Over the years Uncle Frank has managed to make his way into this column for some pretty dubious reasons. For example, there was the time when he spent an entire afternoon chasing an orange fishing pole that a fish had pulled down through the ice. The orange-handled ice fishing pole floated around the ice hole close enough to see but always too far to reach. On the clear, snowless ice he followed that pole until he had an epiphany: it wasn’t a pole at all. It was the reflection of his orange hunting hat on the ice. There are more similar stories but you get the gist of Uncle Frank being a fountain of entertainment. During the dog days of winter, he managed to come up with yet another whiz banger.

Before I get to the main story, I need to tell you that Uncle Frank was walleye fishing in Canada last summer with his cronies. They hit the walleye jackpot with almost every cast resulting in yet another fish. Even though they were catching dozens upon dozens of fish, Uncle Frank was called out for a few fish that he haphazardly missed. The blame was spread out between the net being too short, the opening of the net being too small, and Uncle Frank’s netting ability. To make this part of the story shorter, when he returned home Uncle Frank bought a new dip net hoping to make everyone happy on the next fishing trip.

Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago and that new dip net was still in the back of Uncle Frank’s van. He got a call from another crony asking if he was interested in some partridge that a hunter had bagged at a game farm. The acquaintance was just trying to get his dog some work on a few birds and he wanted to share in the bounty. Uncle Frank accepted the offer and they agreed to meet up. The birds, which hadn’t been cleaned yet, were put in a plastic grocery bag and handed over to Uncle Frank who put them in the back of his van. Up until this point everything was pretty normal and casual and honestly, not really very noteworthy.

Uncle Frank was halfway home when suddenly one of the birds sprang back to life and began flying around, side-to-side, in the back of his van. He was driving down the road and he had no idea what to do. He decided to pull off of the road, hoping that the partridge would settle down. It seems the partridge didn’t care if they were moving or not, as it continued to fly around in the van.

Going through his options, Uncle Frank knew two things: He would never be able to catch the bird with his bare hands and he couldn’t shoot it. That’s when he noticed the walleye dipnet. He grabbed it and began sweeping the back of the van like a small child chasing butterflies. The partridge proved even more elusive than Canadian walleyes but eventually the bird, more or less, flew into the net as opposed to Uncle Frank skillfully dipping it.

I’m telling you this story exactly as it was told to me and I will add the musky oath to prove my sincerity: If I am lying may I never catch another musky the rest of my life. So how do I know that Uncle Frank is telling the truth? That’s a good question and the simple answer is this: Why would he make it up? I’ve said this before and this story backs up my point: Any time I hang out with Uncle Frank something is going happen, it’s going be good, and I better have a pen and paper to write it all down.

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BY DAVE BECK