Super Fishing Trip

My friend Carl invited me to go fishing yesterday for Grouper.I was delighted to go and along with Carl was my golfing buddy Ron and Ron a fishing friend. I was up at 4.30 am and at the dock side At 5.30 am ready to head out on the Gulf of Mexico. Carl decided to go out to 125 feet of water and that meant over a 60 mile trip on the water.

The excitement I felt was special as this place we were going to was known for big Grouper. At thirty miles and 60 feet of water we stopped and caught bait fish. These baits were about a pound and under a foot long. We had our wet well pretty well filled so we moved on.

The weather was supposed to be calm but a north wind made the trip bumpy and rough. After nearly three hours we drifted over a large shoal in about 125 feet of water. Using one pound weights we dropped our lines and instantly Ron hooked a Grouper. It weighed 15 pounds and was a beauty. Within minutes we were busy catching Groupers.

We threw back all fish 20 inches or smaller. The water became even rougher and it was difficult to stand and we often slid from one side of the boat to the other. This did not cut down on our fun and prosperity. Within 2 hours we had ten large Groupers. in the ice locker.

We were drifting and suddenly I thought I was caught on bottom. I realized I was not because I felt a head shaking fish on the end of my line. I could not move the fish. All of us felt I hooked a giant grouper. For one half hour I fought this fish and still never moved it off the bottom. I was pretty well exhausted when I felt a little give and began the task of getting this big one to the surface. Another 15 minutes passed when my fish was sighted in the clear water. It was a nurse shark. Seven feet long and about 250 pounds of solid muscle.

I guided it to the side of the boat and photographed it and cut the line and let it go. It was my second large shark but this one made the rest look small. Even thought we were grouper fishing , catching the shark was a real treat. My arms were weak and sore but we decide to stay for a short time to look for our main treasure, grouper. We dropped our lines for the final time and all four of us had good luck. After boating these fish we called it a day . We had 14 keepers weighing about 120 pounds and that was fine.

The weather was turned nasty so we headed home by a longer route but safer.   Fighting the heavy seas and bouncing about took us about 80 miles and four hours before we sighted land. We were happy to come along Carl's dock and to get about the job of cleaning the fish. We all went home with a fine pile of fillets and great memories of our adventure out on the Gulf  of Mexico.

Fishing Trip With Grandsons

As often as possible but not often enough we try to get out fishing. This trip was planned by Adam, the eldest grandson - one who loves to fish. Troy loves to fish as well but will not eat fish. He tries but is unable to enjoy these tasty treats. Usually there is no worry because fish are hard to come by.

The location of our outing was in a lake near Lindsay and on the Trent Canal system so there is a lot of boat activity. We rented a small cabin and a boat and used every available moment on the water to catch fish. There was a bass tournament on as well so the fishing places known for production were busy.

The weather was perfect and our desire to catch fish was evident. Even getting stuck in the weeds was considered a bite but upon retrieving the bait, all we received was a handful of weeds. A few small perch and bass livened up the otherwise quiet time we shared on the lake.

We came prepared for good eating and we shared the cooking duties and cleanup. On the last outing we were determined to catch the big one before turning the boat back to the owner.Troy tried everything and finally I gave him my favourite large colourful and magical lure . With a joke I told him what it would cost if he lost it and I attached it to his line with a double leader.

Within a matter of minutes he yelled that he had a bite but Adam laughed and said it was weeds. Troy began struggling with his rod and declared for all to hear that he had a large pike. Adam at last agreed Troy had a fish but it was a muskie not a pike. After considerable effort Troy brought his catch close to the boat and I was able to get it in with the aid of my fish gloves. It was a beauty and Troy was happy and shared his joy with both of us.

That became the talk until we went ashore and cooked supper. Later we played cards but still catching this Muskie was the main topic for all of us. We returned the fish safely back to be caught again and agreed that this fish made our trip all worth while. Fishing is about the outing with friends and the stories in the future of the big one which did not get away.

Trout Fishing With Uncle Alex and Dad.

Dad had a few brothers but the one closest to him was Uncle Alex. He lived in our town and we were regular visitors to their home. One thing Dad and Alex had in common was their love of fishing.Uncle Alex was a large person and took up a lot of space when we went fishing. On one unforgettable trip down north to Breton Cove we travelled in a half ton Ford.

