Chapter 1 – Gone Fishing
About two years ago, I retired and soon thereafter decided to take a fishing trip, something I had not done for more than 20 years. The relationship with my wife, Laura, had been somewhat strained during the months since I left my Boston law practice behind. We both agreed that a short separation would do us both a world of good.
It was with that in mind that I headed to Nova Scotia where my father had taken me fishing many times when I was a young lad. I remember it was at a lake near a small village called Sonora, very few people but no Mexicans. The name of the lake I could not recall and it might very well be that neither my father nor I ever knew it. The one thing I did remember was that it was near a rocky cliff on which many puffins nested.
It was a Tuesday morning in the late spring that Laura drove me to Logan Airport in time to catch a morning flight to Halifax where I would arrive ninety minutes later. After clearing Customs, I found my way to Bob’s Van Rental where I picked up what would be my transportation and overnight accommodation for the next five days. It was nearly forty years since I had been fishing with my dad and I knew I wouldn’t be able to find my way back on memory. A map of Nova Scotia would be my guide. I had no GPS.
Leaving the airport terminal, I headed towards the Atlantic Coast to endure a 100 mile drive to my old fishing grounds. Arriving in Sherbrooke, I was able to buy some food, supplies and the fishing gear I needed. All I had taken on the plane was some change of clothing, credit cards, some Canadian cash and my passport.
Finding Sherbrooke was easy but Sonora might be a little more difficult. Oh sure, it was on the map but there was no major highway to it. I did remember that father and I travelled the last eight miles or so on an old country road. Sherbrooke is just a one horse town divided by the highway going through it. There is only one country road on the outskirts of town which I found easily. There were several signs at the beginning of that road. One said, “Sonora 15 km”.
It was supper time when I found a flat clearing where I could park my van. I hadn’t seen the cliff but I knew it wasn’t far away. Being tired, I had my supper and crawled into my new sleeping bag and called it a night.
The sun had yet to rise before I got up and had my breakfast. I wanted to get an early start on my search for the cliff and thence the lake.
It came as quite the surprise when, after having driven only a quarter of a mile, I found the puffin colony and their cliff-side home. Now, if my memory didn’t fail me, there was a path nearby which started by an old sawmill and ended at the lake. I was sure that it took a long time to get to the lake because I remembered how sore my legs were when I got there.
I parked the van on the side of the road and walked around in search of the old sawmill. Things had changed since I was here forty years ago. The trees were bigger and the woods thicker but after what seemed like hours, I did find a small stream and the remains of the old mill. The path was still there but was at first difficult to see. It had almost been overtaken by the trees and vegetation that had grown there.
I packed myself a hearty lunch and with fishing gear in hand, I began what I figured would be a long hike to the lake. It was slow going because the path disappeared completely several times before emerging again after I poked may way around trees and through bushes.
It was nearly lunch time when I arrived at the lake. I was excited to return after all these years and anxious as well to start fishing. The trout had been plentiful in the past and many had been a good size. I hoped that, unlike the forests and the path, the fishing had not changed over the years.
I was not disappointed. I caught two nice trout within the hour and decided to start a little campfire and have them for lunch. It was a wonderful feeling being all by myself, self-sufficient and in a peaceful setting.
I fished for another 3 hours but didn’t get any more bites. I was getting discouraged but was cheered up somewhat when a doe and two fawns came to the edge of the lake to drink. I was only 200 feet from them yet they had not seen me. I stayed quiet and was able to watch them for five minutes before they returned to the woods. They must have brought me luck as well because shortly after, I caught three more trout. The largest must have weighed close to a pound.
As dusk was only a few hours away, I decided to head back to the van, knowing that the path would again be something I needed to pay attention to. It was minutes after that, that my life was about to change.