“When will Dad be back?” she asked as she sat waiting on the steps.
“I have no idea. You know your Dad.” Yes, she did. Every year it was the same thing. The family vacation was always delayed by about one day. This year, it was the same deal. He knew yesterday. Why can’t he ever be ready! He made her so mad!
“I just have to go back to work to clear my desk, dear,” her dad said at the end of breakfast. She knew that when he got back he would have to go and get the car ready. Check the oil, the tires, fill up with gas. They were always left waiting for him. Why? They only had one week, for heaven’s sake.
By the time he got back, steam was coming out her ears. “Finally,” she muttered under her breath. She slammed around as they loaded the car, shouting at her brothers when they started pushing and shoving each other. This was the one week of the year that they went on vacation. One week when her father’s boss lent them his cabin on Bednesti Lake! Finally, they set off, traveling the gravel road for about three hours. Eventually, she spotted the three silver birch trees, the signal that they had arrived at the turn-off. They turned into it. Trees encroached on the pathway, definitely a “road less travelled.” Finally, there it was—Bednesti Lake. She was the first out of the car. She ran to the edge of the lake, stretched out her arms as if to embrace it. Able to shut out the sounds of her family unpacking the car, she drank in the silence.
The next afternoon, she stood in the same spot waiting with anticipation, looking around at the tree lined shore line. Tall, stately, evergreen trees reached up to the sky as they had for generations. Only a few cabins dotted the edge of the lake to her left and right. That day, they were empty. The lake was hers. She went back into the house.
“Oh come on, Dad.”
“Do you have everything together?”
“Of course, Dad.” Her tone of voice indicated that she thought he was stupid though she knew this was just another attempt at stalling. She had gathered the rods, reels, and the green tackle box and piled them up just outside the door of the wooden cabin. “Come on, Dad,” she repeated. “It’s time.” Reluctantly, he looked up from his book.
“In a minute.”
He continued reading. She looked at him, knowing that she would have to do more to get him away from his book and out of his chair. He was always busy doing something that left little time for his kids. She remembered their mother once saying, “He was never any good with you children when you were babies.” Surely, since she was fourteen now, he would be more interested.
She stamped around the cabin muttering under her breath. She would have gone by herself if she could, but the boat and the outboard motor were too heavy for her to drag into the water. She went quietly close to him and snatched the book out of his hand. It was easy to snatch. This startled him awake. As she thought, he had fallen asleep behind the book. “Come on, come on, we gotta go before it’s too late.” It would soon be the perfect time.
Her father arrived, slowly pulling the sixteen-foot aluminum boat behind him and into the water. They launched the boat and, with the oar, pushed away from the shore. After a few attempts by her father, the engine sputtered and began its putt-putting as they slowly left the shoreline behind. Dusk was waiting in the wings. The reflection of the boat ran along beside them trying to keep up, never getting ahead. The water shimmered as the last rays of the sun tried to penetrate the depths. The surface of the water was becoming busy. Hundreds of tiny flies covered the water like a knotted comforter. A dragonfly hovered above the surface, the see-through wings buzzing. Suddenly it dived. Was it an early or a late supper?
They headed to the far side of the lake at full speed, which was about as fast as a souped-up turtle. There was the sound of another outboard singing back in harmony. She looked around; there was no other boat in site. She realized that the trees and hills were reminding them that they were surrounded by other living things reflecting back their sound. About twenty minutes later, they arrived at the desired spot. Everything slowed, and father and daughter prepared the lines. She had a brown fibreglass rod equipped with a ten-pound test line. She opened the tackle box, searching for a spinner. She selected one that resembled a trout, silver with an array of pastel rainbow colours. After attaching it and a lead weight to the end of the line, slowly she let it out, listening to the purring of the reel as the line sank.
For the next half-hour they slowly moved back and forth. Fish jumped out of the water. The haunting cry of the loon echoing around the lake occasionally broke the silence. It was an eerie feeling sharing this moment and this boat with her father. How was he able to sit so quietly? This was not the man that she knew back in the city on dry land.
She knew that her father had no control over the fish. They jumped at will, moved swiftly with the undercurrent, evaded any attempt to be hooked. “Bring in your line. We are moving over there,” he said suddenly, pointing out a part of the lake they had fished before. He put the outboard in gear and sped up.
Once again, she put out the line. Within minutes, she felt the familiar tug. The game began. She let out the line, playing with him. Back and forth in a tug of war. She gave him more line. Let him run. “Reel him in,” her dad called, holding the net over the side of the boat. They started playing games. In, out. The rod bent whenever she tried reeling him in. “Looks like a big one,” her dad said as he got the net ready for the catch. In, out, a great fighter. Eventually, he seemed to be tiring. As she brought him closer to the boat, she saw how beautiful he was.
She took the net from her dad’s hand, and as she lifted him out of the water, the fish gave one last struggle. Suddenly, there was a big splash.
“I guess your old dad can still teach you a thing or two. Next time, let me bring him in.”
The sound from the outboard increased as the sky and the lake turned pink. “Maybe we’ll have better luck tomorrow,” her dad shouted out over the noise of the engine. She turned her head and smiled to herself.
There would be no trout for supper that night.
