Fishing with my, Dad.

This past weekend we had decided to have my Dad come out to our rustic log cabin in the woods. We were hoping that getting him out of town and out of his apartment in the city would be the ideal break he needed and, a memorable change in scenery. Within twenty minutes of leaving Winnipeg we drove into a wall of pounding rain. Each Friday we have had either rain or snow on our way to the lake. There is a lot to be said for consistency, I suppose.

However, Saturday was a brand new day and it started off with sunshine and not a cloud to be seen on the horizon. This was an instant boost for each of us. After an early breakfast we sauntered to our shoreline to tackle one of the endless chores on our "to do" list, burning brush that had accumulated from clearing our path for stairs later this year. With the high winds it felt cooler than the plus sixteen degrees Celsius.

Going fishing was our plan for the afternoon and off we went. The sunny day filled our spirits with hope and promise for the post-spawn bite of our Provincial fish, the Walleye. Within fifteen minutes of our arrival my father landed the first, a whopping twenty-four inch brute. Like a light switch, we now were hitting a fish with each drift. Four for four, my wife followed up with another twenty-four incher and finally on the fourth pass we had our first stringer fish. On our fifth pass, I landed a chunky Northern Pike over thirty inches. The next two passes were also more large Pike and the Walleye action ended as quickly as it had started. We worked our river for the next two hours and we finished our day with ten fish caught in three hours. The count was Irma at six, my Dad at two and two for myself. I was the only one without reeling in another Walleye.

As we sat around our campfire in the evening I was the target for the trash talk because of blanking in the Walleye department. My wife continues to out-catch, out-fish me. Not a good start to the season. Reflecting by the dancing flames of the fire I had come to the realization the last time I had gone fishing with my Dad was about thirty-five years ago on the west shores of Lake Winnipeg. I'm glad to have had this weekend with my father and I know he had an excellent adventure with his family as he couldn't stop talking about his time on Bird River with a function we had to attend on Sunday. If you haven't done so lately, take a parent fishing and don't wait as long as I did.

Opening Day.

Living in Manitoba you never know what the weather will be on opening day and the forecast this year wasn't hopeful. The morning of the new fishing season started with a fresh blanket of snow and minus two degrees Celsius, brrrrr. The afternoon called for an eighty percent chance of rain or snow. As I sipped my steaming cup of coffee beside the blasting heat of our wood stove, I knew I was committed to brave our icy waters today.

Off I went to buy some live minnows and the new season's angling license. Upon my return I started with my full piece long john's as the first clothing layer of many. To my surprise, my wife Irma said she would join me as long as I promised to drop her off at shore when she was too cold. In all our years together she never fished with me on opening day when the weather was this frigid. What can I say, we have just finished one of our longest and coldest winters and she was anxious to be on the open water. My neighbor Gary, after a half hour of convincing earlier in the morning, opted to join us as well.

Once the boat was launched there is always a pit in my stomach as I glare at the motor that had run beautifully last fall before I winterized it. Will the motor spark to life and guide us to a honey hole of Walleye for our crew? Well, I flooded the motor and I prayed it wasn't a sign of bad luck. However, the Mercury coughed and spit to life after a few minutes and many many pulls and the air filled with the aroma of gas and oil, I smiled and thanked my twenty-five year old motor.

Off we roared to our first destination on Bird River, a spot I call "Fishing Woman's Dock" and not a nibble between the three of us. With the abnormally cold spring we've had so far this year, everything indicated that the Walleye had not spawned yet. As the minutes turned into hours and as we hit every "guaranteed to catch a fish" spot, the tough weather conditions equalled the biting action. Every boat we talked too had the same story, no to very few fish. Every angler held their breath when the question would be asked, "catch anything?", hoping to be told where the magical spot could be found on this opening day.

After five hours of working the river and our spring spots we felt a sense of pride in our boat. First, we survived the elements and the afternoon turned out to be a sunny affair and not even close to the morning forecast. We saw a Red Fox along the shore and several Turtles sunning themselves on driftwood. Assuming the other anglers were being honest about their luck, I know we lied about ours when asked, lol, we caught nine fish between the three of us. We lost some and we were able to bring home four good-sized keepers. My wife, Irma, caught the biggest Walleye and also landed the most stringer fish. Damn, she starts this year with the bragging rights!