He fished year-round although, to be truthful, ice fishing was more rewarding. Impervious to the cold, you’d sit staring at the surface of the water – the excitement building over your catch, your vision tunneled to that singular dark hole in a field of white, watching the line pull snug, seeing the bobber go. Somehow, the desolation of winter added to the triumph; it was you and him, the only two things alive in the world, locked in a battle to the death. The Creature grinned in the comfort of his Black Lagoon, seeing the fisherman on the surface peer expectantly into the hole. Soon now. Soon.