As the trip was a long one in the late forties with the roads not so good and a ferry to cross we left very early in the morning. As we picked up Uncle and he squeezed into the cab I was left with little room. Uncle Alex was a nervous passenger and the road over the  mountain was winding and although Dad was a good driver it was a problem if you met a logging truck.

On nearly every turn Alex would grab my knee and squeeze so hard it actually became uncomfortable. Both Dad and Alex smoked. Dad and uncle lit up when we began the trip and never ceased to let their pipes stop the relentless smoke all the way. We had to cross two ferries and waited for each nearly half an hour. This was the time when I could get out and have some fresh air. I loved to fish as well so I knew better than to complain.

All the talk was about fishing and the big ones that never made it into the boat, Between stories and laughter I knew the old folks were having a good time. Alex loved a locally made pop called Iron Brew. He had a six pack and he offered me one and it was good. I became a fan of that pop after that trip.

We finally arrived at the turn off spot and carefully drove down a narrow pathway to the ocean shore. There was the glory hole for speckled trout. Separated from the ocean by a rocky beach made up of perfectly rounded stones which made such music with every incoming wave you had to just take a moment and fill your mind with this landscape.

It was early morning and the only sound was the ocean waves and some seagulls fighting over some washed up  fish. We had a small row boat that Dad built and carried it in the back of the half ton. We were all business now as fishing was on our mind. In minutes we had the boat in the water and all the fishing gear at the ready.

Alex and Dad had other thoughts. A fire was started and tea boiled and they ate some breakfast. I already had my line wet and declared a bite but it might have been a bottom fish. I came back to the warm fire and had some toast burned over the fire and boiled tea.Soon we advanced to the boat. I saw nothing but trouble as the question was how were we to fit into that small boat. As I mentioned Uncle weighed at least 300 pounds and with Dad and me as well???

Dad got in the middle and took the oars, Uncle sat in the back and nearly sunk the boat and I curled up in the bow. Dad was not concerned as we pulled away from shore. As a joke Dad said we had a heavy load so keep the gum in the middle of your mouth. They laughed and I worried. Dad rowed to the other side of the pond and dropped his favourite anchor -  a stone on a rope.

With pipes lit to keep away the mosquitoes we began fishing. Every cast we caught a fish. These trout were all about the same size and were fun to catch. I used a alder rod which I cut as we prepared to fish. Every time Uncle got a bite or a fish he yanked it so hard it landed in the boat and the tiny boat rocked dangerously.

I could not reveal the number of trout we caught but in those days we filled the pail in no time. Dad lifted the anchor and released the stone anchor and rowed back to shore, I jumped out and so did Dad but poor Uncle had difficulty getting our t as he sat too long. He sort of rolled out not on land but in shallow water. Dad managed to help him up to our laughter and we all joined in knowing it was in good fun.

That was a special day for me and the next time I fished with Uncle was when he moved away to Ontario and so did I. I met him forty years later on Muskrat Lake near Cobden and he was fishing. We had a visit and he reminded me of that time when we caught all those trout and he caught a wet bottom. We laughed as we did that day when I was ten years old and Uncle and Dad were young as well.

Fishing With Karl

I feel so fortunate to have a friend like Karl who invites me out from time to time to catch Grouper. This year was no exception as I leave for home in a week and the call came to go fishing. Karl is a golfing buddy but is captain of his fishing boat and knows where on the Gulf to catch these great eating fish called Grouper.

The morning was perfect and the four fisherman were ready to go at 6.30 am.As we left the dock the weather was perfect but a storm was expected late in the afternoon. We stopped about 15 miles out to catch bait fish. These were less than a foot long and we managed to catch about 50 in twenty minutes. After they were safely in the wet well Karl said we were heading out to one of his special places over fifty miles west. At that location the water was 125 feet deep and there was hard structure. Perfect for Grouper.

We travelled at close to 30 mph and since the water was calm the sail was quite comfortable. As we arrived Karl decided to drift with the current so we began our routine of baiting up and trying to be the first to catch a fish. John had a instant hit and attempted to pull in his fish. He was unable to get the fish up and eventually the fish snapped his 65 pound braided line. We all began to catch fish and personally was lucky to catch 8 Grouper, four keepers and four had to go back and grow a little.

Karl is very strict with the fishing rules and even half an inch short and back it goes. Our throw backs are handled in a manner to ensure their survival. We fished for hours and laughter and excitement filled the boat. Fish after fish was caught and returned to the Gulf with only legal fish kept. The largest fish caught was a Gag Grouper but it was out of season so had to be returned. I caught a small shark and happily it broke the line and escaped at the side of the boat.

