Twas the night before Fishmas, when all through the lodge,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a sculpin or dodge.
The waders were hung by the woodstove with care,
In hopes that big rainbows soon would be there.

The anglers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of 10-pounders danced in their heads.
And Wayne with his smoker, and Norm with his knife,
Had just settled down after prepping dinner for life.

When out on Long Lake there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bunk to see what was the matter.
Away to the deck I flew like a flash,
Tripped on my float tube and fell with a splash.
The moon on the breast of the newly filled lake
Gave the lustre of magic a fly geek can’t fake.

When what to my wondering eyes should ignite,
But a massive bow cruising under pale silver light.
With a twitch of my Leech, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment this fish wasn’t a trick.

They streaked past like astroids, lit up by moonlight,
And I roared, ‘No escaping — you’re mine in this fight!’
“Now crawdads! Now midges! Now leeches of black!
On chironomid! On Woolly! On Squirmys with hack!

To the edge of the shallows, to the drop-off so tall!
Now strip away, strip away, strip away all!”
Like line off a Click reel when a big fish will go,
My reel started screaming — a sound we all know.
So up through the depths that rainbow, he flew,
With a headshake and run only lunkers can do.
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the shore
The laughter of buddies who’d fished here before.

As I tightened my drag and turned the fish right,
They jeered, “What’s with the 3 wgt! Now don’t lose this fight!”
He was chunky and chrome, from his nose to his tail,
And he fought like a freight train derailed off the rail.

A bundle of muscle, all shimmering and wet,
And I knew in my soul this was one I’d not forget.
His spots — how they twinkled! His flanks, how they glowed!

His green and red colors exploded like a holiday show.
His wide-open jaw was drawn back in a grin,
And the hook in his lip fit just under the chin.

He thrashed and he rolled, oh he fought like a bear,
Till at last he slid softly into my waiting net there.
I whispered some thanks as I set the fish free —
For Fishmas at Henderson is pure ecstasy.

Then back to the lodge, with my rod held up tight,
I toasted good friends on this magical night.
And I heard them exclaim, as the stars shone so bright
Happy Fishmas to all and to all a good fight.