Your best day on the water...
I was recently asked about my all-time favorite fishing experience.
Generally, I don’t pick favorites. I don’t compare which meal was better or what day was more fun… I feel like I’m doing a disservice to the unchosen option. I’ve always been that way. I hate to pick a loser.
Over the years, I have etched numerous memories of being on the water, many with my family. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love to be out there on my own, but being with family allows the memories to be retold over the years until they become family lore…
Here are a few of those stories:
* On a crisp September morning in the Quetico, I had 45 minutes of the best warm water action I can remember…Big smallies, aggressive northerns, and a battle with a 40’ bruiser pike to top it off. All of which took place at the base of a massive waterfall blowing mist into the bright sunshine. It was an incredible experience to share with my brother Harry and sister in law Ali.
* Another time I fished with my father and brother (Adam) on a renowned trout river. Bushwhacking… negotiating massive deposits of black mud… fighting off plague-like swarms of mosquitoes. We were rewarded for our efforts by finding a very remote, very untouched stream full of fat, hungry trout.
* Just last summer, my brothers and I fished the Ontonagon River in the UP of Michigan. The trout were feeding with absolute abandon all day long. I fished the first half of the day with my brother Tim (aka Flembeck), made an MVP worthy beer run, and then fished evening with my brother Adam. The trout were hitting, the beer was cold, the weather was perfect, and the company was my favorite kind. It was heaven.
* And an older memory… on a small tributary stream, kneeling down and crawling under the dense alder brush and through the grass, my ancient Red Ball hip boots catching on every root and branch possible. My grandfather behind me, also crawling, whispering directions to an unrecognizable piece of river where the bank undercut and big trout lurked. Line rigged with a night crawler, he showed me how to catch fat brook trout…on his river, in his secret place.
I could never pick a clear winner here…apples and oranges. I do know that these memories are some of the most important in my life and one outing has never stood out in my mind as the absolute best.
Well, that is until recently.
Last July, my very good friend (and nephew) Jack went fishing with myself and two brothers (if you’re keeping track, I was with Harry and Tim- the older ones). Jack is Harry’s son. At the time, Jack was about 2 and a half years old.
Just three months before, Jack had undergone a kidney transplant thanks to a wonderful gift from his mother, Ali. It was a tumultuous ordeal to say the least. The boy was in and out of the hospital with regularity for several weeks from the transplant date. By mid June, Harry and Ali were absolutely frazzled –sort of the walking dead. On top of everything else, Jack’s twin brother Sam, although very healthy, needed constant attention as well. I won’t go into more detail here, but the job they did during that time is truly award-worthy. Their kids won’t remember it, but the rest of us sure will.
By July, things had somewhat improved with Jack. He had been out of the hospital for an entire week, (which was a minor victory in itself) and his labs were looking better. On a whim, it was decided that Harry, Jack, and myself were to make the 4 hour trek to Tim’s house to see his new toy –a 17.5 ft. Lund fishing machine.
I was a bit surprised at the impromptu adventure, but Harry made the call, and after packing the incredible amount of required medication, we were off…
We were a bit behind schedule, so we gave Jack his meds en route. Anything that required some level of administrative concentration we gave at the 7-11 during a stop for fuel. Upon arrival, Jack was (re) introduced to Tim’s rambunctious Labrador, June. After 2 and a half years of being poked and prodded in various hospitals, I imagine one takes new experiences with a grain of caution. There was no exception here, and young master Jack was not impressed with the large black animal galloping in his direction. He voiced his dismay immediately. However, after a few licks to the face and some encouragement from his dad, Jack giggled and went on about his business of greeting his Aunt Wilma and Uncle Tim.
The following day was all we could ask for…80 degrees and not a cloud in the sky.
During preparatory proceedings in the garage, Jack was ecstatic about the boat. Many exclamations of “Whoa,” “Wow,” and “That’s a really big boat Uncle Tim” echoed through the garage. I was excited to see the boy with a good attitude, but I was careful not to become too optimistic. In those days, things could turn for the worse pretty fast.
After launching the boat and bringing it up to a modest cruising speed, Jack submitted a formal protest against the driver for 1) Making it too windy, and 2) generally going too damn fast. Tim obliged immediately, and we found a more acceptable speed out to the destination.
A bit rattled by the boat ride, Jack seemed to be irritated with everything: the sun, the rocking of the boat, even his seat. We were all prepared to end the trip quickly should Jack become too uncomfortable.
We baited up Jack’s 2 ft Superman themed rod/reel combo. The bluegill obliged immediately and we proceeded to help him reel in one fish after another…He even caught a couple of 10 inch bass. There was an absolute change in him that day. He laughed and yelled and hooted and hollered for the next 4 hours. The memories of him lying in a dim hospital room were systematically being drowned by every fish that pulled the bobber under. New memories were being created today. You see, for all he’s been through, Jack is a hell of an optimist. He’s the type of fella that would rather remember fire trucks vs. feeding tubes, Spiderman vs. medicines, and, well, being on the water with his dad and uncles.
If we didn’t have to get Jack back for his afternoon meds, I firmly believe his dad would have let him stay out there as long as he liked… hell, he had earned it.
Maybe that day just happened to be the one day that Jack started to feel better, or maybe he just needed to go fishing with the guys. I think Jack’s dad sensed that his boy just should get as far away from the hospital as possible –at least for a while. Whatever the reason, Jack started smiling that day, and for the most part, he hasn’t stopped since.
Jeff
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