Description - In this humourous story, a relaxing day at the lake almost ends in tragedy, until Barry fishes two big ones from it.
Excerpt - Barry silently made his way down the long narrow lake, rhythmically pulling the trolling line with one hand, taking the occasional one-handed stroke with the paddle in his other. He had thought more than once that it might not be an ideal way to catch trout, but the process was definitely more important than the goal in this case. He didn’t actually resent it when he caught something and had to interrupt his meditative-like enjoyment of the surroundings, but equally, neither did he regret it when he caught nothing.
That was particularly true on a scorching hot day like this one was turning into. Early morning before the breeze came up was his preferred time to fish, and the sun hadn’t even risen when he set out from home for this isolated lake, his favourite. He could do his one-handed paddle thing while he fished the length, and usually by the time he reached the other end, the normal westerly breeze was starting, so he could drift back with it pushing him, only using the paddle to steer. He usually got back to the lake’s end and the old logging road which ended there about noon, which was perfect. He could eat his lunch in a picturesque spot, then load the canoe and head for home, where he would still have a good part of the day for something on his wife’s Honeydew list, ‘Honey do this’, or Honey, do that’