| Adventures in River Fishing # 1 .... The earliest recollection was when I was six or seven years old. Dad loved to go fishing down at the Assiniboine River in Winnipeg, Manitoba and my mother was always looking for things to keep me out of trouble. This particular day she agreed to let him go fishing if he took me along. Neither of us were really excited about this because he liked to sit and contemplate whereas I liked to run and investigate! Off we went for a few hours of togetherness. I soon got bored and started to ask when we would be going home. Dad suggested it might be a good idea for both of us if I took a long walk because if I asked him again he was likely to throw me into the fast moving water. Wandering up the bank I spotted some Chinese fella's that were having some good luck catching fish. I had the idea that if I borrowed a couple off them when they weren't looking my dad would be so excited we could finally go home! The fish smelled kind of bad and looked really greasy but hey, they were fish and that was all that mattered. As soon as they turned their back to me I "borrowed" three fish and ran as fast as I could back to my dad proudly displaying my booty! When he saw what I had to offer he jumped up in excitment and I was sure I would get my way! We would take these fish home to Ma and I could get on with my day! Dad never missed a beat when he saw me. Jumping up and down with excitement it apparently never occurred to him that I didn't have a fishing rod! Sputtering with excitement he reeled in his line and started grabbing frantically at all his fishing gear as I waited patiently for the three magic words: "Let's go home!" Instead I heard him sputter, "Son! Son! Quick! Take me to where those fish are biting!" Note to self - never try to fool dad about fish biting! He is serious about his fishing! Someone got bit this day all right! Me - right in the arse!!! |
Fishing With My Father by Howard Winters My father, Nathaniel Clarke Wallace Moodie Winters loved to fish! He lived for every second he could get lost in his thoughts, smoking his big cigar just sitting beside water. Any water, anywhere, anytime he could. With nine kids his time was precious so whenever he could steal away (with my mother's permission of course!) he did. My earliest memory of a fishing experience with my father was not a pleasant one. You see I had a problem sitting still as a young boy - as an older adult as well. Come to think of it as a great-grandfather now I still have the same problem! The time I spent fishing with my father over the years turned out to be valuable life lessons for me. I don't think he planned to make them lessons, they just turned out that way. He has been gone for many, many years but I would not trade one single second we spent together as father and son for all the money in the world. These are only some of my stories .... |
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| White Lake to Cabin Lake # 1 .... As a young father and husband in the early 1950's fishing was not something I had a lot of time for. An offer to join dad was a pretty soecial thing to me so when he called I did my best to be there. We both worked for the Winnipeg Transit and he had hears about a lake "just a short walk from the other side of White Lake! " He had scribbled a map of this lake on a napkin at work and assured me he knew exactly where we were going! So we headed off one fine day, crossed White Lake in dad's plywood boat and started our hike with dad dreaming of the fish he was going to catch. Now if you have ever held a piece of plywood you can figure out how heavy a home made fourteen foot boat with a motor on it was. The day started out sunny but cool as we crossed the lake and started the hike carrying the boat and motor. It soon warmed up however and we never brought any water with us! The day dragged on becoming very muggy and warm as we kept following the map. Dad was so excited about the thought of all the fish we were going to catch it took several more hours of arriving no where before he finally admitted we were lost. Not a good situation to be in anywhere but the wilds of Manitoba with its man eating mosquitoes and many wandering black bears made it look like we were in one dire situation. I finally came across a slimy puddle of water and told my dad I didn't care what malady that swamp water might hold I was going to drink it and I did in spite of his many objections! We trudged on and finaly came out of a bush area to set our eyes upon the very lake we had started from! It was pure blind luck that we found our way back at White lake and if I had only waited a few more minutes I would not have had to drink that swamp water to try and quench my thirst. The lake water was much better! Note to self - the next time I go ANYWHERE with dad - BRING WATER ... AND A MAP! |
