Musky Men Of Indian Trail Resort

In Tribute To:












Indian Trail, A Poem - By James P. Pennella

Down at the Trails
     on a warm summer’s night
You can hear stories of muskies
     till the dawn’s early light.

Although some are preposterous
     there are some that are true.
You can hear tales of some old stories
     and tales of some new.

The plugs that they use
     should be considered a joke
Because they are made
     by old city folk.

But they are jolly and happy
     and fish hard every day.
In famous fishing spots
     like stagnant Mud Hen Bay.

So, let me introduce you
     to the crew at the Trails
Of the these unique muskie men
     and the old muskie tales.

There’s Frenchy LaMay
     who knows every trick in the books
As you can tell by his lures
      which are covered with hooks.

He must inject them with air
     to keep them afloat
And at 10 pounds a lure
     he can only keep two in his boat.

And there’s true blue Bruce Pinske
     a man among men.
But what he does to a weedbed
     should be considered a sin.

He fishes a weed bed
     like no other man.
With T.N.T., depth charges,
     and grenades in each hand.

And there’s dandy Jim Burns
     who we just can’t overlook.
Who dreams of old Freight Train
     on the end of his hook.

But if he saw old Freight Train
     come after his bait.
He’d walk across water
     and drive out of the state.

And there’s good old Fred Hirsch
     who thinks just like a fish.
To grow fins and some scales
     would be his golden wish.

For when he fishes the Chip
     all the muskies seem to hide.
And the ones he catches
     just commit suicide.

And let’s not forget
     there’s Adolph Sakowicz the bold.
Who’s going to fish muskies
     till he’s 90 years old.

The baits that he throws
     on the weed beds and bars.
Are from tables and chairs
     and parts from his car.

And he’d catch muskies I’m sure
     on these creations of his
But a muskie can’t figure out
     just what it is.

You wouldn’t believe
      what these men will go through.
It’s a fever inside them
     that makes them do what they do.

You’ll remember these people
     and their great muskie tales.
That could only be here…
     down at the Trails.