“Got one!” my 10-year-old son exclaimed the sweetest words a fisherman can hear.
Joe’s declaration was extra exciting because he, my dad and I were on a remote Ontario lake, and one glance at Joe’s fishing rod — bent like the St. Louis Gateway Arch — told me this was a sizable fish.
It was 7:33 a.m. on Father’s Day, and we were the only boat on the lake. Dad and I had fished this very lake on Father’s Day the last dozen years in a row, a portage lake we reserved during our annual vacation at Fireside Lodge near Sioux Lookout, Ontario.
Over the decades, Dad and I have shared many spectacular musky adventures on Father’s Day, but my son — remember, he’s 10 — had never caught the highly coveted, highly elusive fish of 10,000 casts.
After some time, Joe managed to wrangle the fish close enough to the boat that we could see it through the crystal-clear Canadian waters. Indeed, it was a large musky with beautiful markings, a massive head and an impressive set of teeth.
I netted the beast, or most of it, only to have the fish somehow flip out of the net and dive back to the depths of the lake, still hooked but apparently angry and pulling out line from Joe’s reel fast and furious. Dad and I watched with bated breath, knowing from painful experience that every big musky is only a half-second away from coming unhooked and getting away.
Joe didn’t flinch. He’s caught enough big river fish back home to know the drill — pull up slowly, then lower your fishing rod while winding as fast as possible. Repeat. Finally the musky was again within our sights. Mercifully, this time around we managed to coral the giant in the net and successfully land it.
We erupted in celebration, with spontaneous hugs and high fives between father and son, grandpa and grandson. My dad and I were the loudest, but the sweetest sound was captured in a video of us releasing the fish. Joe, in his youthful voice, narrated the scene saying, “I caught this! I caught a musky!”
Conservation of our natural resources is vital for us and our children, so we quickly snapped a few photos prior to that release, and intentionally did not keep the musky out of the water long enough for a measurement. Had we measured it, the tape would’ve reached between 40 and 45 inches. Our grins extended from ear to ear.
Remember When . . .
On the boat ride back to our cabin at day’s end, my mind wandered back to previous highlights my father and I have shared during our annual pilgrimage North.
The time on Cedarbough Lake when Dad caught the biggest musky of his life, and five minutes later I caught one of the largest muskies of my life. The morning Dad suggested we try a far lake at Fireside Lodge we rarely fish and I reluctantly agreed; as soon as we reached that lake I caught a 40-inch musky, an 18-inch smallmouth bass and a 35-inch pike on three consecutive casts. The day we startled a bull moose splashing across a creek at sunrise, and in the afternoon witnessed a black bear swim across the same creek, prompting my soft-spoken father to whisper in excitement, “What a day!”
New memories merge with old, forming a tapestry that is meaningful to each person in a unique way. These memories weave a fabric that warms the soul.
When all is said and done, and neither Dad nor I possess the physical abilities to venture into the Canadian wilderness or even cast a line, I suspect this year’s Father’s Day experience of Joe catching his first muskie with all three generations together in that little boat will be stitched front-and-center in our tapestry of memories.
As a parent, you want your kids to experience special moments with loved ones, and to create memories that will comfort and even shape them as they grow. As a dad, I hope my children’s tapestry of memories continues to expand and — God willing — that it continues to interweave with my own.
Editor’s note: Tony Capecchi is a freelance journalist and avid multi-species angler who lives in Woodbury, Minnesota, with his wife and three children.