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| White Lake to Cabin Lake # 2 .... Well darned if later that year dad didn't ask me again to go with him to that "best little fishing lake in Manitoba. My three brothers were much younger than me so it made me feel really special when he asked me to join him. It never occured to me that I was the only one big enough to help dad carry that dang plywood boat of his. I thought it was one to one time we could spend together he was suggesting. Funny what you figure out when you get older! Fortunately this time dad had a map and I brought water! Unfortunately we did this in November! When we got to the other side of White Lake dad thought it would be a good idea for us to carry our overnight gear and the motor to the lake first and then come back for the boat as it was only a short hike. This turned out to be true! The day was sunny, warm and the skies clear. With the map we made record time finding the lake, setting camp and making the trip back to bring the boat to the little lake. We even had time to do several slow trolls around the lake before having a campfire, listening to the loons (laughing at us now I am sure!) and hitting the hay in the old canvass tent we shared. In the middle of the night I was awakend by the sound of a howling, whistling, wild Manitoba wind. Sticking my head outside the tent I was shocked to see we were in the middle of a blizzard! It was warm in the tent though and dad was still asleep so I hunkered back down to try and go back to sleep. Dozed for about an hour I guess when all of a sudded the wind seemed to pick up and the musty, wet old canvass tent collapsed on top of us! Woke dad up with a start and it was awful feeling like something was standing on top of us! It was all right! Snow! Cold, wet frozen as it gets snow! We decided to poke the tent up enough so that we could still breath fine and stay where we were for the time being because it was pitch black outside and we couldn't find the one lantern we had brought with us. As soon as it was light outside dad said we had better make tracks. We quickly gathered all our stuff up and ran down to the shoreline only to find the wind had blown the boat out into the middle of the lake. We needed the boat to get back across White Lake! I was much younger than dad and a strong swimmer so I stripped down to my birthday suit and jumped in the water. Now NOTHING makes you swim faster than cold water! You keep trying to convince yourself that you'll warm up. I bet if it had been timed I did the fastest lap to that boat in history! I know I set a swim time record that would never be beaten and as I hauled myself shivering into the boat I immediatly went to start the motor. It sputtered a little bit but wouldn't start! I soon figured out the motor was out of gas and the dang gas tank was back on the shore with dad! So there I was in the middle of a snowstorm sitting naked as the day I was born in a fourteen foot plywood boat that had no gas in it and ONE oar! I am sure that my frantic one armed oaring and constant body tremors assisted me greatly in setting another world record! I just don't know if one ever (or will ever) exists for a naked one oared freezing to death plywood boat rower! BUT if there was one - I set it that day and no one will ever beat it! Getting back to shore I was quick to dress and dad and I tossed things into the boat heading back to White Lake. We actually made good time and the snow had let up a bit letting the sun peek through the cold grey skies. I was as frozen as a popsicle and shivering so bad I thought I was going to lose my teeth! The only thing that kept me going was the thought of the warm heater in the car! As I sped as fast as a five horse motor could take me across the water I heard my dad in the back ground yell at me over the sound of the wind that was still howling, " Say son, do you think you can slow the boat down a bit so I can troll back??!!" Note to self - I HATE CAMPING!!!! |
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| White Lake to Cabin Lake 3 .... Yes, you are reading this right. I went back again for more punishment! This time my father and I took four other bus drivers with us. I wanted to make sure there were others who got to "enjoy" dad's fishing trips as much as I did! The only boat we had was of course the fourteen foot plywood one and everyone wanted to go to Cabin Lake and watch the fish just "jump outta the water at em" We had set up camp at White Lake so it seemed a waste of time for us to make a couple of trips back and forth to carry everyone across the lake. Started out from shore all right but as we got further out into the lake the water came up level with the sides of the boat. Any movement had us sunk! "Nobody move!" yelled dad. I guess he figured if we all sat stone still the water wouldn't find its way over the side of the boat - but of course it did. So there we were, six men in the most important thing in my dad's life - his precious plywood boat and we were about to sink! To our rescue came a small bailing bucket that one of the guys frantically started using and amazing enough his efforts kept the boat from sinking! We made it to the other side of White Lake a little bit wet (well okay