We were joined bu porpoises who stayed with us for a while playing and ate fish we threw to them. As the day went on we discussed the merits of the political scene, the banking system and other topics that were of interest to the group.The day was wonderful and as the time came to return to shore we had 8 keepers and a day memories are made of.

Travelling at a slower rate due to the roughness we saw the approaching storm closer to shore. Karl's boat is very sea worthy and well handled through years of practise  so there was no need to worry. We passed the shore markers and docked at his house without further incident.

The fish were cleaned and cut to perfection and divided equally to all members of the group. It was now 7.30 pm and as a tired but happy group we left for home with thanks to Karl and his wife for sharing their joy of fishing  with we who expressed our thanks once more before leaving.

Fishing On The Gulf

Among my friends in Florida there is a man who loves fishing as much as I do. Carl lives nearby and has several boats but for going out on the Gulf he owns a 30 ft. twin hull fishing boat. It is very stable and makes a good platform for fishing. We play golf and when he heard I was only down for a few weeks he invited me out on the opening day of Gag Grouper fishing. The size for keepers was 22 inches and you are entitled to keep two. Red Grouper are available as well with the same restrictions.

We had a perfect weather forecast with light winds and clear sky. Carl was going to go out about 40 miles. At seven in the morning the sun rose red and the clear skies made a beautiful setting as we made our way through the barrier islands and reached open sea. As we moved off shore the wind freshened and we faced a four foot chop.Carl decided to start fishing about 32 miles out. As the wind and current made it difficult to anchor we decided to drift.

Carl gave me one of his grouper rods and on the first try in 65 feet of water I caught a keeper grouper. From there on we caught fish after fish. Forty one to be exact but we were limited to two each. Although it was rough water we never noticed as the fishing was special. Comments from the group indicated that they never caught grouper that big in water so shallow. We had a perfect day which ended too soon as we had our limit. Carl had us reel in and we made for shore with the water becoming less rough so we were comfortable and talked of the fish we caught and the big ones that got away.

As we arrived at Carl's dock we cleaned up the boat as Carl did an expert job of cleaning the fish. He divided the fish equally and for my part I had 9 beautiful fillets. We departed with fish in hand and a whole lot of good memories. Theresa and I had several meals of some of the best eating fish anywhere. I cannot think of a better way of sharing time with friends than fishing.

Another Day Fishing

An early call from my friend Karl brought an instant response,Yes. That was the answer to an invite to go fishing on the Gulf for grouper.It did not take me long to get my things together and drive to St. James City on the south end of Pine Island. We were off to a 40 mile sail to his favourite fishing reef in the Gulf of Mexico.

We had a few stops on the way to catch bait fish. These bait fish were eating size for grouper or man. We caught about 35 of these perch, trigger fish and an octopus. With these treasures we ran for one and a half hours to our reef. The weather was perfect with a two foot swell and the rhythmic motion of the boat put one of our fishermen asleep. I was too busy observing the wildlife. Flying fish soaring from one wave to another, a medium sized shark and a large turtle kept me occupied..

We decided to drift over the reef rather than anchoring as the water was about 100 feet deep and there were outcrops which could catch the anchor. Immediately we had luck when we dropped our bait over the reef. Grouper were plentiful  but many did not meet the size limit. They had to be 21 inches long and it seemed nearly all were 19 or 20 inches. There could be no cheating on the size as severe monetary penalty result for not meeting the standard.

We ended up catching over 30 grouper and had a few keepers but to make matters better we also had a variety of other good eating fish. My friend Karl has all the good places marked on his GPS and as were left for home we dropped in on a few. Having 10 hours of fun in the sun on the Gulf we decided to call it a day.

As we neared the shore the view was spectacular with the sun moving closer to the water line and making a specular sunset. Having arrived at the dock the real work began as Karl cleaned up the fish and we cleaned up the boat. Every part of the boat was washed with special soap to make it smell fresh and clean. The fish were divided into four piles and after final thanks I left for home.

I can never get a better day in Florida than fishing for grouper with friends on a perfect day.

Fishing Trout Brook

Trout Brook is a small river or brook that flows into Lake Ainslie. As a young person I had the privilege of travelling there with my father for fly fishing for trout and salmon. The fish came there in numbers to spawn and provide entertainment for the local fishermen. This small area had special rules for fishing. Being set aside for fly fishing no live bait or even worms were permitted.

