FISHING WITH DAD

 

Fishing With Dad

I was watching a movie on Netflix, one of the series films that Netflix produces, entitled “The Gentleman”, or at least I think that it was called. Anyway I won’t go into details about the movie, only attempt to describe a scene that triggered a long lost memory. A member of the noble family, the brother of the Lord of the manor…. incidentally this movie takes place in our time, and in England where they still embrace royalty, I digress, the member of this noble family was in a rowboat with the stableman floating on their man made lake, fishing. Tiring of waiting for the fish to take the hook, he, the brother, suddenly stood up, shotgun in hand, and blasts the water. The camera zooms to a height, and looks down on the scene below. As a result of the blast to the water, stunned fish dot the surface of the pond.

I’m reminded of the summer when I went fishing with my dad. I wouldn’t have been more than seven, or eight years old.  My dad, a Great Lakes sailor was rarely home in the summer, so, in thinking back, it must must have been one of those rare times that his boat had brought a load of grain, or coal, to Midland, and that he had a few hours leave to visit home while it was being unloaded. 

Now, I must tell you, that even when I was seven, or eight years of age, I was aware that we didn’t have much money. Dad had a job most of the time, at least in the summer when he went away sailing, but back in those days sailors weren’t paid much. Come winter when dad came home, if the shipyard had no contracts to build a ship, then dad would have no work, and there was no income. Back then there was no unemployment insurance. There was what they called pogey, a welfare benefit, but no one wanted it to be known that they were receiving welfare (although everyone knew as they too were experiencing hardship), so they made do with virtually nothing, relying upon family, parents, when things got really bad. People today have no idea just how good things are, even when they’re bad. Yet people complain, and are continually beseeching the government for more, and even more. Hands out continually, makes me sick to listen to, or read about it, in the so called news. People have forgotten to put away for rainy days, or how to make do on less. Anyway, again I digress.

Dad’s boat arriving in Midland took mom by surprise, and with not much in the ice box for supper, Dad decided to go fishing. Dad with his shotgun in hand, and me carrying basket, we set off down the hill towards the Reservoir, or so the area was called, a bush area located a few blocks away from our home alongside the Penetang road.

The sign said no trespassing, but my dad, ignoring the sign, lifted the old wire fence and we crawled under. The Reservoir was where the town got some of it’s water, that’s why there was suppose to be no trespassing. The bush was dense, but we made it through to the small spring fed stream that ran through the bush down to the Bay. We walked alongside the stream until we got to a narrow section where dad dragged some fallen tree trunks damming up the water. We waited as the dammed stream turned into a small pond. In the crystal clear water I could see Speckled Trout darting about. We waited. Then dad suddenly got up and blasted the water with his shotgun. When the water cleared there was a half dozen, or so, stunned trout lying on the pond’s surface. Wading into the water we collected the trout, and headed home for supper.