Packing

     After all these years I should be good at it but most every time we head off to the boonies I manage to forget something. That's why I start packing better than a week in advance. At the moment a pot of spaghetti sauce is simmering on the stove, all my clothes are packed, rods and tackle checked and double-checked, and the food's bought. But eating away in the back of my brain is the sure-fire knowledge I've forgotten something.
     On Friday, my son Allan and I are off to Red Lake, Ontario. Saturday morning we climb in a small floatplane and fly to a cabin on a river system that might or might not be good fishing. The scary part is the weather forecast. It's too good. Highs in the eighties every day, favorable winds, and no rain. Good reason to pack the sunscreen.
     We have a week to explore around seven hundred acres of the small chain of lakes that form the headwaters of the Nungesser River. There's walleyes, pike, and perch and I've packed for all three. However, our gear is simple, spinners, jigs, plastics, and a half-dozen rods and reels. Even packed the fly rod and am determined to use it a lot (we'll see).
     Also as usual, I've got the pre-trip jitters and get depressed that once again Allan and I are off to the woods. That usually lasts as long as it takes to start the car and back out of the garage. Then it's ten hours of conversation, music, and staring through the windshield as the world slowly changes from Interstate to backroads.
     You can bet I'll be the one behind the wheel when we cross the border, will misunderstand every question I'm asked, smile stupidly, and hope the guard has a sense of humor. Good thing Al has good ears.