Huskee: The Story of a Big Pike

The canoe slid along the glass smooth surface of the Quebec, Canada, lake on my solo trip

-  Fred Prince

After many years away, it felt good to be back on the lake and in the canoe fishing for pike. The water was motionless, with the spent bodies of various insects and pollen covering the lake's surface in an unattractive film.

Half a century before, I recalled, my uncle said the lake was "working" when it looked like that. I didn't know what he meant and suspected he didn't either. What I did remember, clearly, was his statement that fish don't bite when the lake is "working," and I considered that, gliding along, with the bow parting the scum.

Mid-morning, so calm.

I was likely going to have slow fishing. I'd seen this before, my uncle's words reinforced by no fish action. But I was content to be in the canoe savoring many memories of the lake, the people especially family connected to it.

Nearing a point, a favorite fishing spot, I trolled a spinner/minnow rig. Paddling around the point, I recalled the strike of a fine pike right there - just the year previous. That pike fought an exceptionally long battle. When I netted the beautiful 11 and a half-pounder, my best fish from the lake ever, it seemed much bigger.

There was a hope for deja-vu, but no repeat. Not a single strike so far. I couldn't help but think, as I slowly paddled towards the narrows, that I may not catch a fish all day.

At the narrows, I reeled in my line and put the rod down. The water became shallow, so I watched the bottom as I paddled.