WELCOME TO MY WORLD

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The life of a pickeral fisherman who craves peace and quiet improves after mid July, and by the time August rolls around you can have your choice of places to visit.  August is also the month when cool evenings keep the flies at bay and the perch seem to like worms.  This is my world, and you are welcome in it.

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This would be our last full week of camping as a family that year.  The kids would be going back to school after Labour Day.  I only had my moose week of holidays left after this.  We were camped at a little lake we often go to in August just for the quiet.  A small creek provided safe harbour for our two boats.  The boys had my old 12 footer with a seven and a half horse on the back.  My fourteen with the twenty was pulled up on the bank beside it.

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The campfire, carefully tended by my wife was bright and still too hot to roast the smokies we were having for late dinner.  Everyone was relaxing after setting up camp and launching the boats.  In the morning we would sleep in and head out on the lake at our leisure.  Tomorrow was perch day.  We would go and fish all the little bays and points looking for the tasty cousin of the pickeral.  The idea was to be back at shore for 2 in the afternoon so there was plenty of time to clean and ready the perch super.  The smokies with cheese and mustard and ketchup were devoured by a hungry crew,  bed and sleep came quick.

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Morning coffee, and breakfast were enjoyed under a cloudless sky.  The coin flip had decided that my oldest son and I would take Ace and fish the left side of the lake; my wife and youngest son would go to the right. 

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The fish were in a biting mood at the first two places we anchored at.  A dozen seven inch or better perch were on our stringer, along with a small pickeral who been hungry.  Several small mouth bass were added to the catch.  About eleven found us on shore, and Ace nose to the ground established ownership of this new patch of ground.  As we stretched our legs I took my binis and scanned the lake.  I soon spotted the bright yellow of my wife’s life jacket.  They were in a small ditch mouth that attracted both perch and pickeral. 

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Back in the boat we trolled slowly along the edge of a heavy weed line.  Both of our rods wiped at the same time.  The first of several jumbo perch, a full twelve inches long was added to the stringer, a second as my hard fighting slab was landed.  The anchor went over and we began casting.  Ace, who had no interest in fish, lay on the front deck of the boat, taking a few rays.  Four more jumbos were boated before the school moved on.  We hunted, but couldn’t find them.  But we did find five nice 1-½ pound pickeral as we trolled toward the top of the lake.

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I was fighting another pickeral when I was informed that ‘there’s Mom and little brother�?  By the time I netted still another pickeral I looked up and said, “Moms gone.�?/P>

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Sure enough only my youngest son was in the boat.  We reeled up and headed over to see if we could help.  There was no real danger as everyone wore life jackets and they were only fifty feet from shore.  The picture that greeted us as we came around to the side of the boat was funny.  My wife was bobbing in the lake beside the boat.  She looked at us as we approached.

“Hold the boat steady so I can get in.�?SPAN>  She looked at the camera that I was getting ready.  “Don’t you dare!�?/P>

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I figured what the heck, she was in no position to utter threats.  I took two shots, in case one didn’t turn out.  Then we quickly helped her back into the boat.  Ace who was concerned whenever anybody went into the water had to be helped into the boat too.  My  youngest turned the boat and with dripping mother and dog headed back to camp to dry off.  We in the mean time went to one more bay where we got a bunch of smaller perch before we headed back to camp to beat the 2 PM deadline.

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I had made six-inch risers for the benches on the boats.  The sides of the risers extended down and kept the seat from sliding off the boat beach.  There was however nothing to hold them in locked in place.  My wife had reached over to net a pickeral, gone too far and slowly toppled into the water as the chair tipped.

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Several things came from that swim.  One I have a couple of real nice pictures that tell the tale.  My wife never used the riser again, though to this day I still use mine.  We did spend two hours scaling and gutting perch, another hour plus cooking them.  Next morning there was not a crumb to be found.

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The next spring my wife sat like royalty on a swivel, bolted to the bench seat, that she declared was comfy and secure.  I have always been thankful for an understanding wife as we explore the places that make up our world.

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