I remember a summer, when the kids were little, we packed ‘em up and way too much camping equipment and took our minivan and canoe up to Fenske Lake Campground. We carried everything in from where we parked down the trail, or up the trail as it was, to the campsite on a point and up on the rock outcropping. I’d like to go back again sometime with less stuff. It was a beautiful place to camp. After a few hours and after the heavy lifting I realized that I could have packed the gear in the canoe and paddled it from the beach to the campsite a shade easier. That’s okay. Hard work often accompanies great experiences.
That trip, Juliet was very little. I was worried about her tumbling off the hills of granite and so we had a small and fuzzy backpack in the shape of a monkey. It had a leash on it. I was also worried about our dog Sebastian doing the same and he had a harness and leash on him, although he climbed all over the rocks like a real monkey. We kept both of them close.
I’ll not forget this particular trip because around the second day, I guess it was, Jen and Lucy were out in the canoe and Jen, who loves fishing for northern pike, hooked into a very big one. She was carefully bringing it in and for some reason had left the net up at camp. I heard them yelling and grabbed it and scurried down the path and down near a small cliff face out as far as I could on a rock overhang. They had the 18-foot Alumacraft we’d gotten for our wedding gift from my parents close to the rocks and the pike was swimming from one side of the bow to the other. I got the net down and into the lake, balancing off the rock, trying not to fall in and then the fish went into the net, or I thought it did, and then somehow it was free. Either I broke the line with the net or it finally snapped it just as I arrived to seal its fate.
I think I made another stab after it with the net. The look on Jen’s face was unforgettable. I couldn’t blame her, I haven’t seen fish any bigger than that in the dark house, spearing through the ice, and there have been some big ones. In all the years we’ve been fishing together since, there hasn’t been one on either of our lines that even came close.
Whenever we go out in canoe, boat or if we’re just fitting on the shore, I look for that powerful jerk of the end of a rod, I reach for a leader if we’re doing anything other than fishing for panfish, I make sure that we’ve got a net or two in the boat. I try to make sure that we’re not only prepared, but that we’re ready for what I hope might happen.
Full disclosure, I like to fish, it’s one of the reasons we moved here a long time ago. Sometimes I’ve been so focused on what might happen out there on the water that I miss some of the obvious steps that are necessary to get there. Miss the forest for the trees, I guess. Anxiety and excitement combine in a slurry of anticipation that clouds the obvious when we finally get the chance to escape to camping, fishing, adventuring… Therefore, I once got the boat down to the landing on the far side of Shagawa Lake near the river and off the trailer and down into the water with rods, tackle boxes and motor lifted and pushed her off just in time for the kids to ask me if it was supposed to be filling up with water and sinking. Yeah, I left the plug in the garage, hanging on a nail. Why it was there, you tell me, I’m still not sure? My haste and chase of the idea of what might come to the bait, had netted a lot of bailing and mosquito time that ensued after I had to drive back home and retrieve the plug. We didn’t get our limit or close to it that night. I caught near my limit of humility.
Since then, I’ve had a few mishaps, I’ve forgotten a box of lures, or the worms, sunscreen, bug spray, my sunglasses at a campsite, or any number of other things, but never the plug for the boat. I’ve been prepared with the net and the leader. I’ve learned over the years that being excited is part of the journey, that the anticipation just needs to be tempered with good planning. Adventure, it turns out, isn’t all left up to chance; who knew?!
And, like Juliet, I’m happy to have gotten that monkey off my back. Even if, the big one has yet to return.