My father was a good fly fisherman and tied his own flies and provided some for friends and family. Dad taught us to cast our lines in the back yard and showed us how to land the fly precisely where it was supposed to go.We used split bamboo rods, ten feet long and as light as a cork. The line we used in those days was a hollow, floating material and slipped easily through the Ferrel's of the rod. The fly was attached to the line at the end of a five or six foot transparent leader.

At Trout Brook the fishermen would stand shoulder to shoulder with very little room for error when casting. As a young person trying to impress dad and catch a fish we were considered a nuisance as we made many errant casts. On one occasion I let my line and fly sink below the surface and the warden standing on the bridge yelled at me. He was not too kind as his job was to enforce the rules. With fifty or more fishermen close together it became a circus when a fish would be hooked.

The proper thing to do was to pull in lines close to the Lucky person until he landed his fish. I was not quick enough and soon lines were tangled and tempers flared as this chap had a large trout running about and tangling more and more lines. As he finally dragged his fish ashore he had half a dozen lines as well. Everyone was anxious to get back into the business of fishing but try to untangle six fine lines. The man drew his knife and cut the lines and threw the mess on to the shore. I tried to retrieve my line but five sets of hands were doing the same thing.

With patience running out I was left with the whole pile of tangles and retired to the bridge to clear up the mess. I did and ended up with five beautiful flies and a bunch of leaders. Dad put my gear in order and managed to keep a nice fly which he used to catch a trout. In the evenings fishing was halted by a shout from the warden and we went to our camps.

Fires were lit and music played into the late night.It was a memory I will always cherish. Dad took us fishing as often as possible and taught us respect for the art of fly fishing. I never learned to tie flies but used dad's with some success. Times have changed and the Trout Brook ere is but a memory but the beauty of that part of the Island is firmly fixed in my mind. I endeavour to pass on such memories to my children and grand children.

We Got a Blast From Ice Fishing

While living along the Ottawa River ice fishing was one of the winter pastimes enjoyed by many. In the winter some hundreds of ice shacks appeared at the mouth of the Muskrat River. I owned one of these shacks. Mine was rather large by local standards and was 12 feet by 14 feet. It was mounted on two large logs so it could be moved from place to place during the winter.

The furnishings were sparse as I had a card table in the middle and four fishing holes, one at each corner. A wood stove and a gas lantern completed the job. One small window kept the shack dark so you could see down the holes and observe fish. The fish were few and far between during most times.

There was a card game being played non stop to keep us entertained. People dropped by for a drink or to play cards or just fill in time with fish stories that were mostly lies or exaggerations at least. One evening a number of us went to the shack after council dressed in fine clothes with the intention of playing cards and not fishing.

Eight of us scrambled to get a chair but one had to sit out. Our gas lamp was flickering and we knew more gas would be required. One of the boys decided to run home to get another tank but when he returned he had a 35 pounder. Our gas light used those small bottles.

One of the guys said he could fix it up to work. I was skeptical but went along with the plan. The repair was done , the gas turned on and a very bright light was produced. He used a rubber hose to attach the propane tank to the light. All went well until one of our number lost his balance and as he went down he grabbed the rubber hose.

There was a loud blast, a blue flame and two wall were moved from our shack. A flame continued from the hose and it flew around like a snake. I finally got the gas turned off and assessed the damage. The covering over the window was still burning, walls were charred black and all of us were minus eyebrows. One beard was written off and the fancy clothes used for council were perfect on the back but burned on the front.

Minor burns to hands and face was all I sustained. Within minutes the fire department was on sight and were concerned as they heard the blast several hundred meters away. We were lucky nobody was injured or even killed. After a lecture from the fire captain and a signed report we quietly put the shack together again and called it a night.

No fish were caught that night but we sure had a blast. I was the last one leaving that night and as I swept the floor of my fishing hut I managed to pick up quite a little money. You see everyone forgot about the poker game. I just decided I won the last hand.

Car Top Fishing Boat - The Punt

As a youngster, fishing was one of the activities you could engage in for free. When you live by the ocean, a big pond and numerous trout streams you are that much luckier. Our part of Cape Breton was a natural wonder when it came to fishing and nearly all my friends shaped their spare time around this port.