a lot wet)! It worked so well we returned the same way! Figured the frantic bailer had his role down pat so why should we worry! Later that night everyone was having a great time trading stories and drinking beer. There was one tent for six big men so I decided to sleep in the car. A little bit warm but at least the million mosquitoes were kept at bay! I think that's what they judge successful fishing lakes in Manitoba by. The more mosquitoes around it to feed the fish - the bigger the fish will be! Only thing is some of those blood suckers there were bigger than any fish I ever caught! Anyways, I'm sound asleep when one of the guys (Ian McDonald was his name) figures I had a good idea and decides to join me. He's hot so he opens all the car windows and we are now nothing more than mosquito bait. He does however have several cans of insect repellent. Now this is the 1950's so it won't take much imagination to figure out all the nasty poison's that were allowed to be used back then. He sprays the heck out of the car after he had rolled all the windows up and jumped outside to have a smoke. His system I guess because everytime he sprayed and opened the door he let the "killer" repellant out and the hungry mosquitoes in. We may have well as had an "Eat At Joe's" sign flashing over the car! After a couple of hours I did manage to fall asleep. When I woke up the next morning I cannot to this day think of words awful enough to describe the taste all that crap he sprayed had left in my mouth! Putrid, vile ...... well what can I say! Note to self - Beer, boats or bailing - I'll stick with beer! PS: must learn to sleep with my mouth shut or make mosquitoes my friends! |
| Dorothy Lake .... Ahhh! Dorothy Lake! Home of the family cabin! A tranquil setting in the Manitoba Whiteshell! Just down the road from White and Cabin Lakes! and another adventure in fishing with my father! This time he wanted to try ice fishing and as there was the cabin to go to within walking distance of the lake this seemed like a promising outing. So dad and I get up early in the morning dressed properly for the Manitoba winter and head out to break through the ice and start fishing. He picked out a spot and for three hours we used everything short of dynamite to try and break through to the water. Another hours worth of work we thought we had done it! We did it all right. Worked all morning to break through the ice only to find out we hit mostly dirt! We hadn't gone out far enough from shore to break through the ice and hit water deep enough for fishing! I should have know that was why those guys in the huts were so far away from us! Undaunted by our miscalculation we headed out to the middle of the lake where all those fella's were and spent another three hours working our backsides off BUT broke through with enough time for a few hour's worth of fishing and no fish. It was a nice day though. Warmed up enough for us to take some of our gear off and as it got colder we just put it back on. When it got too dark to see we headed back to shore looking forward to a cosy night in the cabin. Now a funny thing happens during the winter in Manitoba when the sun comes out and there's ice. The ice starts to melt and when the sun goes down it freezes up again but it usually takes a couple or three hours to freeze solid. It kind of freezes into a slushy. As we marched back all of a sudden I was up to my knees in and my winter boots were full of ice cold mucky slushy water! Not looking where I was going never mind looking for where I had been I landed feet first into the first hole we had tried to dig earlier in the day. Note to self - I really wish my brother's were older than me instead of being so much younger so that they could have all this fun with dad as well! I would have let THEM lead us home! |
| The Pickerel Pickle .... "I heard about a place where pickerel walk on water son!" As soon as I got that telephone call I knew another adventure with my father was in the works! He rounded up my Uncle Ernie and my brother-in-law Mel Crook for a fishing trip to Grand Rapids Manitoba. Of course he heard about this from a guy at work! Now back in the 1950's, Grand Rapids Manitoba was at the end of nowhere! With the exception of good fishing in the rapids there wasn't much there. However we were experienced fishermen by this time my dad and I so after we packed up and picked up our family members we set out determined to "bring home the bacon" this time! My mother thought our trips were kind of a big waste of time by now because we seemed to have a cloud of bad luck following us when dad and I teamed up! We didn't agree and had to take one more stab at being fishing buddies. When we arrived at Grand Rapids we found a wonderful place to camp! Worked together as a group setting up and then hopped in the car to spend the day catching the hundreds of fish my father had been dreaming about. I can't recall exactly what time of year we did this but I remember it being so dang cold that when we tossed out our lines we had to scrape the ice