The winter months of waiting were over. The package of fishing equipment had arrived at my friend’s house. It took many months, but as promised on the back of an “Incredible Hulk” comic book was the advertisement promising: 1001 Fishing Pack! Everything you needed to reel the big one in. Three rods, three reels, fishing line, hundreds of hooks, sinkers, lures, jig bodies and even jars of bait- minnows floating with frozen eyes in liquid. All for $9.99. Could there really be 1001 fishing items for that price? I didn’t believe the claims, after all along side of it was an ad for sea monkeys, dried in a package ready to be brought back to life! I was eager to see my friends face (let’s call him Ed). I was sure it was mostly junk and useless to true fishermen like us. To my dismay there was some good merchandise in the box, well worth the 10 bucks to a twelve and a thirteen year old. I’m still sure the dried sea monkeys were a scam.

Now that we had our fishing gear it was time to finish the plans for our trek across the two towns; Port Arthur and Fort William, then on to Chippewa Park. Our destination was about 10 kilometres outside of Fort William on the shores of Lake Superior. The bike ride alone would take all afternoon through the narrow streets in the hot June sun. A quick check: Bicycles – yes, sleeping bags – yes, the ten dollar package of fishing equipment – yes – and we were off! Some 30 kilometres from our houses to the park was a relatively short ride compared to a few others we had adventured on. It was only one night, no need to carry extra gear.

A quick swim in chilly Lake Superior to cool off upon arrival then it was time to put the gear together to go fishing. The park was quiet before the summer July rush, even the rides that accompanied the small zoo weren’t yet running until Canada Day. We walked along the sandy shoreline thick with reeds. A very good area for early large Northern Pike spawning and warming up from the frigid waters of Lake Superior. The water was crystal clear. The sandy beach littered with drift wood logs.

We had managed a few small fish each when I noticed Ed straining and grimacing trying to get off a snag. I yelled over, “Just get in the water and get it off the log. It’s not deep.” I could see the red and white dare devil lure moving away slowly. Ed was frantic. The log started to move slowly at first. For a few seconds I was puzzled. Then in the clear water I saw the large, wide eyes staring back at me from the reeds. A pike so big it looked like one of the many scattered dead wood logs along the grassy shoreline. “It’s huge, Ed! What are you going to do?!” I uttered.

The massive fish turned slowly, only slightly annoyed at Ed’s attempts to change its direction. Gaining speed the beast swam parallel to the shoreline. Ed started to trot, then jog. He was running out of line. The Pike stopped, turned, looked at Ed’s rod bent almost in a circle. It cracked the fiberglass rod under the strain. A quick S-shaped thrust of its tail, the fish stripped the gears of the rod. Then snapped the line in a long streaming run before disappearing into the depths of Lake Superior. Ed crashed backwards, his small young teenage body was no match for the biggest Northern Pike I had ever seen still to this day!

Ed was, of course, in shock. “How, why, what..?” barely able to speak he finally roared “Did you see the size of that fish?!”

“I did and it didn’t want any part of you.” I plopped down beside him. I calmed him down eventually, explaining that with his equipment plus the fact the fish looked like it weighed more than he did, catching such a prize would have been impossible.

I’m sure his dreams of “the one that got away” were interrupted by the crash of thunder and the downpour of rain. The huge thunderstorm soaked us each in our own sleeping bags while the middle of the campground became a wading pool. Two shivering and soaked boys braving the night without a tent, covered their heads and tried to sleep.

Drying our sleeping bags in the morning sun gave us time to fish before the trek home. I now know, after years of fishing, that big fish bite best before a thunderstorm. Ed did not ever see his monster fish again but he did bring in a nice 5 pound Northern Pike. It was the right size for eating and Ed was going to get his mother to cook it that very night. He was happy and eager; a fish and his tall tale to tell his family.

By the time we reached his house after another long bike ride, mainly uphill, on a hot June sunny day, the fish in his bicycle basket had dried up some. Ed insisted it could be salvaged. The whole family gathered around to watch Ed’s mother dissect the fish. She was from the old country and not afraid of a little blood and guts. “Let’s see what’s in the stomach,” I exclaimed pointing at the bulge.

Screaming and wailing, a hairy rodent protruded out of her first slice into the stomach. We ducked from her fillet knife as Ed’s mom flailed her arms around. Once the mayhem was over and Ed’s mother was sitting at the kitchen table safely no longer hyperventilating, an angry look came over her face. “Get it out of my kitchen!” She ordered him to get rid of the contents of the guts, muskrat and all! Poor Ed, his mother was in such a state, he had to throw out his prized catch too!

Written by Barnwood 57