We fished in the creek running into the big pond and had great catches of speckled trout in the spring. The docks at North Sydney were treasure troves for large smelt and perch. Everywhere you looked was a fishing opportunity. Dad was not satisfied. We travelled fifty miles down north to a place called Breton Cove where the trout were numerous but hard to reach without a boat. We travelled to Lake Anslie where you could fish from shore but how much better if you had a boat.

In our crowded garage Dad began his plan to build a boat. Not any boat, but one that could accommodate three people, light enough for him to handle alone and one that could fit in the back of our half ton or on the roof of our car. No small order but a challenge for Dad.

From materials he had on hand and one sheet of three eighth plywood (new ) he began the task. Dad had no problem as he had built boats before, and this was a small one. Within days it was completed and he made sure it was water tight by filling it with water. If it held water it would hold out water.

With paint from the garage he painted it green on the sides and black on the bottom. A small front seat with a main rowing seat and a back, full width rear seat completed the task. Oars carved from some wood and a rope with a piece of metal for an anchor completed the equipment.
As I recall we never used life jackets because they would get in the way while fishing. The trial run was made with three of us adjusting to the instability of the small craft. As a joke Dad said you had to keep the gum in the middle of your mouth or it would tip. We named it the Punt and at eight feet long and nearly four feet wide, it was awesome for us; freedom to get to the fish.

That little craft answered a dream for Dad as much as a thousand dollar boat would today. During my youth the Punt was the center of activity when we fished, had a picnic or just swimming from it as a floating platform. It was our family cruiser and we were proud of it. Years later Dad had boats up to forty feet long and we enjoyed them but no more than our tiny punt. One day it had to be retired but before we did, Dad said that he caught enough trout to fill the Punt and it owed him nothing.

My life was centered around water and boats all my life and I truly believe it was the influence from the pleasure we had with the Punt that made it possible. I would give anything to have a return visit with my dad in that small punt.

Jigging Arctic Style

The shoreline of the North West Passage (NWP) is alive these days with Inuit drying their winter char. The char are moving out of the lakes and into the salt water of the NWP. Here they feast on the shrimp and young Tommy cod and gain a third of their weight. In the meantime the char had to pass from the lakes, down the flowing rivers to the sea.

On their journey downstream they encounter scores of people jigging through the ice or in open leads. In years past, the Inuit used a small attractive object on a string made of animal guts to attract the char. Once the char come close they were captured by the skillful use of a special spear.When cutting through the ice you encounter nine feet of new ice which proves to be a challenge.

The result is worth the effort when you are rewarded with a 10 lb. char. Today a few people use the traditional method to catch their fish as many converted to using nets. One day I was driving along the NWP on my atv and came upon the commissioner of the NWT beginning to pull a net. She was late in her sixties and about a hundred lbs but she was skillful and mighty. Her husband John was present and was ready to launch id 20 foot open boat to release the end of the net.

They had done this for years and new every move to accommodate the task. Two minutes were needed to release the net and Helen and I pulled the net as john came ashore and helped. The net was full of lovely char and we counted 59 fish averaging 8 lbs. Quickly they were placed far from the shore as they could return to the water in one flip.

Cutting the fish was a traditional womens task and with an ulu one Inuit women could make quick work of that number of fish. I asked if I could help and Helen showed me the skill of the use of an ulu. Ulu means woman's knife but I never hesitated in using it from that day on.The fish are cut down the back and boned, leaving the fish joined at the tail so they might be hung to dry. In less than an hour the task was complete and Helen probably did more than half and John and I the rest.

Helen told me of the old days when fish failed to come that way and John would have to set out to find Char or starve. John was known for his ability to find char and animals using his traditional knowledge. He laughed when he said his best friend in finding the fish was the seal because they could see underwater. He laughed but was serious. The seal follows the char.

After tea and a pilot biscuit with jam I left John and Helen after being given four fish - all ready to be eaten. For the rest of my time in the Arctic I took every opportunity to learn from the Inuit and became a successful hunter and fisherman because of the acquired skills. For all the fun I had, none was more endearing to me than jigging for char.

Arctic Char

About this time of the year a magical process takes place in the waters of the Arctic. These waters are home to one of the culinary treasures of the world, Arctic Char. This fish is part of the trout family and has adapted itself to its environment perfectly. The char live in the lakes and rivers for ten months of the year coinciding with the freeze up of these waters. They migrate every year from the ocean through rivers to move inland to lakes for the ten months of hibernation.

