They did it so that they could say they did it.

This week saw the start of Maine's open water fishing season on Tuesday -- only there wasn't a heckuva lot of open water. The ice may be punky, it may be rotting on the sides of lakes, but it's still mostly there in large, gray-and-white sheets.

Which means that the hardiest among Maine's fishermen were congregated around lake and dam outlets where there was enough moving water to discourage ice. They cast their lines, and they told observers these were great, really great spots for catching fish.

Were they secretly cursing their cold feet? Quietly despairing that no self-respecting salmonid would be found at the end of their line in such cold water?

We doubt it.

The fishing gene is a powerful one, and it allows its carrier to transcend almost all objective reality and inputs. Cold feet? Soaking wet legs? Hours without a single tug on the line? Out here on the tiniest patch of open water, after a winter spent tying flies and dreaming of the perfect brook trout, this is bliss, man -- and don't you forget it.