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| Blarney Castle, Ireland |
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HANDING YOU NO BLARNEY
By Bob Chochola
There is a stone that whoever kisses,
Oh! he never misses to grow eloquent
'Tis he may clamber to a lady's chamber,
Or become a member of parliament.
—Francis Sylvester Mahony
According to Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, the Blarney Stone is a block of bluestone built into the battlements of Blarney Castle. Blarney is about 8 km from Cork, Ireland. According to legend, kissing the stone endows the kisser with the gift of gab (great eloquence or skill at flattery). The word blarney itself has come to mean clever, flattering, or coaxing talk.
Webster’s online dictionary simply defines the word blarney as: flattering or wheedling talk; cajolery; deceptive or misleading talk; nonsense; hooey: a lot of blarney about why he was broke; to flatter or wheedle; use blarney: He blarneys his boss with the most shameless compliments.
Now fishermen in general certainly have a reputation for blarney. Muskie hunters especially are full of this stuff, blarney, whatever physical form it may take. I personally think it's a gas, but I may be wrong?
Where is this all leading you ask? Well, it was the morning of March 17th – St. Patrick's Day – a cold Indiana morning with ice all over the main lake on Webster and large chunks of ice floating through the channel to backwater like it was some big green frozen holiday margarita or something. Did I say it was cold? Very cold!
Our own Patrick Elza (he's no saint, but he certainly can blarney with the best of 'em) had a job to do with his Uncle (and boss) about three houses into the channel from the point. They had to work, but decided to grab a muskie rod, tie-on a quick strike rig and huge bobber, and buy a few suckers in town after breakfast. Hey, why waste a little open water at a lakeside job site, right?
They get to the job. Patrick rigs-up, straps the sucker to the rig, and tosses the six-inch bait fish off the dock into the frigid water, then secures the rod. Both men head inside to work.
A few hours later they were hungry and Patrick's Uncle went back to town to get lunch. Patrick looked out a window to check the bobber and saw what he was not expecting – the big float under the surface and heading out to open water.
Patrick made it to the dock like a leprechaun chasing a pot-O-gold. He picked the rod up, waited a few, and then set the hooks. A couple of minutes later he landed a 40.5-inch muskie. And that ain't no blarney folks. St. Patrick is one-upping the rest of us in 2007 already – he certainly has got the Luck O' the Irish with him whenever he fishes Webster and this was no exception.
Me, on the other hand, I have been cursed on that lake, or so it seems. I'd go very long periods without even a sniff. Two years ago, however, I think the curse was finally broken, as I boated a 48-incher in the fall and followed that with one of our best multiple fish days ever. Don't get me wrong though, the bad luck was always with ME, the other guy in the boat (most of the time Patrick) would kill 'em. Go figure!
Have a great Muskie Hunt!
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