Jackson: Anglers struggle with the lure of warm waters

It was just like experiencing Chicken Little with warnings upon warnings every few minutes.

I was busy refreshing my ultralight spinning reels with 2-pound test mono while simultaneously watching the tube. The watching was my major downfall.

My heart skipped a few beats as I kept hearing how we Midwesterners would be inundated with enough snow to cause the Midwest Stock Exchange to meltdown.

I wound fresh line onto two reels when I suddenly realized I needed to check the gas cans and power ice auger, as well as mend the pinholes in my ice shanty.

And then the sky opened up and sure enough my wooden yardstick was put to use measuring what Mother Nature threw at me.

But wait.

Yes, I measured 12-14 inches of snow in my backyard. No surprise. I felt as if I was watching "Yukon Men" on television listening to the wind howling like a pack of wolves that had found their way onto my property. The wind was clipping along at breakneck speeds, and so was my imagination and desire to escape.

And yet all those television faces purporting to be weather prognosticators never spoke to me personally, so as to tell me we would have below-zero temperatures so I could nervously venture out onto a local lake to fish. The sky fell, but not the temperature.

Because I gave up my snow machines decades ago - and because I wasn't hunting deer, ducks or geese - I invented things to keep myself occupied. The ice-fishing gear seemed the most obvious choice.

When I finished everything I decided to call a friend in the Florida Keys. Dennis answered on the second ring.

"Enjoying your big snowfall and ice fishing," he quipped?

I ignored his jab and asked him how fishing had been. He didn't hesitate, pointing out an area where we both fished together with our fly rods, where he has been catching small tarpon and grouper. I was envious and salivating.

After I hung up, I went to my fly-fishing cabinet and began inspecting the reels, fly boxes, leaders and other paraphernalia. Next came the rods. Handles and guides were OK, and the rods displayed an elegance that evoked a sigh.

Every year at this time, all the turkey, dressing and homemade pies can't erase my yearning for those gentle caresses of the Keys' Paradise Lost.

With roots firmly planted in fertile Illinois soil and a roster filled with kids and cousins, I looked up to see an imaginary billboard with undulating letters in extrabold type calling out to me, "What's a dreamer to do?"

So the clocks tick away, with their synchronous movements, oblivious to millions of eyes zeroing in, waiting for the moment when we no longer have to gird ourselves with coats of heavy buffalo skins and merino wool.

The rust belt will be here forever. The Sun Belt will never give up in its quest to lure us away from the grip of a better economic scenario and outstanding Italian beef sandwiches.

• Contact Mike Jackson at angler88@comcast.net, catch his radio show 7-9 a.m. Sundays on WGCO 1590-AM (live-streamed at www.1590WCGO.com) and get more content at www.mikejacksonoutdoors.com.