Smelting At The Old Wells Bridge

By Bud Lemire on Feb 8, 2007

Catching smelt at the old bridge in Wells
Some old tires burning, I recall all their smells
We’d dip our net in, and hope it was filled
While the fires that burned, kept us from being chilled

I remember those nights, down at the old bridge
And the smelt that was cooked, and placed in our fridge
Sitting down there on the banks in the dark
Catching those smelt, became a work of art

Some seemed to think they had the right spot
But it was all proven in what was caught
The fun part was the place where we sat
Catching the smelt, as we took in a good chat

We’d bring the smelt home, and clean them to eat
We gave some away, but most we would keep
I remember the big pan, filled to the brim
Smelt we cleaned for Terry, we were all helping him

He wanted them all cleaned for the National Guard
It started out easy, but soon became hard
I remember smelting at the old bridge, and all that we caught
Long ago, at Wells, and I’m taken back with this thought