WELCOME TO MY WORLD

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I remember so many things from my youth, some aren’t very pleasant, some just a single image frozen in my mind.  There are however so many whole days I can replay over and over and not miss a detail.  Those days were spent in the outdoors, the most important part of my world.

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It had been foggy, that drive up the lakeside highway.  The murk was a dull whitish colour as we pulled up to the little lakeside general store.  A single light spread down making the green wall of the store show off the green door set in it.  A plank wharf, wide enough for two boys but not two grown men, stretched into the gloom.  Several green boats sat at peace on either side of it.  The water close was jet black.

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We collected our gear from the trunk of the �?2 Chevrolet sedan and walked out on the wharf.  In my impatience to get going and catch fish I started to climb down into the first boat I came to.

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“Not that one,�?my Dad said in Finnish, “It’s got too much water in the bottom!�?/P>

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I looked down and sure enough my sneakers would have been soaked.  Even on a July morning a foggy day in wet shoes would have been very cool.  We selected a boat that had dry grating in the bottom.  Dad checked the oar handles, few people had outboards in the mid fifties, and declared them smooth.  Our gear went in the bottom and with hardly an oar splash we ghosted into the white soup.   Within a couple minutes weeds brushed the side of the boat, but only a narrow band of them.  Dad shipped the oars and reached for his fishin rod.

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I had set mine up already.  A large bronze Colorado spinner and a single 00 hook smothered in dew worms was ready to be lowered into the water.  The black Dacron line was wound on a bait caster reel.  I hadn’t yet, and maybe never would, learn to cast consistently with a bait caster!  Dad dug into the tackle box and found his favourite flatfish.  He unshipped the oars and with a few deft strokes the flat bottom wood boat was moving parallel to the shore, the weed line 20 feet away on my right.  I played out line while watching Dad do the same.  The oars once more in hand he gently propelled the boat into the mist, the dock and store long lost in the mist.

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We hadn’t gone many strokes when a savage jerking bent the end of Dad’s rod.  The oars came on board quickly and he reached forward for the metal rod.  He lifted his foot of and in the one motion reared back on the rod setting the hook.  I was in the meanwhile working hard at not loosing my own rod as a large pickerel bulldogged in the dark water.  It took some ten minutes to bring both fish to the net and then clip them onto the stringer.  As soon as the fish were in the water Dad turned the boat with two quick opposite pulls on the oars and the lures, mine with a fresh clump of dew worms on it disappeared into the depths.

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We pulled three more pickerel from that school before the sun started burning of the heavy fog.  As the fog lifted a slight pickerel chop turned the water into a wash of sparkling diamonds.  It was not long after we had our limits and returned to the dock.  Several more boats were missing and could be seen scattered at various parts of the lake. 

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We tied the boat to the ring provided and took out the tackle box, our rods and the large stringer of yellow gleaming pickerel.  I carried the rods and the tackle; these were laid in the grass as Dad stretched the stringer down.  We walked into the store.  The counter was to the left and several aisles of produce and canned goods filled the small store.  Dad put 60 cents on the counter and told me to get two Dixie Cups from the wheezing lift lid cooler.  50 cents of the money was for the rent of the boat.

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Out side several anglers were admiring the catch.  My Dad answered some questions in broken English about the fish.  One of the men laughed as he said to his buddy, “Well I guess we’ll never get it outa him what caught those fish with  He put that old beat up flatfish on just to tease us!�?/P>

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I glanced at Dad’s rod.  He had indeed left that old nearly paintless flatfish on his rod.  Those fisherman with their bright green metal tackle boxes just couldn’t believe they were indeed looking at the lure that had gotten most of the fish.  They had entirely dismissed Dad’s secret lure!

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In my world you have to look closely and see what you’re lookin at or you may miss some of the best things it has to offer.

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