off when we tried to reel them back in. We did catch three or four fish but it finally became so cold we gave up. We had enough fish to pan fry, a cold beer and a warm bed waiting for us back at our campground. I think we though we were lost at first because when we got back to where we thought we had pitched camp we couldn't fine it! After about an hour (of course night had fallen and we had no flashlights with us!) we realized that someone had stolen our campsite! Not one or two things but EVERYTHING!!! Food, clothes, tent - EVERYTHING!!! Indignant, tired and cold we backtracked to an RCMP station we had passed and told the officer our tale of woe. He followed us back to the scene of the crime and took a good look around. "This is where you fella's set your camp?" he asked. "Yes sir officer! Right over here...." my dad answered and went into a long winded description of what had been where. "Had some beer with ya?" the officer asked. "Yep! We sure did - a whole dang cooler full!" Dad said and we all nodded our heads in agreement. "Well, that explains it then," replied the officer. "You guys are the ones that the Indians got the beer from! You see gentlemen, where you pitched your camp - well, it's reservation land. The law is finders keepers!" He followed with saying there was nothing he could do, got in his car and left us there in the middle of nowhere. In the dark. It was cold. We were mad. So we went home. It was worth the "I told you so" we got from mom. Note to self: Always keep a flashlight in your glove compartment AND the beer in your trunk!!! Oh yes and have I said I HATE CAMPING??!!!! |
| Howards Hip Wader's or Adventures in River Fishing 2 by Linda Winters Vallee Dad told me all of his stories one night when we were at a local pub for Monday night football. I was laughing so hard my sides hurt and I knew I had another gift to give to my family! I only have one story about fishing with my dad but it is one I will remember forever! As dad said we moved here in 1965. He drove an old blue zepher and was so intent on us liking it in British Columbia he dragged us to the four corners of the province to show off his new found home. We moved a lot in the years I grew up but this was the biggest and I hated it here! I was twelve years old and had been made to leave everything I thought was important to me. Friends, family, familiarity .... On one of our trips dad was excited to take us to a place he had heard about named Paradise Valley. Up the coast towards Squamish. About two hours away from where we were living. Four with the shape the zepher was in. He picked a beautiful day to look for paradise but my brother and sister and I were determined it would be the trip from hell! Okay, not my sister - she was the baby and the most loved and the most spoiled yada yada yada!!!! I bet you get the picture!!! Once we got there dad picked a gravel road he wanted to investigate. We ended up having about six cars following us and dad had absolutely no idea where we were (so much for the map lesson he said he had!)! But Howie ventured ahead leading the pack until he went around a bend and ran out of road! Doing a "Manitoba U Turn" he rolled his window down and waved at everyone as he passed them heading back to the highway! Have you seen that bumper sticker "Don't follow me I'm lost to"???? My dad wrote that one! Anyway, after a lovely picnic lunch at Paradise Valley my dad took us to a river bank where he was going to try river fishing. He hauled his hipwaders out of the trunk. They are like a big body rubber boot for anyone who doesn't know what they are and back in 1965 they weighed 10,000 pounds give or take. Making his way to the river bank where we were throwing rocks griping about how bored we were and dad told us to "watch and learn!" He was going to teach us everything his father had taught him about fishing. Carefully he made his way into the cold, cold rushing river with his ten thousand pound hip waders on and his seven hundred foot long brand new million dollar fly fishing rod. Like a pro he threw the line out and reeled it in and I have to say we were impressed the first couple of times. But the constant re-run was boring so we went back to throwing rocks. All of a sudden we heard my mom (who swam like a stone!) scream "OH MY GOD HE FELL!!! HE FELL IN THE RIVER! SOMEBODY HELP US!!!" Now, there was nobody around but us kids so to this day I don't know who she was yelling at but when we turned around sure enough there was our dad slowly sinking into the river (the ice cold, glacier fed river)!! He had slipped on the rocks throwing out his line and his ten thousand pound hip waders were filling up with water so fast he could't get back on his feet! When he lost his hold on his million dollar fishing rod we knew he was in real trouble! As long as he had it in his hand he was using it as a cane of sorts. With it he could at least keep his head above the water but once he lost his grip on it he was headed straight for Davey Jones locker!!! My brother Alan and I quickly kicked off our