A fishing trip

“Durned hat,” said the old man in front of his small boat. He was in the process of picking up his fishing gear when a gust of wind soared in from the west and blew his orange baseball cap to the ground, almost touching down at the edge of the rickety dock the man was about to launch from. “Good day to go out,” said the man, he knew this lake from fifty years of long vacations, and he could smell a fishing day. He was wearing black, straight jeans with a little wear on them. Above his trousers was a yellow shirt that said 2002 scramble. He had obtained that sweater from a golfer and fishing confidant down the lake. He wore his camouflaged life jacket and he just had finished adjusting his rebellious orange cap, which had just taken flight. Yes, today was special. Today he was taking his grandson to Pole Lake. Pole was a good 8-kilometer hike away by land; the small lake was a large breeding house for the small-mouth bass, which the man and his grandson sought. His grandson had never been to Pole, but he had heard stories of heroic exploits and had seen many pictures of his victorious uncles coming home with a long string of plump bass ready to be fried.

As the grandson pulled on the old string attached to the even older motor he remembered the time he made a large mistake when pulling the cumbersome beast of steel and plastic out of the water. It was 5 years ago and he was a puny little 9 year old attempting to be a man and take out the crusty old hunk of conformed plastic for the first time. The odds were against him. First it was cold (it snowed that night), middle November is not a good time to try your hand at boating. And with absolutely no experience on the water, something bad was going to happen. It did, although thankfully it happened while the boat was attached to the dock. He reached over the motor and grabbed the hold for pulling the motor out of the water. He reached, he pulled, nothing happened. He pulled again, harder this time and he lost his balance and plunged down, down, down into the icy, freezing water. When he surfaced he couldn’t breathe he was shocked. Thankfully he had a good humor and he realized how darn funny it must have been to watch that exploit and he started laughing, he couldn’t stop laughing. No one could stop laughing either but that laugh helped him look back at that awful moment, when he looked like a retard, with fondness.

Every time he pulls that string he remembers. Thankfully, he thought, there were not going to be any spills today. He started the motor, popped the gear lever into reverse and putted clear of the dock. Popping the gear to neutral then to forward, he set off for Pole. 20 minutes later his grandfather directed him to the beach where he pulled up the motor and coasted to a stop on the sandy beach in front of the trail that led to pole.

As the boat slid to a grinding stop, the old man jumped out and helped pull the fairly old boat in. He tied the rope that was attached to the front of the boat to a tree. Then he and his grandson divided the gear and slowly but surely picked up the leaky canoe that had sat at the entrance to Pole for a couple years.





As the grandson slowly lifted the ancient canoe that looked like it had sat at the entrance to the trail since the stone ages all he could think about was the weight of the gigantic metal canoe and the yellow, rectangular sign that said: Pole Lake 3 kilo. He winced as the canoe quickly dropped onto his shoulders as if flexing its muscles telling the grandson that it would be a long walk to pole.

As the weight of the ALUMINUM canoe settled on the old mans head he remembered how heavy other canoes that had taken the journey to Pole with him had been. This was going to be a piece of cake. He strode down the path littered with crushed foliage and small green plants at a steady, average gait. He loved this trail. He loved this lake. He loved this place.

As his grandfather jolted off in front of him with his head attached to the canoe, the grandson was amazed at how fast his grandfather was walking, if you want to call it that, more like running. He picked up the pace only to keep from dropping the crushing beast crouched above him, slowly squeezing him to death. After what seems like hours, they finally stop and rest beside a large, moss covered rock. The grandson stretches out his aching muscles, trying to mentally prepare himself for the rest of the journey.

After about 20 minutes of progress down the trail his grandsons breathing behind him became very heavy and belabored. He pushed on for 5 more minutes and then reluctantly set down the canoe. Although his grandson said nothing about being grateful for the rest, he felt the sigh of relief. He would have liked to stand there longer, listening to the birds and smelling the pure air, but he knew that time was wasting and they would have to reach there goal soon if they expect to get any fish. He picked up the canoe and continued down the trail towards Pole.

After what seems like 5 seconds the old crushing canoe is back in the air and they are again trotting on towards the fish. The grandson swears he knows exactly what hell is: A treadmill running at a breakneck speed with a large heavy object pushing down on the poor dejected in an attempt to crush the person beneath. Finally after a long, long time, they round a bend and glimpse the minute lake. Pole lake is probably a good mile of square feet. But the lake is pure as heaven, since it’s located in the Algonquin Park no motorized boat is allowed on the lake dedicated to the wildlife. They drop the canoe, place their tools of fishing trade inside the metal craft and slide it into the lake.

He places the canoe back on his head and sets off down the familiar trail. He can remember coming here with a group of guys. His son-in-law (an ex marine) decided he was going to carry a canoe by himself without let up and leave his fellow travelers in the dust. But somehow the old man had managed to hold on to his son-in-law. Not passing him but also not giving him the pleasure of winning the race. Yes the trip to Pole is a race; it’s a way to prove ones manliness. But that day was a long time off, and he was sure he wouldn’t be able to keep up of given the challenge again. Before he knows it they can see the lake. They drop the canoe; get their bait ready the, hop into the canoe. Ready to catch some fish.

They fished along the edge of the lake for several hours. They caught a lot of fish. They would hit a dry spot and begin to wonder if their luck had run out, then in a flash they would hit a flurry of bites and pull them in quickly. After catching about 15 keepers, they hit an area full of yellow reeds close to the end of their encirclement of the lake. The grandson then hooked what felt like a good-sized fish on his line, he fought it for several minutes as the anticipation of the catch grew. He finally surfaced the 3-pound bass and netted him. As they pulled in to the cove where they had started he felt very satisfied with the good catch. They lugged the canoe back up on the ground, adjusted their gear, placed the canoe on their heads and set off for home.

The fishing was great. The old man enjoyed nothing more than pulling in a good catch. He loved to watch his grandson get excited when he even got a nibble. It did him good to watch a happy young person becoming at home with the wild. As they finished up their round of the lake, he remembered the myriad of times he had experienced a fishing trip on the lake. They pulled up the canoe and headed back home with their catch ready for the fish fry.

As they finished their portage by land, the grandson felt a sense of contentment. They reached the old fishing boat and loosed it leaving the old hated canoe behind. As he piloted the boat home, he realized that he had experienced the mystery of the wild and he lusted for more. More adventure and more freedom. He knew it was what he was made for and he loved it. He looked at the sky, waning towards its last hour of daylight. He had never looked at anything more beautiful. It was one of those moments, a moment when you could feel God smile.