Fish On

The sunrise streamed over the lake from Greenwood Island into my bedroom. The billboard from heaven read, “Welcome back to Home Waters.” It was only 5:30 in the morning, but I received the welcome notice with half-open eyes and a smile on my face. Deep under the heavy covers, I uttered a thank you to everyone who made camp ready for my few days of relaxation and—most importantly to me—fishing for landlocked salmon. There were Katie and Greg, who readied camp, but also my good friend, Thom, who, along with Speedy, drove a 20-foot trailer up from the Hamptons with my 1973 Land Rover Defender — for jaunts in the back woods — as well as a new inflatable pontoon with an electric motor for cove fishing. Thom’s wife, Theresa, and son, Justin, also joined us for the weekend.

The assembly of the pontoon boat required not only Thom and Speedy but also Thom’s son, a PhD planetary scientist who came along to celebrate Mother’s Day at camp with his mom and dad. Andy texted me late yesterday that he would canoe over in his East Grand and pick me up dockside — a special treat since Andy has not visited camp in several years. It was also a chance for him to visit with Greg and Speedy.

When Andy arrived at the dock, he reached up from the stern of his canoe to shake my hand. His welcoming grip reassured me that the winter had gone well for him. His beard, a well-worn gray, matched a thick head of hair poking out from a baseball cap. “Ready for salmon?’ he bellowed. “Sure am!” I answered, and I lowered myself from the dock into the bow of the canoe. Off into the east we went at full throttle. Andy has his usual spots for trolling for salmon. Greg had deposited into the canoe a tub of fresh smelts he collared for us in case the traditional flies did not work. I prefer not to use live bait, but when all else fails, it is my default.

Uncharacteristically, I left my watch at the camp — an indication of how relaxed I was. In fact, I forgot what day it was and missed my call to Patti wishing her a happy Mother’s Day. We trolled quietly along the shore, the line between my fingers, awaiting the slight tug. Andy brought me up to date with local news — there was a new cook at Wheaton’s Lodge — and he filled me in on the health status of the Wheaton’s crew. I had little to offer, just having come off three hearings that had drained me over the last month. I needed this Spring rejuvenation – the kind that only comes with a visit to camp, with the buds blooming and the birds finding the various feeders put out by Katie. A family of bluejays was encamped at the feeder off the porch. The fresh air with temps in the mid-50s made for a clear head devoid of all the stress from out East.

As I drifted off, relaxing, my feet dangling over the railing of the canoe, Andy shouted, “Fish on!” Whoop, where am I? My initial instinct is to stand up when a fish is on so I can keep my rod tip high and taut. Clumsily, I stepped into the well in the bow and started reeling in. What a feeling to have my first fish at camp and, hopefully, a salmon. Andy has the ability, after fishing the lake for some 30 years, to predict the kind of fish on the line — salmon, trout, or bass — well before it becomes visible on the water’s surface. Andy correctly identified it as salmon. Not a giant, but a salmon, nevertheless. Andy measured it in the net, and we let it go for another day. We were looking for its mother. Next, we caught a trout, which would be an appetizer at lunch, and then a smallmouth bass. The fishing day ended with a freshly caught lunch cooked by Andy over an open fire at Dale’s work-in-progress camp on an island somewhere on the lake.

We returned to find Justin and Greg fishing some 100 feet off the dock in the new pontoon boat. Everyone had a calm and stress-free day at camp. The trailer crew left at 5:00 a.m. on Monday for a drop-off in Boston and then back to East Hampton. I get to stay a couple more days to feast on Katie’s cooking and fish with Greg. All good at Home Waters. A delicious taste of Mother Nature among friends.