Once the tent was up and gear stowed, the green, two burner Coleman stove gassed, pumped and fired up. Emil said the Coleman was the only way to fly. Added weight to the load but saved time when it came to meals.
"Butter. South of the Mason-Dixon line lard's the lord of the kitchen. Up in the Northland it's butter. Lord praise the cow and the churn. You can fry taters in it, slather it on toast, brown onions and put a crust on steak. Butter adds yum to the meal and keeps a man regular. Makes his willie point to the North Star. Then, in a pinch you can use it to navigate at night, just ask any sailor and he'll tell you the same. For now I'm simply gonna get my two pans heating. Once they're hot, in goes the yellow gold 'til it foams then I throw in the onions, salt and pepper."
His cutting board was the spare paddle. Emil drew a razor sharp sheath knife from his belt sheath. Then it was chopping and slicing time. Started with a pair of diced baked potatoes followed a few minutes later by the meat. Twenty minutes later we sat to dinner at the shore atop our live jackets. It was a simple meal. Steaks crusted black yet running juice when I split it open. While we ate dish and coffee water heated on the stove.
Eating wasn't talking time. It was wolfing time pure and simple. Guess we were hungry. Conversation returned after our dishes were clean and gear stowed. Emil broke the silence, "This is my favorite time of day, coffee in the cup, pipe lit, coupla cookies in my lap just beggin' to be eaten. Top that off with the better part of an evening to fish."
"Archie me lad, your job tonight is to catch fish. And it'd be nice if you didn't fall in the lake in the process. Unless of course you're pulled in by one of the piscatorial demons out there beneath the waves. If that happens, don't you worry one bit and whatever you do don't let go of your rod. Your life jacket'll keep you topside so I can find you. Not so much that I want you alive and well, though that'd be nice, but it'd be a cryin' shame to lose a fish big enough to haul an over-sized juvenile overboard."
While he talked Emil began stringing the rods. He'd brought five. Four were spinning rods, complete with reels. Having never even seen a spinning reel before. Hadn't a clue how to use one. I was in trouble and you know how it is when a kid's in trouble. Maybe you don't? My reaction to the reels was to clam up and pretend the world and all its mysterious ways were well known to me. Why not? I was a city kid and city kids were hip. And sometimes a little stupid. But fishing was going to be tough unless I opened my mouth.
Uncle Emil was smart enough to know my game and was two steps ahead. "Archie me lad, these here are spinning reels. Until a coupla years ago I didn't know squat about them. Took one look and knew something was strange because the spool was sideways. Figured there was no way a man could cast such a contraption. So I was standing there in the tackle shop turning it every which way, even tasted it. Had a look on my face sayin' I'd be kicking its tires if it had any."
"About then a young man came to the rescue and told me these were the latest thing. From France and were gonna revolutionize fishing. I figured, what the heck, the French make pretty good fried potatoes and toast, why not fishing reels? Then he showed me how it worked and I was hooked. Had to have one. So I bought me a Garcia, rod included and had the man spool the reel with a new kind of plastic line called monofilament. You know what? He was right. It still bird's nests now and then but nothing like the old bait casters. Throws a French spinner a country mile. Never thought an American boy like me would fish with a bunch of French gear. But fish don't recognize national boundaries and even if they did there's a pretty fair French population in Canada so we'd be okay."
While Emil was describing his purchase, he was also demonstrating how the reel worked. The kindness of geezers trumps the fear of men in the budding most every time and I had my eyes glued onto his demonstration.
"Mostly what I learned from that young man, and a whole lot of men and women in my past, was it's okay to admit you don't know something. People are happy to share knowledge. Always have been, always will be."
"By the by, I took the liberty of setting up a small tackle box for you. Hope you don't mind. There's most everything in there to put fish on your line, including luck. That's what the penny is for. Also had it blessed by a priest, bathed in smoke by a Navaho medicine man, mail ordered a voodoo amulet from New Orleans and had a distiller from Kentucky baptize it with three drops of twelve year old bourbon. Now it's up to you."
With that, we loaded the canoe, me in the bow - I'd have said up front but Emil said I best use proper terminology once in a while - ready to go. Emil straddled the stern to keep the Grumman stable 'til he launched us. I was so excited I could have peed my pants.
While he talked Emil began stringing the rods. He'd brought five. Four were spinning rods, complete with reels. Having never even seen a spinning reel before. Hadn't a clue how to use one. I was in trouble and you know how it is when a kid's in trouble. Maybe you don't? My reaction to the reels was to clam up and pretend the world and all its mysterious ways were well known to me. Why not? I was a city kid and city kids were hip. And sometimes a little stupid. But fishing was going to be tough unless I opened my mouth.
Uncle Emil was smart enough to know my game and was two steps ahead. "Archie me lad, these here are spinning reels. Until a coupla years ago I didn't know squat about them. Took one look and knew something was strange because the spool was sideways. Figured there was no way a man could cast such a contraption. So I was standing there in the tackle shop turning it every which way, even tasted it. Had a look on my face sayin' I'd be kicking its tires if it had any."
"About then a young man came to the rescue and told me these were the latest thing. From France and were gonna revolutionize fishing. I figured, what the heck, the French make pretty good fried potatoes and toast, why not fishing reels? Then he showed me how it worked and I was hooked. Had to have one. So I bought me a Garcia, rod included and had the man spool the reel with a new kind of plastic line called monofilament. You know what? He was right. It still bird's nests now and then but nothing like the old bait casters. Throws a French spinner a country mile. Never thought an American boy like me would fish with a bunch of French gear. But fish don't recognize national boundaries and even if they did there's a pretty fair French population in Canada so we'd be okay."
While Emil was describing his purchase, he was also demonstrating how the reel worked. The kindness of geezers trumps the fear of men in the budding most every time and I had my eyes glued onto his demonstration.
"Mostly what I learned from that young man, and a whole lot of men and women in my past, was it's okay to admit you don't know something. People are happy to share knowledge. Always have been, always will be."
"By the by, I took the liberty of setting up a small tackle box for you. Hope you don't mind. There's most everything in there to put fish on your line, including luck. That's what the penny is for. Also had it blessed by a priest, bathed in smoke by a Navaho medicine man, mail ordered a voodoo amulet from New Orleans and had a distiller from Kentucky baptize it with three drops of twelve year old bourbon. Now it's up to you."
With that, we loaded the canoe, me in the bow - I'd have said up front but Emil said I best use proper terminology once in a while - ready to go. Emil straddled the stern to keep the Grumman stable 'til he launched us. I was so excited I could have peed my pants.
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