shoes and made our way into the river to at least try and keep dad breathing. To our surprise the water was only thigh deep! Between the weight in his hip waders, the speed the river was going + the slippery rocks under him dad had no chance of regaining his footing. The hip waders had become a ten thousand pound anchor dragging him under the water! Alan and I grabbed a shoulder strap and hauled dad back to shore. He was blue from the cold and the hip waders were keeping the icy water in! Dad was too big for us to turn upside down so with mom's help we wrestled the wader off of him which also took his shorts as well. We saw more of our father than we needed to see that day and I thought my sister's eyeballs were going to pop right out of her head!!! The ride home was pretty quiet. This incident, funny as it is to think about now had scared the hell out of all of us. We could have lost our dad that day but we didn't. I also realized that in spite of everything he said his dad had taught him about fishing he really wasn't very good at it. Not that day anyway! We made a memory this day as a family. In spite of the fear behind the experience it was a good one. The kind you want to remember in spite of all your disagreements and differences. You should hold on to these. Their important. I learned that from my father. Thanks Dad ....... I love you higher than the sky, bigger than the moon ...... |
| The fact that dad had his picture taken with the great big salmon mom bought for all to see didn't matter to me either. I am sure in his mind the little salmon he dragged out of the ocean that day was just as big or bigger! I knew his story of our day together would be as the big a fish tale as the picture he took home. I would't have traded that day for anything in the world. I ended up buying a cabin cruiser after my father had passed away. The "Miss Debbie". She wasn't a plywood boat but she was a wooden boat and it became a second home to my wife and I. Because of all my adventures with my dad I had become an excellent map reader and navigated the British Columbia ocean easily. I tell you I had learned to use oars better than any man alive! I loved the comforts my boat afforded. I could drive it (NEVER had to drag it!!) anywhere and enjoyed all of the home comforts it afforded me for many years. I caught my share of fish - small, medium and large but let most of them go. A man can only eat so much fish after all. I only set out on open water when the weather was good. Went out once in bad weather and once was all it took for me to learn not to do that again! I taught my grandson everything my father had taught me about fishing though I bet he is too young to remember. Clarke was named after my father when dad died and as my first grandchild - well, there is nothing quite like the bond you form. My wife and I sold the boat but still continued to travel - and stay in hotels. Good ones. With comfortable beds, air conditioning and good food. I remembered what I had learned about all these things from my dad. About how all of this was important to me! I lock my extra beer in my trunk and I have a flashlight in every nook and cranny of my car AND my house. You never know when your gonna need a cold beer and a flashlight! My daughter and son-in-law met my wife and I at the doctor's office the other day and found my trunk was wide open! The beer was still there but I wasn't worried! It's not like I had parked the dang thing on a reservation or anything after all! Most of all I learned that the most valuble thing that I have in my life (aside from my wife and kids of course!) are my memories. The good ones. These are the ones you want to remember. You should hold on to. It's how you keep the ones you love alive long after they are gone. I learned that - from my father. Thanks Dad....... |
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| The British Columbia Salmon I moved my family to British Columbia in 1965 and the last fishing trip I took with my dad was one out on the ocean. It cost me a fortune! I had to buy salt water gear because we had none, rent a boat, gas it up, etc.etc. It was without a doubt one of the most expensive and one of the best days we ever spent together. The weather was good and in spite of all the money I payed out there was only one fish caught - a salmon and I got to watch my dad joyfully bring it in. I knew that when he got back to Winnipeg that little fish would go from being a puny four pounder to a giant! Arriving back at my house my mom asked us how much it had cost to catch that little fish. I guestimated and she scoffed at the large amount. Just in case we didn't catch one my wife and her had gone down to the fish market and bought a ten pounder for ten bucks! It had cost me over a hundred for my day out with dad. But that didn't matter to me. The excitement I saw in my dad as he fought for his mighty salmon that day was priceless. |
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| White Lake, Manitoba |
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