Gon' Fishin'
OR HOW I HAVE MANAGED TO DESTROY MY FATHER’S LEGACY
My father was The consummate fisherman. Be it fly fishing in a babbling brook or casting from a canoe or trolling for trout, he always caught the biggest and the most. Not bad for a guy that wore three life jackets.
Yes, he had the misfortune to never be taught how to swim and he fell overboard from a small boat, whilst fishing by himself as a teenager. Luckily, for me, and several others in the world, another person was on the lake and just managed to save him.
My father’s favourite joke was that he would get seasick when he flushed the toilet. Yes, he was terrified of water after that incident. I have pictures of him and his buddies showing off their prize catches of trout, pickerel, pike and muskie and there is my father. Ablaze in orange from his multiple layers of flotation devices.
I believe I did inherit several of my father’s character traits, including his nose, but not his fishing skills.
Due to my father’s occupations – pharmacist, politician, businessman – it was a rare opportunity to go fishing with him. Yet, whenever I accompanied him it was a total skunk. My last time with him was a two day sojourn at his favourite lake. Nothing! Neither one of us even got a nibble.
I have had several friends, over the years, offer their assistance to dispel my jinx. A group of my friends had been getting together every spring for a weekend of fishing, drinking and laughing and they kept inviting me. I insisted that to keep their friendship I should not attend.
Finally one of the most ardent fisherman of the group invited me to opening day of the pickerel season, near Peterborough. “Will, I guarantee you will catch your limit in minutes as we will be parked at the confluence of two rivers where the pickerel run”.
Okay, he’s got me pumped! The two of us are in our boat surrounded by about 20 boats containing two to 5 guys each. For three hours I watch every one of them reeling in two to five pounders of my favourite fresh water fish. Buddy and I? Not even a nibble!
He finally pulls the cord for the motor to return to his camp. Dejected. Over beers and beef (no fish tonight) I remind him that I am jinxed and not to take it personally.
To this day, I still can’t believe that this group persisted in lobbying me to join them for The Annual. Well, I finally broke under their pressure and accompanied them to Helves Lake. We had to drive through two miles (to hell with you , Trudeau, and your enforced metricism!) of muddy logging roads to get to a lake. Then the manager of the area took us across in a motorboat to our portage point. This proved to be a true test for us aging boys, especially hauling beer (the next year I got smart and brought cans), as it was up a steep, and muddy, track, then down a steep, and muddy, track to a small lake. From there we took rowboats to an island with a wee cabin and outhouse. After hearing their past exploits describing one certain individual’s sleeping habits in that his snoring could wake a dead elephant, I immediately volunteered to sleep in the semi-screened porch. Semi meaning that I had to deal with hordes of black flies, but they were nothing compared to the cacophony I could here emanating from the interior.
Next morning, a new recruit to the group and I were up early and he had heard all of my hard luck stories the previous evening. He was bound and determined to help me break my jinx. He did! In a matter of minutes I was pulling in two to three pounders! I caught my limit of six in about 15 minutes! I was so ecstatic that I could’ve walked across the water to wake up my buddies to tell them the good news! Upon our arrival of rowing back to the cabin, I regaled them with my success. They let me go on and on until one of them informed me, “Willie, this lake is stocked. There are so many fish in this lake you could’ve walked across the water. It would be impossible for you to not catch one.” Talk about spirit deflation! Then they told me that they wanted me along for comic relief. Well, I certainly supplied that over the weekend! And for the next twelve years!
A couple of years later we decided to try some new places and settled on Ruth Lake, just east of Powassan, about twenty minutes south of North Bay. A buddy of one of our group had a resort there with several cabins. After meeting him, getting unloaded into our cabins and having a drink we then headed out in the boats. With my first cast my line bales up. I just tossed my rod and gear into the lake. I took up a beer and said "Good luck, boys, if I'm out here with you!" Everyone, in the 3 boats, after killing themselves laughing, decided to appoint the newest guy to get me the hell off the lake. But I didn't take it personally. They needed me for comic relief, remember?
My mother cannot wear an analog watch. It stops within minutes of her putting it on her wrist. I believe I inherited her body’s magnetic field in that it is funneled down my pole and line to the hook and bait to scare the fish.
Hopefully, I also inherited her spiritual magnetism. And my father’s “animal” magnetism.
