Sitting in camp would've been a pleasure if I hadn't felt beat up, whipped, blistered, bug bit, brush lacerated and dead tired. But we were there and didn't have to leave for a while. I did the only thing that made sense, laid down in a pool of sunlight and melted to the contours of the slab. Ball cap over face, head on life jacket and in half a minute was asleep.
While I dozed Emil came and sat beside me. Didn't say a word. Fired up his pipe and stared at the water. Took in the scope of shoreline and lake from the toes of his boots on out. Damn fine spot to sit and watch the world go by.
His pipe tapping ashes on basalt brought me back. I sat up and for minutes we both wordlessly took in the scene.
Finally, "Archie, you've earned your stripes. What we did wasn't easy. No sir. She was a bear. Nothing more to say except I'm glad that part's to our rear. Now we've to drag ourselves up and set to work clearing us a campsite."
We moved rock, branches, hacked a bit at the brush, set up a fire ring. The tent went up, organized within to await the evening, fire grate leveled, packs stowed, stove set up, silverware and cups hung from the wire grate. My job was to gather several armfuls of dry wood, thumb to wrist in diameter. Emil shortened the branches with a folding saw or simply snapped them with his hands and feet. We were home.
"Now let's you and me slide out on the lake, find us some lunch and gather some water. Don't know what's out there but I'm figuring it'll go down good with some fry bread and boiled peaches. What say you Archie me lad?"
Not knowing where to begin we started our search at the beginning, thirty yards out from camp. To say it took longer to string the rods than to land three chunky, nearly black walleyes would have been no exaggeration. Another few canoe lengths out we gathered drinking water. Drank it as it came from the lake. Cold, bog stained and pure. Didn't taste like fish at all.
Hungry as I was I still wanted no part of heading back in. Geez Louise, we hadn't hardly started. I was rejuvenated, chomping at the bit, raring to go. But nooo, Emil said, "First things first. Better to put grub in our empty bellies while we've got a little energy left. Then take her easy for a while. Clean up. Eat some more. Read. Fill us up then blow our exhaust to the four winds. Come evening, head out to see what we shall see. I want to fish the life out of this lake as much as anybody ever wanted to fish. Been dreaming of it for two winters. However, a man doesn't find treasure all that often so we will take our time. Savor every moment. Enjoy every fish and every cast. We're here Archie and it's a thrill we are."
It's not easy being with a man who has a level head on his shoulders when it matters most. Don't know if it'd fully entered my awareness and sunk down to my heels where we were. The only help we had should something go wrong was the two of us. A couple of people leaning over the edge of a cliff with nothing to hold onto but our wits. Of course, I wasn't worth a hoot. All I could think of was what was out there, under the water. Dumb kid with a lot to learn. Yes, it was on Emil's shoulders and his sense of what was important.
Once ashore it seemed to me Emil had slowed to the pace of a snail. Built a fire with care. Slowly mixed and pounded his bannock batter. Took an eternity to fold in the raisins, sugar and cinnamon. All just to ruin my day. Then the lemonade, measured like chemist. Finally with the copper bottomed fry pan heated and propped to slowly bake the bread, he pulled in the stringer and set to filleting the pickerel on a paddle blade. By then I was hooked. Slowed down by the heaven of bread browning in the pan.
Second pan came out, butter went in, the battered filets put afloat in the sizzle. Emil was in his glory. Like he was a priest celebrating mass and transubstantiating bannock and lemonade into our bodies and blood. Turning walleye into Emil and Archie. Making the waters a part of us. Loaves and fishes. Oh, she was a religious moment alright when we tied that feedbag on. Food so good I had a glimpse of eternal reward. Like dining in the finest of white table cloth restaurants. Except it was melmac plates and butts on the ground for us. Didn't matter. Yes, Uncle Emil was right, the fishing could wait 'til we were ready. What was out there wasn't going anywhere, had been there for ten thousand years waiting on us. Yes, nothing out there was any better than what we had in camp. Each other and time.
Dishes done, we hit the beach. Would have worn swimsuits if we'd had them. Would also have been nice to have pre-heated the water. Brisk. Heart stopping slap in the face and elsewhere. But oh so good. Once he was knee deep Emil dove straight in, surfaced, did about a half dozen hard strokes out, rolled on his back and spouted like a whale. Back on the beach I was easing myself in. One tender spot at a time rather than all of them at once.
"Careful on the slab. She's slick as slug snot. Don't need a head cracking to put a damper on our fishing tonight. Be we live or be we dead there's three hundred acres of never fished water out here. Don't want to screw it up now."
Took me a while and a bit of flailing but I sloshed my way out to where Emil floated. "Not bad, eh? Seein' the world from the fish's eye view gives a whole new perspective to the game. That's what it's turned into anyhow, a game. Way back when we'd be here with the idea of survival. Not so anymore. We fish for the fun of fishing. The food part's just a bonus. I've given a lot of thought as to why I like to fish. Come up with many a philosophical guess also. Some of the them downright mystical. Truth is, I don't know why but I'm willing to accept that I don't. Borderline act of faith. Oops, there I go again."
Our sweat skin salts dissolved and once our lips turned sky blue, we headed in. There, Emil fished out a small bar of soap, we waded back out and set to scrubbing. Thirty years later and we wouldn't have dared foul virgin waters like we were doing. But it was 1961. We definitely needed cleansing and didn't know any better. So that's what we did. Then, trailing a slick of hair suds, swam out for a moment of splashing and a water fight. War of laughter with no casualties.
Second sin of the day was when Emil stuffed our sweated clothes in a mesh bag, wet 'em, soaped 'em and beat them on a boulder protruding from the sunken part of our slab. Took the mess out in the deep and proceeded to rinse them while swimming once more.
Ashore we sun-dried in the breeze. Spread our somewhat cleaner clothes on the surrounding shore bushes. Dressed in fresh duds and laid back on the sun warmed slab and talked of what it was like to be alive on a day as wonderful as this.
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