Thanks for Taking Me Along

I wanted to thank you for taking me along on that trip. After sitting alone for so long, I never imagined I’d get out to the lake one more time.

I was just going through my photos, and I still cannot get over how “picture perfect”  the entire trip was. Do you know what my favorite day was? The one when you caught that musky with your dad and Tommy. 

It had been a day full of sun, fun, and unfortunately, not a lot of fish thus far. No matter though. As the sun rose over the lake that day, I felt your familiar grip once again, steadying me as I focused on the reflection of water and smiles. It had been years since I’d been part of a story like this. The boys spent their day in and out of the lake, learning to use the paddle boat, strengthening their swim stroke whenever they fell out or jumped out – there seemed to be a mix of both. I watched through my lens as Nick’s face lit up, the reflection of the water sparkling behind him. My shutter clicked just in time to catch the bullfrog in his hands and the mischief in his eyes.

That evening, the sun had begun its slow return towards the horizon. Night lasted forever up North, and it allowed for additional hours together, in different combinations of me, your family, and your parents. As a last minute decision, you grabbed me, along with Tommy, and convinced your dad that you should go out and cast for something big.

You told us it had been years – literally – since you casted on a musky rod. And, if you were honest, you were really just going to give Tommy some alone time with his Papa, and let Papa try to catch a fish. Your dad found the perfect bay, and there was just enough breeze to keep the bugs away, as the drift was set. It truly was a picturesque evening, and the spot couldn’t have been better. 

Tommy was preoccupied with searching the surroundings and preparing his pole. With the boat drifting perfectly, you picked up an old lure and cast your line. Suddenly, you felt it—a tug that brought you back to endless days in boats with your dad. And just like that, the two of you danced through the familiar rhythm of reeling in a musky.

“I think I have something,” you said quietly. 

“Log? Rock?” your dad said. 

“No, it’s a fish – a big one.”

The dance had begun. It was choreographed, and one you had practiced many times before. While your dad fretted about not having the correct net, or a gaf, or anything, really to get in a large fish, you began to narrate what you were doing, what Tommy should be doing, and what you needed from your dad in a calm, low voice. 

I do have to say, while I have seen many a landing of a fish, this was one was perfect. As the fish came towards the surface, all three of your faces looked over the boat at a 42 inch musky, which cooperated as best they could, and allowed you to gently bring it in.

“Majestic,” you and your dad uttered in unison. 

The fish was taken off the lure, and released. 

But, not before Tommy got me out to take some pictures. Yes, there are some of his feet. One of your backside. But after you navigated over poles, boxes, and snacks to the front of the boat, the pictures he captured on me that day were the best I’ve seen. The backdrop, the fish – but most importantly, and my favorite – the smiles. As you and your dad worked together to land the fish, I stayed steady with Tommy, recording the teamwork, the excitement, and that one complete moment when all three of you leaned over to admire the musky as it returned to the water.

In that action, I was taken back to those trips you used to take me on when it was just you and your dad. Now, you had added someone new to the tribe. Tommy had been practicing his photography. A natural observer, he had a talent, and I appreciated his desire to have a record of this time. I’ve loved the time and dedication he’s given to capturing the sunrises and sunsets, his grandma on the dock with Lucas. You and Travis having coffee first thing in the morning. There have been bugs, and birds. Fish and worms. Images of the home, and endless photos of the shore.

He reminds me a lot of you. Tommy was so careful with me, his small hands adjusting my settings as he framed each shot. I could tell he was trying to capture the way he saw the world—just like you used to when you were his age.

I can only see the world in fragments, frozen in time, but those fragments are where life’s magic lives.

Thank you for bringing me along—it was just what I needed. Once, I was alive with purpose, capturing your stories and moments of joy. I know I’m not sleek like the phones everyone uses now, but there’s something special about my focus: capturing the moment, undistracted. I know I’ll go back to the drawer once the newness fades—it's what happens to all of us. But the images I hold now, and the way Tommy laughed while flipping through them on the ride back, reminded me of my worth.

After all these years, I didn’t expect to be brought back to life. But on this trip, I became a keeper of your family’s memories once more. When you powered me down and placed me in my case, I felt full—not of battery, but of joy. Thank you for reminding me of the beauty a simple click can preserve. Until next time, send my love to your family—and to Tommy, for giving this old camera a second chance.