My father was The consummate fisherman. Be it fly fishing in a babbling brook or casting from a canoe or trolling for trout, he always caught the biggest and the most. Not bad for a guy that wore three life jackets.
Yes, he had the misfortune to never be taught how to swim and he fell overboard from a small boat, whilst fishing by himself as a teenager. Luckily, for me, and several others in the world, another person was on the lake and just managed to save him.
My father’s favourite joke was that he would get seasick when he flushed the toilet. Yes, he was terrified of water after that incident. I have pictures of him and his buddies showing off their prize catches of trout, pickerel, pike and muskie and there is my father. Ablaze in orange from his multiple layers of flotation devices.
I believe I did inherit several of my father’s character traits, including his nose, but not his fishing skills.
Due to my father’s occupations – pharmacist, politician, businessman – it was a rare opportunity to go fishing with him. Yet, whenever I accompanied him it was a total skunk. My last time with him was a two day sojourn at his favourite lake. Nothing! Neither one of us even got a nibble.
I have had several friends, over the years, offer their assistance to dispel my jinx. A group of my friends had been getting together every spring for a weekend of fishing, drinking and laughing and they kept inviting me. I insisted that to keep their friendship I should not attend.
Finally one of the most ardent fisherman of the group invited me to opening day of the pickerel season, near Peterborough. “Will, I guarantee you will catch your limit in minutes as we will be parked at the confluence of two rivers where the pickerel run”.
Okay, he’s got me pumped! The two of us are in our boat surrounded by about 20 boats containing two to 5 guys each. For three hours I watch every one of them reeling in two to five pounders of my favourite fresh water fish. Buddy and I? Not even a nibble!
He finally pulls the cord for the motor to return to his camp. Dejected. Over beers and beef (no fish tonight) I remind him that I am jinxed and not to take it personally.
To this day, I still can’t believe that this group persisted in lobbying me to join them for The Annual. Well, I finally broke under their pressure and accompanied them to Helves Lake. We had to drive through two miles (to hell with you , Trudeau, and your enforced metricism!) of muddy logging roads to get to a lake. Then the manager of the area took us across in a motorboat to our portage point. This proved to be a true test for us aging boys, especially hauling beer (the next year I got smart and brought cans), as it was up a steep, and muddy, track, then down a steep, and muddy, track to a small lake. From there we took rowboats to an island with a wee cabin and outhouse. After hearing their past exploits describing one certain individual’s sleeping habits in that his snoring could wake a dead elephant, I immediately volunteered to sleep in the semi-screened porch. Semi meaning that I had to deal with hordes of black flies, but they were nothing compared to the cacophony I could here emanating from the interior.
Next morning, a new recruit to the group and I were up early and he had heard all of my hard luck stories the previous evening. He was bound and determined to help me break my jinx. He did! In a matter of minutes I was pulling in two to three pounders! I caught my limit of six in about 15 minutes! I was so ecstatic that I could’ve walked across the water to wake up my buddies to tell them the good news! Upon our arrival of rowing back to the cabin, I regaled them with my success. They let me go on and on until one of them informed me, “Willie, this lake is stocked. There are so many fish in this lake you could’ve walked across the water. It would be impossible for you to not catch one.” Talk about spirit deflation! Then they told me that they wanted me along for comic relief. Well, I certainly supplied that over the weekend! And for the next twelve years!
A couple of years later we decided to try some new places and settled on Ruth Lake, just east of Powassan, about twenty minutes south of North Bay. A buddy of one of our group had a resort there with several cabins. After meeting him, getting unloaded into our cabins and having a drink we then headed out in the boats. With my first cast my line bales up. I just tossed my rod and gear into the lake. I took up a beer and said "Good luck, boys, if I'm out here with you!" Everyone, in the 3 boats, after killing themselves laughing, decided to appoint the newest guy to get me the hell off the lake. But I didn't take it personally. They needed me for comic relief, remember?
My mother cannot wear an analog watch. It stops within minutes of her putting it on her wrist. I believe I inherited her body’s magnetic field in that it is funneled down my pole and line to the hook and bait to scare the fish.
Hopefully, I also inherited her spiritual magnetism. And my father’s “animal” magnetism.
posted by Musings from Idle Acres | 4:54 p.m.
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