Lesson 4: I like to fish, but I don’t LIKE to fish.
My father-in-law is much more experienced than I am in the realm of fishing, or any other outdoor activity for that matter. That said, we generally share the same attitude as to why this activity appeals to us. We seemed to have the most fun when we were focused more on enjoying ourselves than on actually catching “a big one.”
The same cannot be said for our comrades. The other folks who joined us on the trip, who were the kindest people on Earth, were much more devoted to the craft of fishing than I was. Our second day in camp was miserable; around forty-eight degrees or so with rain blown sideways by the howling wind. After a few hours, my father-in-law and I were done. We were cold, wet, and had no fish in our boat to show for our suffering. We concluded that nothing would be better than a hot fire, a cold beer, and shelter from the weather.
Others in our camp….not so much. They stayed out fished…and fished…and fished. And when we finally convinced them to come in from the water….they fished from the dock.
Lesson 5: The forest shall provide…
One question that most outdoor newbies like myself have to ask at some point is “Where’s the bathroom.” In most cases the answer is fairly obvious….the ground. And I get that…I mean, it’s not as if I’ve never peed on the ground before. But my question was more related to old numeral dos.
“Where do I take a dump?” I graciously asked.
“I dunno,” I was told. “Find a shady spot…Or hold it ’til we get back.”
“But what about, you know, the clean-up?”
“Leaves.”
“Leaves?”
“Leaves…just not the wrong leaves.”
“Which are the wrong leaves?”
“Oh, don’t sweat it…the wrong ones are pretty rare.”
“Oh, okay.”
“But tell me if you start to feel funny.”
I held it.
Lesson 5: Did I mentioned I don’t know Jack about Squat?
There’s nothing quite like being left out of a conversation entirely. In this instance, it wasn’t because the people I was with were particularly rude. Rather, it was because I really had nothing to contribute whatsoever. For one, fishing-talk is littered with lingo; jigs, holes, trollers…too many others to mention. I found myself, on many occasions, resolving to make flashcards and quiz myself in private so I could keep up.
There were also bits of knowledge which appeared to be common sense…At least to everyone else. At one point, we pulled up to a “hole” (a place where fish are). On the surface of the water, there were a multitude of dead insects.
Fishing Guide: “Dammit! A stinkin’ Mayfly hatch.”
Everyone else: (Groans, moans)…”Man, there goes the whole trip.”
Me (whispering): “Is that bad?”
Lesson 6: There’s no place like home.
All good things must come to an end, and so on the sixth day we packed up and headed back to civilization(relatively speaking…we were headed back to a farm in the middle of nowhere). The best part about returning home is that you can leave all of the tough parts of the trip behind you, and remember only the best bits. To my family, suburban to the last, I might as well have been returning from an undersea expedition to Atlantis. To my wife’s, I was finally starting to act the part of a proper husband…leaving my wife for a few days and returning with frozen fish.
Either way, this trip was like every other great vacation….It pushed me a little, made me a little uncomfortable, but will likely never be forgotten.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Gone Fishing (Part 1)
The title of this post is not, for once, a clever pun...I really did go fishing.
A few months ago, my father-in-law invited me to with him and a few others to Canada for a weeks worth of fishing, log-cabin-living, beer-swilling, and artery-destroying. Knowing that the trip would be just before our big move, I thought it would be a nice respite from the worries of moving and the anxiety that of everyday life. Instead, it was a wake-up call...A sort of boot camp of country living.
To try to retell the experience word-for-word would require a blog unto itself, so instead I'm going to summarize my experience as a set of lessons...things I have learned in the Canadian Wilderness.
Lesson 1: In a fair fight, mother nature will kick your ass.
When I say I was in the wilderness, I mean I was in the damn wilderness. To be specific, I was about forty miles south of where all the roads in Ontario end...Where bear attacks are a very real possibility, and where going to get groceries is referred to as an "expedition." You know you've gone to the country when the locals speak with wry pride of how ineffective cell phones are in their neck of the woods.
In this place, nature is beautiful but brutal. There is no margin for error; no easy path home, no park rangers...no animal control...no control. Two days of our trip were cold and rainy with high winds, so we actually packed back-up motors for our boats, because if we got stuck...we were really stuck. No one would come to help us.
Lesson 2: A person's worth is measured by what they can carry...or at least mine was.
In the world I inhabit most days, my accomplishments and experiences matter. I'm fairly well-educated and I've had some good work experiences, and that's impressive to most folks I meet in my "normal" life.
