The Last Fishing Trip

The water lazily lapped against the aluminum boat hull. The gentle waves reflected the diminishing light as the sun slowly began to dip below the treeline of the small tree-linned lake.

Hector had spent many days fishing this very lake with his grandfather. It was their secret lake, so his grandfather Alfred claimed. His grandfather was so secretive that Hector wasn't entirely sure he knew the actual name of the lake. In most discussions with other anglers, Alfred regularly changed the name of the lake in question. Was he forgetful? No. Alfred actively chose to deceive others in order to keep traffic away from his favourite fishing holes.

“Well grandpa, I think our day is done”, declared Hector as the last bit of light fell behind the trees. “We did good. Caught our limit as usual”.

There was one time when they'd manage to catch their limit faster than ever. That was in more exciting circumstances.

—

Hector was home from university for the Summer to work. When he was in high school, he worked most Summers as a lifeguard at the little town's public beach.

“When does your work wrap up for today” Alfred asked his grandson early one morning. Hector has been staying with his grandfather that Summer since his grandmother had recently passed and Alfred needed help around the home. Hector's parents had been helping as well, but he thought he would give them a break.

“Actually, I'm off today. The weather isn't looking good and there might be storms. Can't swim with lightning strikes in the area.”

“Right,” Alfred said. “What about going fishing then? We haven't been yet since you came home this Summer.”

“What about the storms?” asked Hector.

“Bah,” his grandfather scoffed, waving a hand in the air. “The storms usually don't last long around here. They'll probably blow over by the time we hit the water.”

“OK,” Hector agreed. “Let's go!”

It took them maybe another twenty minutes to get the boat and truck loaded up. First, Hector made some sandwiches to bring with them in the boat and Alfred went to the local gas station to fill up the truck tank and the boat's gas can. He also grabbed a couple of his and Hector's favourite vanilla flavoured nougat chocolate bars.

Then, when they regrouped back at the house, they loaded the twelve foot boat into the bed of Alfred's red pickup truck. They put their fishing rods, life jackets, bait and tackle in the back of the truck extended cab. After loading the small ten horse boat motor into the boat, along with the gas can, they ratcheted everything down and hit the road.

They would always listen to some of Alfred's favourite honky-tonk music on the old truck tape radio. Hector wasn't a fan really, but he endured the twangy music for his grandpa's sake. In fact, he had recorded a few of his grandfather's old records to have in the truck for trips such as these.

It took them the usual two hours to make it to the lake. They had to drive about fifteen minutes down an old wooded trail, small branches dragging along the side of the truck making loud screeching sounds.

“A truck is like a pair of work gloves,” Alfred would say. “A few scratches just means it's serving its purpose.”

Once at the boat launch, Hector surveyed the cloudy sky. The storm had not passed them by as they had first hoped. It still appeared to be coming towards them. Alfred got in the boat at the back and started the motor. Hector pushed them off the shore by pushing the bow of the boat and quickly jumped in, narrowly avoiding getting his feet wet.

The first distant rumble of thunder came after about half an hour of fishing.

“What do you think grandpa? Should we call it quits early?”

“Naw,” Alfred replied. “Pro’bly have another two hours before the storm hits. ‘Sides, the fish bite better in the rain.”

That was the truth. They had never so soon made their limit while fishing. It seemed that as soon as they dropped their line in the water, a fish was immediately biting their hook. By the end of the next hour, they were catching and releasing for the fun of it.

They were each hooting and hollering, yelling for each other to admire their latest catch. Suddenly, at just about the two hour mark as Alfred predicted, a loud crack of thunder resonated above their heads. The rumble caught them by surprise and they quickly reeled in their lines.

Within another two minutes, the skies opened up and Hector and Alfred were completely soaked.

“We're not going to make it to the boat launch grandpa,” Hector declared as he began bailing water out of the boat. Alfred agreed and he started directing the boat towards a shallow bay with a sandy beach.

As they made it to land another rumble from the sky nearly knocked them over. They pulled the boat onto shore and out of the water.

“Take the motor off,” Alfred commanded. “We'll use the boat as a shelter”.

They left all their gear and the boat motor at the tree line, except for their life jackets, and dragged the boat up into the trees. They came to a sturdy pine tree and rested one side of the boat on the ground and lifted the other to rest on the tree trunk. They tied the boat to the tree with the rope from the bow of the boat, and laid their life jackets on the ground under the makeshift lean-to.

They were cold and wet, but no longer getting rained on. The storm continued and the winds picked up. From their shelter they could see the waves of the lake splashing against the sandy shore. Thankfully, the bay provided a break from the winds so that the swaying of the trees was not as harsh as around the rest of the lake.

Then, as suddenly as the storm began, it subsided. The clouds began to disperse, and the sky began to get brighter. Grandfather and grandson emerged from the trees and looked out over their favourite fishing hole and began to laugh and hug. They were overjoyed and feeling fortunate to have avoided a possible catastrophe.

—

“Well grandpa, I'm happy to say that this fishing trip was a lot less eventful than that time we were caught in the storm.”

Hector started up the motor and made his way to the boat launch. He pulled up to shore and began unloading the boat, transferring everything to his grandpa's red pickup truck.

The last item he removed from the boat was the urn with his grandfather's ashes. Alfred passed away last winter, and though it had been several years since they had last fished together, Hector knew he had to take one last trip together. His mom and dad agreed to leave Alfred's ashes for Hector to spread over their favourite lake.

From the shore of the boat launch, Hector opened the urn and turned it over. His grandpa's ashes began to drift away on the gentle breeze, landing in the water and floating away.

“Thanks for one last fishing trip grandpa.”

Hector replaced the lid of the urn and climbed back into his grandpa's, (no his red pickup truck), and drove back to town.