CANADIAN FISH CAMP

Before I get into my adventures with Sam, let me spin a tale about Canadian fishing with another set of buddies, and my kids, many years before.

During our Canadian fishing with kids period, in the late ‘60s and ‘70s, some of my fishing buddies were in the advertising business. They didn’t make a lot of money, but were sure good at trading advertising for almost anything imaginable. They really outdid themselves, though, when they made a deal with a catering company to trade advertising for all the fixin’s for a fancy reception.

So here we are at this Godforsaken Canadian fish camp, our table set with white linen tablecloths, and candelabra. Along with all the champagne we could drink, and all the canapés and other assorted finger food we could eat.

Of course, we gathered a crowd, and then salesman Fred would get into his act. Seems our guys had also traded for a few cases of potent fish bait, of a kind unknown in Canada. Since we were usually the best fishermen in camp, Fred would go into his spiel, convincing the yokels that our success was all due to this special bait. The jars of bait just flew out, at two dollars per, but so did the free champagne and food. I am sure that if we had to pay for the refreshments, we would have come out well in the red.

Speaking of booze, we had a sure fire method to get the kids to sleep in the evening, so we could get down to serious drinking. Just before bedtime we would mix up this concoction, consisting of Kool Aid, with a generous dollop of Rye, which we christened Canadian Pop. A shot of this for each kid, and they were out for the count. The wives eventually became kind of suspicious, however, when tales of this beverage filtered back home.


One time though, on one of these trips, we got about as much adventure as we could handle.

There were three guys and six kids, all packed into my almost new Sport Utility, at about two AM, with George driving. Then out popped a deer, she was blinded by the headlights, and George hit her head on. So here we are, about 150 miles from nowhere, in a totally wrecked truck, not to mention the six kids.

Making a quick survey of the damage, it looked like the deer, the radiator, and miscellaneous engine parts were pretty much wrapped around the front of the engine, and, pending major repairs the truck wasn’t going anywhere.

So, I hitched a ride with a trucker, who dropped me off at the RCMP (Royal Canadian Mounted Police) station in the next town. The Constable, after I finally woke him up, was not in a particularly good mood, since he had just got to sleep after closing the Pub, but finally agreed to call a wrecker, and hauled me back to the wreck site.

At the site, the cop got things tidied up, they hauled off the truck, and he gave us all a ride back to town. Feeling a bit sorry for us, I guess, he then led us to an abandoned travel trailer where we all bedded down for the night.

Next morning, about 7:00 AM, the cop is back. First thing, since there was a fatality involved (the deer), we had to fill out innumerable forms. This looked like unnecessary bureaucratic BS to me, so I took substantial poetic license with the forms. Like listing the name of deceased as Jane Doe, with address of 2020 Northwood Avenue, and so forth. This endeared me to my buddies, but the cop, understandably, was not pleased.

This accomplished, we turned our attention to the truck, which was even worse off than it had looked in the dark. The only option, it seemed would be to tow the thing the 200 miles to Vancouver, which would have probably cost the Insurance company an arm and a leg, and ruined the trip, in the bargain.

But we had some tools with us, including a ten ton jack, and it seemed that we might be able to tear off the damaged sheet metal, replace the destroyed radiator and the rest of the mechanical bits, and get the thing running again. So, after getting the insurance company’s approval, we phoned the dealer in Vancouver with a list of what we needed, rented a pickup from a local for $150 and Fred took off to pick up the parts. An all day gig.

Meantime we pulled off, or beat out the damaged sheet metal, and stripped off the radiator and the other busted stuff. It was hotter than hell, but fortunately, there was a swimming pool for the boys, and a Pub with cold beer for us, so we all survived.

When Fred returned in late afternoon, we bolted on the new parts, filled her up with water, lit her off, and believe it or not, she ran, and even tracked pretty good. So everybody piled in, and off for the fishing camp.

Now this camp was a bit posh, and Canadians can be a bit snobbish, so they were not about to let three greasy and dirty guys, with a wrecked looking truck, and six wild kids anywhere near their camp. But it was getting dark, and we finally prevailed on them to let us set up in the back forty, away from the proper folk.

Next morning we hit the lake, and guess what, we knocked ‘em dead. When pulling in for a break, we also found that no one else in the camp had caught a fish for three days. Fred took this opportunity to pitch his fish bait, we explained our technique, he sold quite a bit and people started catching a few fish.

So now, despite the wrecked truck, we are genuine heroes. We moved to the best spot in camp, and had a productive and enjoyable three days.

So, sometimes, things don’t turn out so bad after all.