It mattered not in Canada. It wasn't important that I could quote Mill or Oscar Wilde or that I knew what a P/E ratio was. It only mattered that, as it happened, I'm a pretty big guy who can carry pretty big things. The moment I arrived, one of our guides called me a "stout fellow" and it subsequently became my job to carry motors, gas tanks, boats, and other heavy shit through mucky pathes and between our tiny two-man fishing boats. I think I got saddled with this because I was not only big, but otherwise useless; which is to say that I had no other skills or abilities that mattered out there. Had I been able to reliably build fires or something, I might have gotten off the hook when it came to becoming a human pack mule.
Lesson 3: I don't know jack about squat.
There are few things as humbling as being completely clueless...especially about something that you feel you should be able to grasp. This sentiment more or less sums up how I felt as I sat in a fishing boat with my father-in-law, holding a fishing pole and realizing how un-country I was. There was also more than a small feeling of inadequacy; as if I could feel my father-in-law wonder what his daughter, my wife, had been thinking marrying some schmuck who didn't know how to cast.
At the same time, I realized that I'd have a lot of moments like these in my future. Surely, casting a fishing rod wouldn't be the last country skill I'd learn. So, I bit my lip, swallowed my pride and let my father-in-law teach me a skill that most boys learn when they're about eleven or so. Then, after listening and learning, I gave it a try.
Just as I'd be shown, I released my reel, drew my arm back and cast...
Straight down into the water in front of me...a whopping four feet from the boat.
Oh, it was going to be a lovely week...
A few months ago, my father-in-law invited me to with him and a few others to Canada for a weeks worth of fishing, log-cabin-living, beer-swilling, and artery-destroying. Knowing that the trip would be just before our big move, I thought it would be a nice respite from the worries of moving and the anxiety that of everyday life. Instead, it was a wake-up call...A sort of boot camp of country living.
To try to retell the experience word-for-word would require a blog unto itself, so instead I'm going to summarize my experience as a set of lessons...things I have learned in the Canadian Wilderness.
Lesson 1: In a fair fight, mother nature will kick your ass.
When I say I was in the wilderness, I mean I was in the damn wilderness. To be specific, I was about forty miles south of where all the roads in Ontario end...Where bear attacks are a very real possibility, and where going to get groceries is referred to as an "expedition." You know you've gone to the country when the locals speak with wry pride of how ineffective cell phones are in their neck of the woods.
In this place, nature is beautiful but brutal. There is no margin for error; no easy path home, no park rangers...no animal control...no control. Two days of our trip were cold and rainy with high winds, so we actually packed back-up motors for our boats, because if we got stuck...we were really stuck. No one would come to help us.
Lesson 2: A person's worth is measured by what they can carry...or at least mine was.
In the world I inhabit most days, my accomplishments and experiences matter. I'm fairly well-educated and I've had some good work experiences, and that's impressive to most folks I meet in my "normal" life.
It mattered not in Canada. It wasn't important that I could quote Mill or Oscar Wilde or that I knew what a P/E ratio was. It only mattered that, as it happened, I'm a pretty big guy who can carry pretty big things. The moment I arrived, one of our guides called me a "stout fellow" and it subsequently became my job to carry motors, gas tanks, boats, and other heavy shit through mucky pathes and between our tiny two-man fishing boats. I think I got saddled with this because I was not only big, but otherwise useless; which is to say that I had no other skills or abilities that mattered out there. Had I been able to reliably build fires or something, I might have gotten off the hook when it came to becoming a human pack mule.
Lesson 3: I don't know jack about squat.
There are few things as humbling as being completely clueless...especially about something that you feel you should be able to grasp. This sentiment more or less sums up how I felt as I sat in a fishing boat with my father-in-law, holding a fishing pole and realizing how un-country I was. There was also more than a small feeling of inadequacy; as if I could feel my father-in-law wonder what his daughter, my wife, had been thinking marrying some schmuck who didn't know how to cast.
At the same time, I realized that I'd have a lot of moments like these in my future. Surely, casting a fishing rod wouldn't be the last country skill I'd learn. So, I bit my lip, swallowed my pride and let my father-in-law teach me a skill that most boys learn when they're about eleven or so. Then, after listening and learning, I gave it a try.
Just as I'd be shown, I released my reel, drew my arm back and cast...
Straight down into the water in front of me...a whopping four feet from the boat.
Oh, it was going to be a lovely week...
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)