A person who can walk and kayak can see all of the Earth. But today, I intend to see only what I have seen before. I am lost, in a lake called Minnetonka, where I was born. I am on a lake-kayak, which rather resembles the preferences of Midwesterners. She is wide-hulled, with a comfortable seat, and a 'pop' holder.

Comfort is what the Midwest is about. Lawnmowers have heavy leather riding seats, ('John Deere' green), gas-grills have taken over. Parking lot spaces are large. Minneapolis suburbanites tend to be colored that color of a frog's underbelly; white, even with a tinge of green. Even Minnesota's darker minority population is pasty.

This is what visitor's see upon arrival at the Mall of America; those droves of hopeless beady eyes and white faces, and acres of junk, and North-Stars t-shirts, and Minneapolis Lakers t-shirts. Minnesotan's are fair-weathered fans, like anywhere else, but except here it's literal, and almost the whole Twin Cities' have given up 'goin' to the game' for the 'sittin' in front of the television getting' pasty,' and with such inspiration in the tube, all that would appear to be left is the Mall of America, and 'Jesse Ventura!' and 'Woodchuck Festival!'

We waded in by the mayflies who were dancing a few inches above the water, and under the overhanging trees where the drizzle was tamed, and on my third cast I said, "Hey, perfect cast, eh?", and Hans said, "excellent!" and while I was standing there, in awe at my cast, the rod bent sharply and I yelped, "It's a northern pike."

It jumped and fought a bit, and I yelled again, this time it was, "What do I do now!" It was big, maybe small for a northern, but a rare catch, even by Minnesota standards, and Brother Andre came down to follow the fuss, and he said that now I have to kill it. I took to a large rock in my hand, but Andre said that I need to do it the proper way. He told me to hold the fish like a bat, and whap it against a rock, and so I did, but the fish slipped from my grip and bounced down the lakeside stones, and again, so Andre put it from its misery with a quick bat and while it was wriggling in its last seconds, he said, "now you have to gut it."

We went for the knife, and he told me to split it in half up the stomach. The process of filleting a fish is much more gruesome than I expected, because the guts, and the intestines are quite distinguishable. Brother Andre desired his hand in the fish, and so did Grandma and father, but at least I had sawed off the head, tore out parts, and learned how to fillet a fish. It began to rain, which meant worms were surfacing in the woods, and the wind would die. "Lets go wormin'," Hans said.

Great Plains Catfish Heaven, Paddling and driving the Louisiana Bayou Paddling and driving the backwaters of bayou country with a swamp maverick who claims that Louisiana will sink, or face horrific damage from a hurricane, unless efforts are made to reverse the damage to the coasts and bayous. Flyfishing with Mr. Phu, Lake Minnetonka Fishing with brothers on the shore of that all-Minnesotan lake in this Northern Great Plains suburban center. Port Sulphur, Louisiana Notes on fishing with Andre in the gulf after Hurricane Katrina ravaged the coast. Harmony, Minnesota Driving along the Laura Ingolls Highway. Texas Hill Country Texas' heart is a place unlike the rest of Texas, and also symbolic of the Great Plains. Stepping into the Hill Country.