My father, his good buddy John “the Mitton Man”, Wilkie and I had been planning this trip since last fall and over the past several weeks had exchanged numerous emails regarding the status of the ice on ponds north of Kokadjo and Chamberlain Bridge. We pushed the trip back from the weekend of the 4th to the weekend of the 11th, and it turned out to be a good thing we did, for as Dad and John rolled in on Wednesday evening, ice could still be seen on the pond. During the Thursday work day, I received a call from Wilkie, informing me that both of his eyes were swollen and very painful. So painful, in fact that he had to make a run to the doctor to then learn that he had somehow allowed some foreign objects under his eyelids and these objects had scratched his eyes for the entire previous day and night. A prescription for some type of eye drops and all was well enough. Except, no contacts for Wilkie for the next week. 5:20 pm, I leave Portland; 7:00 pm, I arrive at home in Searsmont to get my Dad’s truck, canoe and motor; 9:00 pm, arrive Chez Wilkie in New Sharon; 10:10 pm, arrive at the Skowhegan Hannaford, to find out it closes promptly at 10:00 pm; 10:50 pm, conclude our grocery shopping trip at Cumberland Farms; 11:20, leave Skowhegan after back-tracking to find an open liquor store; 1:00 am, fill up the tank in Greenville; 2:30 am, check-in at the Telos Checkpoint; 4:00 am, after a couple slight mix-ups, 12 deer, 9 moose, including one three feet from the passenger door, 1 bobcat and 1 coyote, we arrive at the campsite to wake up my father and the Mitton Man. As I turned the ignition off, the sky had just decided to start to lighten up. As Wilkie cracked open a Budweiser, my fatigue began to pass and I realized the question of whether to sleep for two hours or not was not really a question. So, we got our gear together, got the canoe off the truck and into the water, put the motor on and at 5:00 am, roughly twelve hours after my travel began, we were on the pond, fired up with lines in the water. 5:20 am, first solid hookup. As I stood up in the bow, my reel screamed. Wilkie and I exchanged smiles as I fought the fish for fifteen minutes or so while the sky slowly lightened. Our first fish was in the boat by 5:45 am: a healthy, fiesty, native brook trout, 3 +/- pounds. I think my facial expression in the picture captures the moment pretty good: exhausted and semi-delirious, yet as happy and content as could be. You’ll notice in the picture of Wilkie below that he’s sporting his glasses and sunglasses of the Fitover variety. Usually used by anglers a generation or two ahead of him, he wore them with style. Wilkie and I both picked up two brookies, all on flies that I tied. The Mitton Man ended up with five and my old man topped all with nine. The smallest fish was 16”, the largest was 20”+, roughly four pounds. Hell yea.