When the going gets tough...
Mr. Cholkan,
I am writing to update you on the application process for the position for which you applied, with regrets that we are not able to offer you a position at this time...
Saturday morning. I wake up at 7 o'clock, tired, groggy, half-conscious. Almost automatically, I throw a rain jacket, a few new lures and some new line into my travel bag. Clothes or clean underwear? No need. I stumble into the car and try to get a little more sleep while my dad drives north. Before I know it, we're in Barrie, and I'm eating a steak, egg and cheese breakfast sandwich- with olives, hot peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers and honey mustard sauce. The rest of the way, from Barrie to Line 14, I gather myself, and become obsessively focussed on my game plan for the weekend. I didn't catch any decent smallies a few weekends ago; I won't be denied again.
The conditions are tough, and the boat's not coming out this time. It's just me and my canoe. Back to the basics. I put on my rain jacket in vain -- I'm going to get soaked whether I wear it or not. The waves aren't huge, but there are whitecaps in certain areas, and the wind is wreaking havoc. Simcoe is a tough mistress: she'll give you what you want, but she won't make it easy. Screw it, I say, as I get into my canoe and push away from shore- I haven't fished for a few weeks, and I didn't come up north to read Hemingway all weekend.
The wind is whipping me around, and I'm swearing like a sailor, muscles straining just to try and keep my canoe on the right track, in 14 to 17 feet of water. I'm trolling with a LiveTarget Yellow Perch* because doing anything else would be a waste of time in this weather. I go to shore for awhile on the other side of the bay, where the wind has pushed me. Frustrated, I sit and wait, hoping for the wind to die down. But I can't give-up, even though my muscles are sore from hours of canoeing.
I get back in my vessel, but my pleas for mercy are ignored, and the wind, relentless, continues to impose its will on me. I'm totally wet, hoping that at least my camera stays dry. As I'm trolling, I start hitting some snags, so I reel up to check my lure and take off the weeds that are stuck to the hooks. I cast behind me, and almost immediately after I start paddling, before the lure hits its maximum depth, I see the rod twitch violently. I grab it and see a fish jump in the distance. Patiently, I bring it towards the canoe, and it's in my hands shortly thereafter. It's not a giant, but it's a beautiful, healthy looking fish, and in these conditions, I'll take it.
Our lives are full of adversity and, often times, full of people who doubt us: friends, enemies, teachers, employers, and even strangers, family members and significant others. They say that we will fail, that we will crumble, and that we shouldn't pursue our dreams because we are not iron-willed or skilled enough to achieve them. Sometimes these people are right. But only if we allow them to be - failure, as Chael Sonnen aptly puts it, is always an option. It's also always a choice. So the next time someone tells you that you aren't good enough for someone or something, feel free to reply: I regret to inform you that I will not give up, I will persevere, no matter how tough the conditions get, and I will succeed. I won't prove you wrong; I'll prove myself right.
*size 2 7/8", dive depth 6'-8', using 20lb mono
I am writing to update you on the application process for the position for which you applied, with regrets that we are not able to offer you a position at this time...
Saturday morning. I wake up at 7 o'clock, tired, groggy, half-conscious. Almost automatically, I throw a rain jacket, a few new lures and some new line into my travel bag. Clothes or clean underwear? No need. I stumble into the car and try to get a little more sleep while my dad drives north. Before I know it, we're in Barrie, and I'm eating a steak, egg and cheese breakfast sandwich- with olives, hot peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers and honey mustard sauce. The rest of the way, from Barrie to Line 14, I gather myself, and become obsessively focussed on my game plan for the weekend. I didn't catch any decent smallies a few weekends ago; I won't be denied again.
The conditions are tough, and the boat's not coming out this time. It's just me and my canoe. Back to the basics. I put on my rain jacket in vain -- I'm going to get soaked whether I wear it or not. The waves aren't huge, but there are whitecaps in certain areas, and the wind is wreaking havoc. Simcoe is a tough mistress: she'll give you what you want, but she won't make it easy. Screw it, I say, as I get into my canoe and push away from shore- I haven't fished for a few weeks, and I didn't come up north to read Hemingway all weekend.
The wind is whipping me around, and I'm swearing like a sailor, muscles straining just to try and keep my canoe on the right track, in 14 to 17 feet of water. I'm trolling with a LiveTarget Yellow Perch* because doing anything else would be a waste of time in this weather. I go to shore for awhile on the other side of the bay, where the wind has pushed me. Frustrated, I sit and wait, hoping for the wind to die down. But I can't give-up, even though my muscles are sore from hours of canoeing.
I get back in my vessel, but my pleas for mercy are ignored, and the wind, relentless, continues to impose its will on me. I'm totally wet, hoping that at least my camera stays dry. As I'm trolling, I start hitting some snags, so I reel up to check my lure and take off the weeds that are stuck to the hooks. I cast behind me, and almost immediately after I start paddling, before the lure hits its maximum depth, I see the rod twitch violently. I grab it and see a fish jump in the distance. Patiently, I bring it towards the canoe, and it's in my hands shortly thereafter. It's not a giant, but it's a beautiful, healthy looking fish, and in these conditions, I'll take it.
Our lives are full of adversity and, often times, full of people who doubt us: friends, enemies, teachers, employers, and even strangers, family members and significant others. They say that we will fail, that we will crumble, and that we shouldn't pursue our dreams because we are not iron-willed or skilled enough to achieve them. Sometimes these people are right. But only if we allow them to be - failure, as Chael Sonnen aptly puts it, is always an option. It's also always a choice. So the next time someone tells you that you aren't good enough for someone or something, feel free to reply: I regret to inform you that I will not give up, I will persevere, no matter how tough the conditions get, and I will succeed. I won't prove you wrong; I'll prove myself right.
*size 2 7/8", dive depth 6'-8', using 20lb mono
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