Story: Don't Fish and Smoke

We were fishing Canada’s great Lake Nipissing during this episode. As usual, we had everyone place a bet on the biggest fish. We were all over 20 years old by then, so we really overextended our usually “Henry-frugal” betting practices and went with a $10 wager per person!

My dad, Fred, was on this trip. It was one of his last Canada trips, and he was in his glory days—constantly saying he had already caught a bigger fish than anyone and that he wasn’t going to fish until we started catching something.

Well, he did put ten bucks in the pot, which had grown to about $80. So Dad sat on the porch every night reading while we were all out on the lake. He just wanted to listen to the loons and read. Dad was a great reader.

Then the last night came around, and none of us—each one of us either directly or indirectly taught to “pike fish” by our Great White Father himself—had caught a thing. So Fred decides that since none of us remembered anything he had taught us, he was going to go out fishing with us that last night and win the pot.

I fixed him up with one of my really nice spare rigs, which I proudly presented to him, and we all headed out onto the lake. We had three boats, all gathered in the same bay, when Dad—using his old faithful red-and-white Daredevil (actually mine, since Rick and I had split up Dad’s dusty old tackle box years earlier)—ties into “the big one”!

He’d set his drag a little loose and was taking his good old time bringing this winning fish in. As he reeled, he made sure we all understood what he was doing right and what we had been doing wrong the entire trip. The other two boats quietly drifted closer to ours to get a good look at The Winner.

We pulled out the net, and I noticed Dad had his rod held way back over his shoulder, the tip bent down toward his hat. I thought nothing of it, and just as I dipped the net into the water, suddenly his line snapped. In slow motion, we all watched the winning fish glide away, almost laughing at us.

Now, in Canada, in the evening, with a beautiful sunset and no one around except our group—loons calling and whippoorwills warming up in the background—there is a peace and serenity that stays with you forever. All of a sudden that silence was shattered by a loud bellow that echoed off the shores:

“God dammit, how many times have I told you boys to put new line on your reels every year before you go to Canada!”

Then he stood up, gazed straight at the sky like he had just lost a million bucks and all bragging rights for the year, and in a disgusted tone said, “Whose rod is this anyway?”

I picked up the broken end of the line, examined it, and said, “It’s mine, Dad. And I did put new line on it. And… Dad… I think this line has been melted.” I handed him the end, all dark and twisted like a spring—clearly from excess heat.

He looked at the line. Then at me. Then at the line again. He took the cigarette out of his mouth, stared at it, and in a very quiet tone said, “I’ll be damned.”

You never saw three boats full of guys laugh so hard. Dad was extremely quiet all the way home the next day.

—Scott Henry

July 10, 2017 Brian Lee