By Dana Burrage – Special to the Sydenham Current
“That will be two dollars for the ice and three for the worms, the canoe is fifteen bucks for the first hours or thirty for the day, you pay the thirty up front, and if you’re back within four hours, you get your fifteen bucks back”.
Ted had been in a canoe every summer since he was a kid, his parents sent him to Boy Scouts camp and he was quite the outdoorsman.
I on the other hand had never been in a canoe in my whole life. “Don’t worry about it”, Ted said, “there are only two rules, keep low and never stand up. It’s just like riding a bike”, he said as he confidently strode across the dock with two fishing rods and a tackle box in one hand and a cooler and bait in the other, deftly stepping into the canoe and sitting down. Ted then packed the canoe strategically and when he was satisfied with everything, he looked up at me and calmly said, “get in”. I sat down on the edge of the dock as I slowly and gingerly manoeuvred myself into the canoe. “Only paddle on one side, I’ll do all the steering”, Ted announced as he untied the rope and pushed us away from the dock.
A thick fog hung eerily about three feet over the glass smooth lake. “We’ll keep close to the shoreline to the right of us and there will be a river that we get to in a half a mile or so that has some nice smallmouth bass”. I surprised myself as I quickly adapted to the feel of the canoe and was soon digging my paddle deeply into the water as we propelled ourselves into this silent mystical void between the fog and the lakes surface. As the sun came up, the far off call of a loon acted like an alarm clock as the air started to fill with a chorus of crickets, frogs and numerous songbirds. We soon found the rivermouth and after another half hour of paddling, came to a big bend in the river where two more creeks emptied into it.
“During periods of high water, logs and trees and driftwood accumulate here and the underwater mixture of swirling currents and tangled wood create a haven for big fish”, Ted said. “Let’s tie up to that big stump over there, the current will keep us in the middle and we can fish all around, if you get a fish, don’t let him get back into the wood or you’ll lose him every time”.
I tied on my newest Mepps spinner, it had a copper coloured blade and was supposed to imitate a June bug. I had never used it for bass before, but had good success with the lure fishing for rainbow trout. I cautiously flipped a short cast, being vigilant to not lose my balance in the process. The lure arched gracefully through the morning sky and entered the river exactly between the end of a big bed of lily pads and the protruding branch of a sunken tree.
Almost immediately, my rod doubled over and a huge smallmouth bass shot straight up out of the water, tail dancing and shaking his head violently. I hauled back as hard as I dared as I contemplated the possibility that the fish might end up actually pulling me into its world. The fish was now diving deep and pulling strongly, trying to reach the safety of the submerged snarl of wood. I countered this move by pulling the fishing rod to one side and successfully steered it away from its sanctuary. Again the bass launched skyward, and I had to offer some slack in the line to thwart this manoeuvre. This time he dove and ran towards the lily pads, I turned my rod in the opposite direction and again coaxed it toward open water. Each time it made a run, I managed to shorten the distance between us. Finally, it was close enough that we could see it, and it was big.
“Oh my God”, Ted gasped, “I’ve never seen one that big before, we better use the net”. I think the bass still had a few ideas of its’ own, and none of them included being scooped up in a net, because as soon as the big fish saw it coming, it took one last desperate leap for freedom. This time the fish jumped up and over the canoe, and for some reason it caused Ted to forget all those years of lessons he had taken at summer camp, and, more importantly, the only two rules he had told me no more than two hours ago, and reaching high with the net, he stood up and tried to catch the fish in mid air, like a combination between a child chasing butterflies and someone playing tennis.
Suddenly, but in retrospect slowly at the same time, I watched as the fish, the net, Ted, the canoe, and myself followed the same arc as we all rotated simultaneously through the air and into the water, and then continuing under the water with the momentum taking all but the canoe and cooler towards the riverbed. Fortunately, the water under us was only chest deep and after standing, I realized that I still had the fishing rod in my hand. I quickly hauled back on it and cranked the reel furiously, hoping to at least have salvaged the fish, but he had won the battle, and I imagined him recanting his “human story” with his schoolmates as they all gasped and laughed in amazement.
Ted and I spent the next few minutes without speaking a word, vainly searching the murky depths for our rods and reels, or one of our tackle boxes, or anything at all, but all we had to show for our efforts were a few hungry leeches that had attached themselves to exposed areas of our skin. After de-leeching ourselves, we pulled the canoe up onto the riverbank, quickly emptied the water, and then soaking wet, cold, and shivering, I warmed my body and cooled my anger by furiously paddling back to the dock.
That was my first canoeing experience, it was also my last. On the brighter side, we did get our fifteen bucks back.
