Junior Year Box Set

The four of them must have worked it out beforehand because they each took a huge bite out of their doughnuts at the same time. The looks of pure joy on their faces slowly changed to ones of concern. Phil was terrible at pranks because he gave it away when he began to giggle. They all spit out their bites.

“What the hell did you put in them?” Greg asked.

“Mayonnaise. I called ahead and had them specially made. I told the baker we were from down south, and it was a special treat. It worked, I got him to make them just for you,” I said with a big smile.

I high-fived Phil. It felt good to finally turn the tables on my tormentors.

“This doesn’t bode well,” Uncle John said. “When did we become the target of pranks?”

“I kept warning everyone that someday, David would get even,” Greg noted.

“They had something different, so I thought we might try them,” Phil said as he got out another box of doughnuts. “Maple-bacon doughnuts.”

They had maple icing and bacon crumbles on top. We all agreed that it sounded weird, but Phil had picked out a winner. Only in Canada would they come up with such a combination.

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It was decided that we would go three to a boat. Paul said he should be in the same boat I was. I wasn’t quite sure what he would protect me from on the water, but I wasn’t about to point that out. Uncle John joined us.

The lake was massive. The area was called the Trout Lake Conservation Reserve and was a protected area in the Red Lake District. On the west coast of the lake was a Provincial Nature Preserve. The man that ran the resort told us that Trout Lake was a cold-water lake with a maximum depth of 150 feet. There were several types of fish: walleye, northern pike, lake trout, lake whitefish, white sucker, red sucker, and ling.

Over 500 islands dotted the lake and, according to the map, it joined up with a chain of other lakes and rivers.

I wanted to catch a few walleyes for eating. Northern pike was my second choice, for the sport. It turned out Paul was something of an expert. His family had regularly gone fishing in Canada as a family vacation while he was growing up. He pointed to a protected bay with a weed bed.

“Let’s have some fun and go after Northern Gators, or that’s what my dad calls them. All fish are predators, but pike are in a league of their own. It will only take a few casts before you find if there are any around. They’ll hit just about anything, but I’d suggest we try a few different lures and figure out what they want. We can then all switch to that,” Paul suggested.

Devin had sent us everything we needed, including two different rods for each of us. Paul had us use the heavier of the two. He showed us how to tie on a twelve-inch steel wire leader. Pike could bite through the fishing line without any trouble, so the wire leaders were pretty much required. Uncle John was given a spoon lure.

“Start by steadily and slowly reeling, just fast enough to keep the spoon wobbling. If that doesn’t produce, try a flutter retrieve. You do that by using a jigging motion as you reel,” Paul advised.

Paul handed me a white spinner lure. After tying it on, I stood up, and he pointed to what looked like a small log on the edge of the weed bed.

“Cast past that point, and when you get close, I want you to pause for a three count and then begin to reel in,” he advised.

Paul picked a big spinner for himself. On the first cast, Uncle John got a big hit, and his pole bent like he had a monster on it. While he fought it, Paul gave him tips.

“Keep your rod tip up; don’t let it drop, or it’ll give him enough slack to either shake off or snap the line. Let him tire out a little before you try to muscle him.”

When Uncle John got it near the boat, we could see it was a big fish.

“David, grab the net. If it were less than ten pounds, we could just grab him behind the head, but he’s too big. Let me take the lure out of his mouth so you can see how it’s done,” Paul said.

Uncle John fought the fish for a few minutes before he could get him close enough that I could use the net. I dipped the net in front of him and scooped the fish into the boat. Northern pike have a slimy, almost mucus-like coating. I got him out of the net and handed him to Uncle John. Paul used a jaw spreader and needle-nose pliers to get the lure out of the fish’s mouth. I’d packed Dad’s camera, the same one I’d taken to Cuba, so I could take photos. I grabbed the camera and took Uncle John’s picture with his catch. Paul weighed it, and it came in at sixteen pounds.

That set the tone for the morning. Paul would work us into a likely spot, we would each catch three or four fish and then move on. Paul had the biggest at twenty-two pounds, but we were consistently catching six- to twelve-pounders.

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