

Someday I’d like for someone to ask me, “What was the most remarkable fishing trip you made?” and I hope to answer, “Fishing for Nile Perch on Lake Nasser.” Trouble is, as my age goes up my net worth keeps going down, a scenario counterproductive to fishing trips abroad. I’ll keep dreaming, though, but in the meantime my most remarkable catch was only four inches long. It’s not so much what I caught, but where I caught it.

My mother-in-law is pretty cool, as MIL’s go, but spending a weekend at her home isn’t fraught with excitement. I take a good book, my fly tying kit, or a handful of bass wood to be cut, shaped and glued into a boat or airplane. Otherwise, here’s hoping there’s something good on TV.

Such was the case on a late summer Saturday several years ago. My brother-in-law and his family were also visiting and my daughter had accompanied his foursome on an expedition through the woods. I found a fishing show on OLN. All was well.

Or, at least it was for a while. My little girl came banging through the garage door, “DAD!! I need a jar!!”

“For…?”

“Crawdads. I need something to put them in.”

“Midget, where are you finding crawdads?”

“Down in the woods. Can you get me a jar?”

“There’s nothing down there but a drainage ditch.”

“Whatever, it’s got crawdads. WILL YOU PLEASE GET ME A JAR??”

“There’s water in that ditch? It’s usually dry.”

“DAD!!”

I found her a jar, which wasn’t sufficient participation on my part because I found myself being dragged by the hand down a trail through the woods where a family of in-laws were noisily turning over rocks, making life miserable for the poor clawed critters. Loudest of the bunch was BIL… like, this was really sport for him. At least until he nearly grabbed a snake.

“Yeeow!” He’s a hefty dude, but with a shot of adrenaline can scoot along pretty quick. “Seth,” he yelled to his son, “get me a stick.”

“Why?” I snarled.

“To kill that snake…”

Before Seth or his macho Pop could react I straddled the snake. “It’s a harmless brown water snake. You won’t touch it.”

“How do you know what it is?”

“Ok, let’s say I don’t know. You still aren’t going to kill it!”

“I don’t want my kids playing down here with snakes!”

“Then leave. You’ve probably already stepped over a dozen just like this one.” I prodded the creature from its panicked poise and watched it slither away. Nervous parents pulled their two kids away from the ditch, which suited me and no doubt was a joy to the little crawdads.

The Midget continued her exploits, tossing over rocks while her cousins nervously watched from a safe distance. I shuffled along above her, curious about the water’s origin, convincing myself the source was some safe, clean spring. Surely snakes, crawdads and the like wouldn’t inhabit unsafe water, right? Right, I told myself. Neither would those little fish…

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A small pool had formed behind a natural wing dam and I could see several small fish darting about. How the heck could fish dwell in a ditch that is dry more often than not? I squatted, watched them go about their little fish business for a few minutes when an idea hit me.

BIL was a short distance away. “Can you keep an eye on Midget while I run back up to my car?”

“I guess, but if she gets bit by a snake…”

“She knows about snakes. Just don’t let her run off or let some dog bother her.”

In minutes I was in the trunk of my car pulling the cover off my White River rod and threading the line. I dug around and found a spool of 7X tippet, quickly attached it with a double surgeon. The smallest fly in my box, a size 20 Gnat, went on the end of the tippet.

Back at the ditch, BIL had bravely returned to his fascinating crawdad safari with Midget and her cousins, leaving me with an easy, stealthy approach to the pool. I dropped the Gnat in the pool beside an overhanging rock and as soon as it slipped below the surface a dark shape gave it a healthy tug. No hookup, but the frenzy was on and in moments I landed a four inch fish the likes of which I had never seen in my life. I slipped it back in the water and again dropped the fly beside the rock. A hungry flock of fish peppered it relentlessly until I pulled yet another unknown species from the water.

This happened again and again. Somewhere around fish number five the Midget appeared beside me, watched for a minute then returned to her cousins. I caught and released a total of eight unidentified fish averaging three and a half to four inches before the spooked school retreated to rocks and branches.

We returned to the house. The Boss and MIL had returned from shopping, both standing at the sink preparing dinner. MIL asked me “What have you been doing?”

“Fishing.”

“Oh? I thought your car was here when we got back.”

“It was.” I grabbed an ice cream sandwich from the freezer.

“But you said you went fishing.”

“I did,” unwrapping the snack.

“WHERE did you go fishing?”

“Thown there in the wooths.” Hard to talk with cold ice cream in your mouth.

There was cold fury building behind her eyes. “How could you go fishing down there?”

“With my flyrod.” I took another bite.

“THERE’S NOTHING DOWN THERE BUT A DRAINAGE DITCH! I KNOW YOU DIDN’T GO FISHING IN THAT DITCH!”

I waited until my mouth was empty, for effect. “I caught eight fish.”

“You’re lying!!”

I shrugged. “Ask Midget,” who had by chance just entered the kitchen.

Addressing my daughter, she said, “Your Dad said he caught eight fish down in the woods. Is that true?”

She looked up at me – what a killer face – and said oh so casually, “I don’t know about that. I only saw him catch one.”

We left the room together, Midget and me, a stunned woman standing in the kitchen with mouth agape.

A man lives for moral victories such as this in the presence of In-Laws.