Spearing and Dipping
My father was an outdoorsman and an adventurer. So, when his Native American buddies invited him to go Spearing and Dipping, he agreed with the condition that he could take his two sons.
It was a frigid spring night in North-Central Michigan. We traveled for many miles on bumpy gravel roads with the spears and nets rattling in the trunk. There was no moon, and except for the headlights, it was like traveling through a pitch-black tunnel.
It was my first Spearing and Dipping trip. My older brother slept in the back seat, but I was too excited to sleep. I had questions: “Dad, when will we get there?” “What’s it like?” Dad wasn’t in the mood for chatter. “You’ll find out soon…”
