In December the inclement weather turned our holiday plans sideways.
Our out-of-town family members could not safely travel to join us for Christmas. Suddenly, my daughter Kit and I had unexpected free time to ourselves.
A recent Peak article featuring photos of Santa with his fishing rod sharply bent and a tight line came to mind.
Santa grins, standing on the newly constructed dock at Cranberry Lake. He is seemingly unaware the lake is frozen over and must believe reporter Paul Galinski’s reports of four-pound cutthroat trout lurking beneath layers of snow, ice and water.
Santa’s knowing expression sparked my curiosity.
The overnight onslaught of rain held promise for opening up the lake water. The rumours of big fish lured Kit and me to test out the new dock for ourselves.
When we approached the lake, we could see two very small natural breaks in the melting ice close enough for us to cast into. Sometimes our lures landed squarely with a splash but more often than not they plunked on the ice, requiring a combination of dragging and flipping maneuvers to slide the hooks into place.
I can imagine we looked ridiculous to the people walking their dogs on trails close by. Greetings began with: “Catch anything?”
Several people mentioned having come down to check out the new dock having also seen Santa fishing in the Peak article. We did not land any fish.
One passerby posited: “That is why it is called fishing not catching.” Kit smiled in acknowledgment.
We had been skunked but not deterred by our first qathet region ice fishing experience. We packed up, empty-handed, yet content on Christmas Day.
Local temperatures have warmed since then and the Cranberry Lake ice has totally melted. Recently we made our second attempt to entice the elusive four-pound trout. A half dozen elegant swans (or perhaps lingering snow geese), two soaring bald eagles and a lone silent loon welcomed us.
The medicine of these winged creatures did not escape us. We felt lucky. So, we set our tackle box down at the end of the dock and assembled our rods.
On this day, happy sounds drifted down to the water, children laughing and canines thrilled to be off-leash. Perhaps New Year’s resolutions motivated folks to abandon indoor comforts and explore trails by the lake.
I observed a boy quietly watching us from his viewpoint on the shore trail – I sensed him observing us – watching for the splash. Long moments passed before he came down to the dock and tentatively approached me.
I spoke first: “Do you fish?”
He nodded affirmatively.
“Would you like to take a turn with my rod?”
He shifted on his feet, not quite sure.
“It’s okay,” he responded tentatively, continuing to watch my daughter flip her bail and cast.
I looked towards shore and a woman met my gaze. His mom? We nodded in silent agreement. I hoped I understood correctly her giving consent for her child to engage with me.
I demonstrated how to flip the bail and cast the line, “just like baseball.”
Leo took the rod for himself. It took a few tries to coordinate releasing his finger at just the right moment as he swung the rod. I wondered if he realized that risking failure and harnessing faith are important life skills.
Leo, Kit and I all failed to catch fish that day, but I know that in trying we won something else.
As we left the dock and headed up the path to return home, we met a Westview couple who had travelled to Cranberry to check out the new fishing access featured in the Peak. The man had remained silent earlier when his wife chatted with me on the dock. Now he enquired if we caught anything.
“No, we sure had fun though,” I cheerfully answered. Kit smiled.
He paused, then offered: “You caught some memories though, didn’t you?”
Lana Cullis is a qathet region writer and fisher.
