1954

Goin' Fishin'"

with

"Dick" Vaughan (Admin.) "Russ" Farrell (Airways) "Herb" Garland (Telecoms) "Nels" Nelson (Telecoms)

By Nels Nelson, Moncton,N.B.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dick and Nels leaving Shediac

 

 

 

 

Embarking for Lake Archibald

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We arrive at camp.

 

 

 

 

 

Admiring the catch. 140 trout averaging 9 Lb.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

Links   -   Liens