That brings us back to me and Allan. The year was '92 and he was twelve. I don't actually recall asking him if he wanted to go. Never entered my head. I must have figured every twelve year old boy would want to head to the Canadian border, camp out and have the best fishing of his life. Shows you how much I remembered bein' twelve.
Years later I learned the truth. He went 'cause I was his old man and I asked him to go. I figured the trip was my gift to him. Guess it was the other way around. Deep down I knew it was me who really wanted to go. Allan was my excuse. So, in a way, it was like my trip with Rod back in '66. He needed me to make it happen. I went 'cause I needed a job and Rod's old man had one for me.
In the long run both trips worked out the same. Exposure to the woods and wilderness has a way of working on some people. And both Al and I fell in love with the experience.
This wasn't our first fishing trip together. In the years leading up to the '92 trip we'd done a few together at the cabin. Good times but frustrating fishing. I figured the fish knew we had our heads up our kiesters. Barely knew which end of the rod to hold. You see, the fish always know. They like being caught by good anglers. Will even flock to the lures of the really good ones, 'specially those who catch and release. That's why good anglers don't just catch more fish than bad ones, they catch lots more.
In short, we went to the Arrowhead with the idea that the smallies of East Pike Lake would set us on the path of fishing righteousness.
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