The Weariness of Travelling and Fishing Across Canada

Every September it's the same old story - just ask my wife, she'll tell you. After spending all of July and August crisscrossing the country in search of new and unique fishing opportunities, there's nothing left in the tank come Labor Day.

My equipment's wrecked, the money's spent, the boat's a mess, I'm miserable (so Joanne says) and exhausted. My desk is littered with unpaid bills, junk mail, phone messages, outdoor magazines, lists of household jobs and yard chores needing my attention.

Out of frustration, I vow that next year I will cut back on my travels, relax and spend more time at home with my wonderful family and energetic grandchildren, who honestly believe that to swim in Papa's pool or test the water toys, Papa must first be unceremoniously thrown in.

A few years back, after weeks of incredibly brutal weather, lousy fishing and a number of cancellations in my itinerary, I actually wrote a promissory note to my wife vowing that in the coming summer I would cut my time "in the field" by half.

A week later, I wished I'd never learned to write. I spent the entire fall / winter hiatus trying to find that damn note, but never did. On Father's Day, in an angelic gesture, the note was returned to me - my promise dismissed and stupidity duly noted.

Most anglers would trade their tackle for the opportunities to travel and fish that I enjoy - fishing the best hotspots for a variety of sportfish species, enjoying hearty shore lunches almost daily, field testing the latest in tackle, and getting paid for writing about it. Can it really be "work”? And if it is, "How hard can it be?”

Believe it or not, there is a down side. The continuous energy drain in fishing 10 to 12 hours a day, day after day, week after week would turn most guys off fishing forever.

Fishing in terrible weather, cooking your own meals, doing the dishes afterwards, sleeping in mouse-infested outposts, using an outhouse, bailing leaky boats and wrestling with temperamental motors hardly qualify as outdoor experiences.

Bug repellents, cleaning fish and chopping firewood make bathing in ice-cold northern lakes a necessity, not a pleasure. Half the time, the soap won't even lather, especially on those parts that most need a damn good scrubbing.

Cold, wet feet, a sore behind, lower back pain, tortured hands, bug bites, sunburn and windburn are everyday miseries.

Never mind that the other guy is catching more and bigger fish because I am busy running the motor, maneuvering the boat, bailing out water, tending the net, watching the fishfinder and doling out the worms.

My son, attending university in Ottawa, had but one week off each summer - I wasn't home. I got home in time for Joanne’s birthday, but didn't have time to shop for a suitable gift.

Neither did I get to volunteer my help at the Lions Carnival nor indulge at local Ethnic Day celebrations. Missed the Canada Day fireworks, strawberry socials, church dinners, the Can-Am Walleye Tournament and a community fish fry, too. Now, those are real sacrifices!

Don't get me wrong - the fishing part is great - but half the battle is just getting there.

Last-minute cancellations or invitations, changes in the itinerary, Toronto area traffic, seemingly endless drives northward, vehicle woes, overpriced restaurant food, flea-bag motels with sway-back mattresses, construction zones, bridges under repair, and wrong turns prolong that misery.

Just as often, even when we arrive on time, the weather is bad and flights are delayed!

Don't you just hate it when, upon arriving at camp, some guy says, "Ya shoulda bin here last week." or, "Ain't caught a fish since the weather went out." So, with all that time, why didn't they at least clean up the cabin and wash the dishes before departing the camp?

One motor needs a new prop, a second won't troll properly, and the third won't start. Boats leak, the propane fridge isn't working, the bugs are bad, the outhouse is plugged (!), we forgot to buy bread.
It's too rough, too cold, raining too hard (and my rain gear leaks).

Whoever said, "Where there's smoke, there's fire," has never tried to burn the firewood provided at fishing camps.

"Try a bit of naptha to get it started," I offered.

Whooosh ! "Yeow !"

"Hey, that was exciting ... and that hair'll grow back in no time!"

Pull the boats, clean the cabin, pack up the world's filthiest laundry, chisel the fish out of the freezer, and wrestle a sleeping bag into a tiny pouch. So that's where the bread was!

Impatiently wait for a pilot who swears his flight schedule said 4 o'clock not noon. Strip down to skivvies to push the plane off a sand bar; load enough gear and stinking garbage to abort takeoff; wonder the whole flight back about what was left behind.

And so it goes - the trials and tribulations of fishing travel. Consider yourself lucky if you cannot identify with (m)any of these scenarios, and take pity on me.

Travelling and fishing can be a massive chore sometimes, but if readers are going to ever find out about the joys of fishing across Canada, somebody's gotta do it.

Better me than you, wouldn't you agree?