Fishing changes when family changes

Canadian wilderness fishing trips exemplify many of the ways fishing has changed. I found this out last week on my annual fishing trek to the Canadian boreal forest.

For the first time, my two children made the trip, along with two of my brother’s children. Our aging father also made the trip, which he openly declared his last.

We arrived at a lake that straddled the border of northern Ontario and Manitoba with great anticipation. The 88,000-acre lake was advertised as having better than average potential to produce trophy-sized northern pike and smallmouth bass.

Though we had been fooled before, this lake had great potential to live up to its billing. Like many Canadian lakes these days, it was designated as 100 percent catch-and-release.

The release-everything rule was our first run-in with change.

Fifteen years ago, the only reason anglers went to Canada to fish was to bring home a cooler full of fish filets. In hindsight, all those years of indiscriminate eating probably contributed to the modern need to release everything today.

Though we knew about the catch-and-release status of the lake when we signed on, it was still frustrating when we couldn’t even eat a couple fish for dinner.

This point was even harder to swallow when we started catching walleyes at will. Shaking-off healthy 3-pound walleyes almost made us cry. The 7-pound walleyes we were also catching were easier to release since we convinced ourselves they wouldn’t taste good.

Just getting started in the morning presented problems none of us anticipated. Our father’s health and the fact that we had 3-, 5- and 7-year-olds made it a logistic nightmare to keep everyone safe, fishing and interested.

Instead of just going fishing, as we had done every year previously, we had to take turns babysitting the little ones. Even when they all fished, it was not like it used to be.

Fifteen minutes of trolling had to be followed by an hour on an island where the kids could play with rocks, go to the bathroom and swat at dragonflies. The adults were left to just stare longingly at the water that, in the past, we would have been trolling for monster pike.

Since my kids were older (10 and 14), I was able to fish more frequently. And by “fish” I mean tend to them while they fished. I tried in vain to wet a line in the beginning, but quickly found they needed my complete attention.

Though she is an accomplished angler and very accurate caster, my daughter would not unhook anything more than 12 inches long. We caught lots of fish, but nothing under 12 inches.

My son was having serious trouble mastering his new spinning reel. So, when I wasn’t unhooking one of their fish or running the boat, I was untangling birds’ nests.

By the end of the week, I had barely fished. This was the toughest change to accept.

Though I never complained about being relegated to the guy who did all the cooking, cleaning and tour-guiding, my father sensed my frustration with the whole situation.

“Do you recall our annual fishing trips to Minnesota when you were little?” he asked.

“Of course,” I answered.

“How much fishing do you think I did back then with you and your three brothers in one boat?”

“Hmm,” was all I said.

“Welcome to another phase of fatherhood,” he ended.

Though I wanted to fish, this was one change I was happy to accept.

Watching my son fight a northern as long as he is tall was priceless. He was both excited and frightened at the same time.

Teaching my daughter to vertical jig and then net the 5-pound walleye she horsed from 40-feet of water was unbelievable. Her frantic screams of “big fish, big fish,” and “get the net, I’m serious,“ will be with both of us for the rest of our lives.

As the world changes, fishing changes too. It took a while for me to embrace the new reality, but once I did, I found a whole new set of rewards.

Don Mulligan can be reached at outdoorswithdon@aol.com.