From what I know of this fish it remains relatively quiet for these months and lives off the accumulated fat gained from eating shrimp and Tommy cods for two months. Studies show that these fish remain in the same place and become almost comatose and lose up to 30 % of their body weight during the long cold winters.

In the spring as the ice begins to melt and the rivers which were frozen during the winter begin to open up and flow to the sea, the char wake up. Nature causes these fish to get to the ocean and a feeding frenzy begins. This cycle really begins around the end of June and continues for two months . The char gain up to 40% of their weight as they fill up on the plentiful food supply. During this period the fish travel in schools and the Inuit gather them in nets along the shores of the Arctic

The char are so very important for the Inuit as they are dried and stored for the winter. Although many fish are caught there appears to be a good supply and conservation methods are adhered by sportsmen and the Inuit.

I loved to fish the char and eat them in a number of ways. The Inuit taught me to try eating them raw with a little sauce and I never looked back. With a light rod and a lure you could not ask for a better game fish. The speed they generate when hooked and the leaps makes your fishing day a dream come true. My friends and family who visited me were astounded at the joy of fishing in the Arctic. The size of these fish makes catching them a battle as they can reach up to 28 lbs. The average in my experience was about 6 to 10 lbs. I caught one which was 22 lbs. on a 12 lb, test line using a ten of diamonds lure.

In the fall about the end of August these fish make their way back to their winter hid away to begin the cycle all over again. The next time you see Arctic Char on a restaurant menu order this delicious treat. Blood red flesh, firm and appealing will make you a fan of this Arctic delight.

May 24th

Every year about this time we would start to think about the May 24 holiday. This was the opening of trout season in Cape Breton. For we boys fishing was almost a religion. Our small group planned the first day and dreamed of the first fish. Tommy, Orville, Harry and others would be ready for the opening day. The night before was almost like Christmas as we prepared our bikes, packed our lunch and tried to sleep.

At five in the morning we would creep out of bed , dash downstairs and pack our sack with all the essentials. The weather was of no concern. For my lunch it was always bread , cut thick with jam and peanut butter packed down and stuffed in a bread wrapper from the co-op. Some cookies if available, an apple and matches for the fire. The worm can overflowing with juicy eye catching crawlers was the most important bait. Black fishing line and a can of hooks of various sizes and a sharp knife for any use called upon.

With a warm jacket and sometimes even gloves, we hurled our bikes into action to meet at Sexton's store step. Someone was always late and began making weak, useless excuses when within earshot. Heads counted, we rode at record speed to reach the big pond bridge where we looked over to check for fish. With none being seen we tore through Florence and headed for the swinging bridge at Little Bras D'Or where we saw the whirlpools on the right side of the bridge, meaning the tide was going out.

The next part of the trip was uphill for a couple of miles. In those days the road from here was not paved and the going was rough. Near the top we dismounted and walked talking of the fish waiting to be caught. McKenzie Brook was our destination and we arrived at our secret spot and hid our bikes and made for the alder woods to cut a fishing rod. Always the same thing, get a gad about 6 feet long, straight if possible. Quickly remove the bark and take in the strong scent of the new growth and cut a notch at the end. The black line was quickly made into a noose to be placed over the notch. The slip knot was pulled and we were ready for the hook and small sinker.

All this completed we started to make the game work. A pop for the first trout and another for the biggest. A nut bar for the most.The bets made - and a mad dash for the favourite hole which promised many fish. With skill the large worms were threaded down the hook and at last, we were fishing.

What a pleasure, what a feeling when the tug on the line meant a pure gift. Shouts were heard and calls about the big one an so on. For hours we drew in our little speckled trout and each of us had at least two dozen. We stopped for lunch and the crushed lunch wrappers we opened and grasped by worm infested hands but that did not matter. We were fishermen and this was part of the fun. The sun shone hot on our faces and our first spring burn was well underway. We gathered moss and packed our precious cargo to return home to show our bounty.

On our bikes again we drove at break neck speed and when we got to the top of the hill overlooking the lake we again made bets. Who could go the farthest without peddling and who could go down the hill with hands behind the back. With shouts and squeals we descended to the road below and continued forgetting the bets but wishing to get home to show Mom and Dad the fish.

As we approached our home we said our goodbyes and raced to our respective homes. Mom I'm home and look at the fish I caught. Mom's smile made it worth the day. When we sat for supper Mom said in a proud manner, "these are the fish Henry caught today", I was so happy. I was so tired and I was ready to go again tomorrow.