In the Middle of Nowhere
I had planned to fish Head Lake. I was working in Haliburton that day and I wanted to get some largemouth fishing done before switching to smallmouth on the weekend and I didn't want to go very far. There were threats of thunderstorms on the radio. Maybe I wouldn't go after all. But at lunchtime I was asked to deliver some documents to a place in Bancroft. It was a good excuse to meet some of the real estate agents there. So I went.
"There's a shortage of lawyers in town." That was the common thread. I smiled every time I heard those words. Not just because it meant there were business opportunities for my firm. But because it meant there weren't many people around who loved working in small communities. I guess I always liked being different.
On the way back from Bancroft I saw a boat launch sign. I turned left spontaneously even though I didn't know where I was going. I could feel that familiar thrill of being somewhere new. It seemed like I was in the middle of nowhere and that was just fine with me. After driving for a kilometre on a dirt road I came to a parking lot. I didn't really pay attention to the beach because I was busy examining the giant weed bed to my right. "That'll hold some largemouth," I thought.
A woman approached me as I unpacked my gear. It looked like she was going to spend a few hours in the sun with her daughter.
"What's the fishing line?"
"Sorry?" I responded.
"What's the fishing like? My husband wants to know."
"Oh, I have no idea. I've never been here before. I don't even know what lake this is." She thanked me and walked away while I tightened the drag as much as I could on my baitcaster.
I started in the thick stuff. It was quiet except for the noise of the lily pads brushing against my kayak and the distant sounds of children splashing and yelling at the beach. "Maybe it's too shallow here," I said to myself after half an hour without any bites. The purple flowers of the pickerelweed moved slowly in the light wind and every so often a fish would surface. I moved into some open water and picked up the spinning outfit with a popper dangling at the end of the line. Casting parallel to the edges of the weeds, I quickly caught two small largemouth. The big ones were somewhere else.
There was a shoreline near the weeds that dropped quickly to a depth of about eight feet. The bottom was littered with fallen trees. I returned to the baitcaster. My fifth cast was perfect. I gently feathered the spool with my thumb and the fifty pound braid felt nice against my skin. The jig with a BioSpawn VileCraw trailer dropped quietly into the water close to shore under the branch of an overhanging tree. It swam to the bottom. And then the tip of my rod started vibrating.
I set the hook and reeled as quickly as I could to get the fish away from all of the submerged branches. It felt decent. I angled the rod to keep the bass from jumping and muscled it closer and closer until I could finally reach for the net with my right hand while playing it with my left. I scooped it up. My heart raced as I disengaged the reel. I didn't realize how big it was until I had it in the kayak. It was thick too.
After a few pictures, the giant swam off with an aggressive kick of its tail and I sat motionless with a stupid grin on my face and five ecstatic minutes passed before I picked up the rod again.
I paddled back to the beach about an hour later as the sun set. An old man sat in a lawn chair next to his wife and his dog. He watched his grandchildren playing in the water and warned them that if they were too loud they would have to go home. "Catch anything?" he asked.
"Only the biggest largemouth of my life." That stupid grin showed itself one more time and then I left without even knowing where I'd been.
Greg Cholkan is a lawyer, fisherman and Hemingway impersonator. He works in Huntsville and Haliburton with Barriston LLP and his practice focuses on real estate, wills and estates, and business matters. Follow him on Twitter: @gregcholkan
"There's a shortage of lawyers in town." That was the common thread. I smiled every time I heard those words. Not just because it meant there were business opportunities for my firm. But because it meant there weren't many people around who loved working in small communities. I guess I always liked being different.
"What's the fishing line?"
"Sorry?" I responded.
"What's the fishing like? My husband wants to know."
"Oh, I have no idea. I've never been here before. I don't even know what lake this is." She thanked me and walked away while I tightened the drag as much as I could on my baitcaster.
I started in the thick stuff. It was quiet except for the noise of the lily pads brushing against my kayak and the distant sounds of children splashing and yelling at the beach. "Maybe it's too shallow here," I said to myself after half an hour without any bites. The purple flowers of the pickerelweed moved slowly in the light wind and every so often a fish would surface. I moved into some open water and picked up the spinning outfit with a popper dangling at the end of the line. Casting parallel to the edges of the weeds, I quickly caught two small largemouth. The big ones were somewhere else.
 |
| Blurry proof that I'm not just holding the fish close to the camera... |
I set the hook and reeled as quickly as I could to get the fish away from all of the submerged branches. It felt decent. I angled the rod to keep the bass from jumping and muscled it closer and closer until I could finally reach for the net with my right hand while playing it with my left. I scooped it up. My heart raced as I disengaged the reel. I didn't realize how big it was until I had it in the kayak. It was thick too.
I paddled back to the beach about an hour later as the sun set. An old man sat in a lawn chair next to his wife and his dog. He watched his grandchildren playing in the water and warned them that if they were too loud they would have to go home. "Catch anything?" he asked.
"Only the biggest largemouth of my life." That stupid grin showed itself one more time and then I left without even knowing where I'd been.
Greg Cholkan is a lawyer, fisherman and Hemingway impersonator. He works in Huntsville and Haliburton with Barriston LLP and his practice focuses on real estate, wills and estates, and business matters. Follow him on Twitter: @gregcholkan
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