A Place Where Man Meets Mosquito

In order to catch big specs (speckled trout) you have to find an untouched lake that is virtually impossible to get to - hours of wilderness travel through almost impassible terrain. Old washed out logging roads lined with boulders and mud, crossing river beds to avoid old dilapidated bridges and chain sawing fallen trees that fell over the trail, just heightens the excitement – and indicates that no one has been into a lake for years.

Welcome to a place where man meets mosquito and returns with an unbelievable story of angling. This is the precise reason why I started to carry a camera on my fishing trips. To disprove my skeptic co-workers about trophy fish and what they called “fishy stories” but more importantly capture an even larger lifetime treasure…a photo of my Dad, smile from ear to ear – glowing with excitement. In the past 10 years I’ve reconnected with my father in a way that makes most people envious. We were always close, but our newfound outdoor adventures of fishing and hunting has brought us even closer together. It has given me the opportunity to open his eyes to the joys and experiences I have when I’m on the water and in the bush. You see, my father is the type of guy who enjoys his work as a Miner, and while I spent many days in the great outdoors fishing and hunting with my cousins and friends, he has worked many long hours to give our family comfortable lifestyle. He has 45 years with a local mining company and I believe I have given him a new passion…. Fishing.

“I can’t believe we made it down that old road without breaking anything on the truck. We bottomed her out pretty hard a few times.” My dad said nervously with eyes wide.

“That’s why the specs are big back here...most people turn around at the river and if you don’t know where to put your tires, your truck quickly becomes a boat.” I replied. I had walked the trail waded through the river in the fall partridge hunting and had a good idea of where to drive. I had found a shallow spot but had to be careful because it drops off in a hurry if you miss it. The river was only one of our obstacles – the hill to follow was a washed out mess and put the old Cherokee’s 4WD to the test.

We crawled through the dirty stuff and arrived at the lake with only one flat tire and some scratches or “battle scars” that ran down the entire sides. Nothing like the sound of branches singing a tune as they run down the sides of the vehicle and the boat strapped on to the roof rack. There is a certain uneasiness that comes about you when your 60 miles back in the deep northern forest and there’s a chance that you might get stranded, or even worse – experience a life threatening injury - but it’s all apart of the adventure. Prepare your gear, let people know where you are so you can put the worry behind you and have a great time.

After setting up the tent, we threw out the minnow traps, had a quick bite to eat and called it a night. The clouds hid the moon, and soon after we crawled into our sleeping bags, the rain began tapping on the tent. Eventually the rain becoming louder and drowned out the high pitched whistle of the last bit of air leaking from the back tire of the Cherokee. My dad thought it was the tinnitus in his ears – but it was the tire HAHAHA. It was perfect weather for spring trout fishing.

The first night turned out to be a very long night. Between the excited anticipation, the partridge beating its breast beside the tent and the choir of snoring, (as if I forgot the ear plugs!!) we were on the water at sunrise with tired eyes and on the hunt for some wall hanger speckle trout. We puttered out onto the lake towards a narrow area in the middle. The lake was like a mirror perfectly reflecting the sky and shoreline – the only ripples on the water were the ones made by our boat. We were loaded up with several layers of clothes, toques and gloves as the temperature was just above freezing. It can really drop at night in the spring when the ice has just left the lake.

We found an area with a series of large boulders just under the surface in about 8 feet of water, so we anchored our “cartopper” just off them and each casted out our freshly caught minnows on a slip bobber line. The quiet of the woods accompanied by the slow moving and low lying fog in the bays had us both staring into the beyond, almost into a meditative state. We always called this area “God’s country” because the scenery was so breathtaking.

“Dad, I don’t see your bobber.” I said puzzled and searching behind him off the bow of the boat. He slowly reeled up.

“Oh! I think I got stuck on a rock!” said my dad disappointed.

“Hold on and let me get my line in.” I told him.

“Wait...that rock is pulling back!!…IT’S A FISH!” he yelled excitedly!

Suddenly you forget about how cold your fingers are and leap into action.

The fish put up a tremendous fight. Busting out of the water for some surface acrobatics only to shoot back down to the bottom to build up enough strength to do it again. My Dad would work him to the boat and as soon as it was in rage of the net, it would turn and make a run and pull off some more line. An impressive performance to say the least.

“Keep the pressure on him and your rod tip up.” I said.

We were using light line so you can’t just “horse” the fish in to the boat plus I had noticed that it was barely hooked on the side of its mouth when it came to the surface. Like a pro and with a smile that could light up the entire lake, he guided it into the net and we brought it into the boat. Picture this… Two men over 250 lbs. each plus our gear….dancing around in an 11 ½ foot boat - celebrating. We were making a lot of waves now! I think the fish below us were probably starting to worry now.

I reached down to remove the hook and noticed that it had come out of the fish’s mouth and was stuck into the weave of the net.

We slowly looked up at each other, wide eyed and said together - – “Whoa, that was close!” Fishing with my Dad has given me some good experience as ‘The NetMan’.

The speckled trout measured 4.3 lbs. on the digital scale and worth it’s weight in gold to the excitement it brought my dad. He shook my hand vigorously with both of his hands and I congratulated him on a very fine catch. It was one of those times that you take a small photo in your mind and file it in the “Greatest Moments” file.

“That’s a nice sized fish, and look at the colors on it! Hey, good thing we got it in the net eh?”. My Dad was ecstatic.

This was the start of an amazing weekend that passed by all to quickly. We cooked and ate fish about everyway we could and lost our spatula to a curious whiskey jack thief. The grouse kept thumping and the boys kept snoring but our excitement never faded. Two more days and about 3 pounds of bacon later, we were back on “boulder hill” crawling our way home in a rainstorm, hoping and praying the river doesn’t rise too quickly so we could make it across.

“Man oh Man …If your mother could see us now…she would say we’re crazy going into that lake. What a trip!”

As I mentioned before it has been about 10 years since we started out outdoor adventures together and the anticipation of our next outing still engulfs me. Now I look forward to the travel as much as the fishing. It gives us a chance to recount experiences together and allows us to open up and share our feelings about life. How many people do you know that can brag about that connection with their father? Its easy because I can trust him wholly and I know that what is said and shared won’t leave us - and that trust is truly special. Unfortunately, many of my friends have lost their fathers to such things as cancer and heart disease and I really cherish every moment I can spend with him. I hope I can do the same for my children and be their inspiration too.

My Dad asked me one time “Other guys call their dad ‘My Ol’ man…’, How come you never call me that?”

“Your not my old man.” I said, “ You’re my ‘Dad’ and I don’t want you to ever get old”, from the proudest son in the world.