March
1954
found
four
local
disciples of Izaak
Walton emerge from annual spring housecleaning
bearing evidence of their respective ordeals.
The principal characters involved, Dick Vaughan,
Russ Farrell, Herb Garland and 'yours truly', had
for some time been freely admitting the approach
of old age in the form of: Dick with a very lame
knee from polishing floors; Russ
with a bad case
of dishwater-hands from washing walls; Herb with a
lame shoulder from wielding the paint brush;
and myself with lumbago from indulging in all
three duties.
As the days lengthened in April and the sun's
rays danced on the ice surface of certain lakes,
the victims of housecleaning met during lunch
period, and in the course of discussing their respective
ailments, one happened to mention "it
will soon be time to go fishin'." First to be
accomplished was setting things right with the
respective "little women" who, at the first mention
of a fishing trip, came up with their kind
and loving remark "Dear, do you think you should go fishing and stay in a cold,
damp, drafty camp with your lame knee, sore hands, lame shoulder, lumbago, etc.?" This threat was quickly
neutralized as we responded with a
very respectful "Yes, dear." This
tight situation finally gave way
before our civility around the respective homes, and making constant reference to the big
trout that had been taken from the lake involved. Eventually
we got the "green light" and set to
work preparing for the event.
This year we chose Lake Archibald
in Guysboro
County, Nova Scotia. With Herb's car and Russ'
trailer loaded with equipment, food and other
essentials, we got off to an early start from
Shediac, N.B., (Russ'
home town) on May 15, our destination being the home of Johnny O'Brien at
Goshen, N.S., where we arrived about six p.m. and for the remainder of the journey were joined
by Johnny, Ralph Tabor and Henry
Nichols. On May 16 equipment and
dunnage were transferred from the
car and trailer to a five-ton truck, and augmented
by two boats and an outboard motor. The next leg
of our journey lay over an eighteen-mile stretch
of old tote-road leading to one of Guysboro's
early mining areas. A highlight on this occasion
developed about ten miles in the bush where spring
freshets had washed out a
bridge. Little time
was lost, however, what with Herb with an axe,
Dick with a saw, and Russ
and myself carrying logs
while the other fellows placed them (no symptoms
of lumbago, lame knee, sore hands or lame shoulder).
The stream was conquered and we continued on to the end-of-the-road. At this
point there
still remained a mile of trail over which boats,
outboard motor, fishing paraphernalia, food, etc.
had to be transported on foot.
Eventually we arrived
at Lake Archibald, fatigued, but in high
"spirits", for the most enjoyable
leg of our journey still lay ahead in the one-mile trip by boat up the lake to the
camp. Here, Johnny, Ralph and Henry left us and proceeded
to Lake Mann about two miles further on.
As the little outboard motor chugged along
there was great speculation as to
where the most likely fishing spots
might be. Dick favoured what he
called a "hemlock point" lying to starboard. Herb opined that the larger trout would
probably be in "deep water" and he
favoured the shore near a steep bluff.
Russ offered the opinion that
"trolling" might yield best results. I felt
that location might be unimportant since the lake
had promising overall features.
We
arrived
at
the
camp
as twilight announced the close of day, and all set to work preparing for the night. There was supper to be cooked, wood to be cut, water to be carried and bunks to be arranged. Dick's knee began to bother him a little but he elected to prepare supper, and soon had the aroma of coffee, beans and spaghetti
mingling with the scent of spruce and pine surrounding the area.
With supper over, the dishes washed (Russ being
excused because of those dishwater-hands), interest
centred on the sleeping bags and bunks. It
was not long until the trials of the day gave way
to sonorous renditions as Dick, Russ and Herb found peace in the arms
of Morpheus. I lingered in cautious
wakefulness while a field mouse or squirrel completed a survey of our
food supply.
May 17
- Herb was on
deck as gray streaks in the east announced
the advancing day, and in very short
order had bacon and eggs sizzling in the pan and coffee bubbling in the pot. At this
point Dick crawled from his
sleeping bag and leaped out into the
crisp morning air. As he snapped through a few P. T. exercises he was heard to
say " I'm in real good physical condition for a man of my
age". What, no lame knee!
With breakfast over and the camp in order we
formed two parties, Dick and Herb to one boat,
and Russ and myself to the other, and with our
respective craft afloat on the calm, glassy surface
of Lake Archibald in the still of the early
morning the
"
whirring" of fishing rods took over from the ambitious
tattoo of "woody" woodpecker and "drummer"
partridge on the nearby hillside.
As
we set about exploring the likely looking spots, our theories of the previous day
began to pay-off in bounteous
measure until at nightfall the
day's catch numbered thirty-two speckled trout averaging about three-quarters of a pound
each.
May 18, 19 and 20 contributed catches in equal
measure with the grand total amounting to 140 speckled
beauties.
At four p.m. on the 20th
the return trip commenced
with packing the boats, fish, equipment,
etc. over the foot trial to our
rendez-vous
with the truck,
then eighteen miles back to Johnny's house.
A steady down-pour of rain over the
complete distance contributed all features
of "fisherman's luck." May 21 was
given to removing the four-days'
growth of beard, bathing and other
restful recreation. This was followed on May 22 by the uneventful return trip from Goshen to
Moncton.
The "little women" were at the door of the
respective homes to greet us with the annual query "Hi
dear, how many trout did you bring me?" As
we sat in the comfort of home and related the highlights
of our trip, with trout "gurgling" in
the frying-pan, it appeared to be an opportune
occasion to make brief reference to going back to
Lake Archibald again next year.
"Why yes, of
course, dear" my little woman answered "And tomorrow
I want you to spade the garden for me."
Oh! Oh!! that lumbago can strike so suddenly.