This is a 24 inch Walleye she caught and landed like a champion.
Our Rotary exchange student, Rebecca from Spain, showing off her first fish.
This is a 24 inch Walleye she caught and landed like a champion.
This is what Friday looks like this evening - May 12. The sun is bright and warm. The water, released from winter's ice, is blue and beautiful.
The landscape is brown and desolate looking.
I'll take a picture next week from this same spot at our lakeside bar. The forest across the bay will shine with the mint of spring.
Honoring some of the moms in my family. My mother is holding me when I was one year old. Standing is my mother's mom Anna Presley, and sitting on the right is Gram Presley's mother Abigail Clark, my great grandmother.
Happy Mother's Day!
I was sitting in a Thunder Bay hospital waiting room this afternoon while Mary was having some tests performed somewhere down the hallway.
After checking my emails and Facebook, I grabbed a random magazine from the table beside me.
Partway through a half hearted fluttering of pages my eyes lit up and my heart skipped a few beats as a recipe for cheddar scallop cakes shouted out.
I took a look, imagined the smells and delights awaiting when I could get home to give it a try.
It was with no small amount of guilt that I started plotting how I could quietly, secretly rip the page out of the magazine and stuff it quickly into my back pocket without anyone in the roomful of sick people catching me.
I decided finally to wait until the room got emptier, or until Mary came back and we had to leave. At that point, as a last resort, I planned to implement the old rip and run manoeuver, right after telling Mary, "Go on ahead. I'll catch up."
I set the magazine on top of my jacket that was folded neatly on the chair beside me and picked a different magazine from the table and pretended to be reading it while secretly waiting for my chance to tear my recipe out.
Well, wouldn't you know it. A big woman in a wheelchair had the milquetoast guy pushing her park right beside my table, where she picked herself a magazine while instructing her companion to go fetch a National Geographic from across the room.
The way the wheelchair lady was going through magazines made me nervous as I kept my eye on the mag beside me with the recipe I was drooling over - page open and ready to rip in a split second.
Soon it happened. "Give me that one," she instructed, pointing to my treasure.
And then smiling right in my face she asked, "Is that one yours?"
"No. Go ahead," I smiled back as my heart dropped into my boots.
During the next few minutes I plotted and planned how I could get that damn recipe. Then I overheard the woman comment to her man, "You know, I've never eaten a scallop."
She had the magazine open to page 10. My cheddar scallop cake recipe!
Thinking quickly, I leaned over and asked if I might have the magazine back for a moment. When she handed it to me, I immediately scurried over to an empty chair out of the glare from the overhead lights, smoothed page 10, and took a picture.
As I returned the magazine to the woman who had never eaten a scallop, I said, "I hope you have a scallop someday."
Feeling bad for the old, little meek guy who was with her, I suggested, very gently and friendly-like, "You should buy your husband a big barbeque."
A beauty is playing tonight.
This is our first night at camp since ice-out.
My view from our lakeside bar...
Yesterday afternoon, as I sat daydreaming on the deck, white plumes in the bright blue sky caught my attention as they streaked in my direction.
Within a couple minutes I captured this shot directly above me of the streaker racing northwest.
At first I assumed this was just another military plane on a training exercise. We see lots of those.
But this looked different.
I sent this picture to a friend who is in the aviation business and asked him what he thought. Here's what he said.
"Four engines plus the red tail marking make me suggest that it's a Delta Airlines 747 heading to Asia along the flight corridor that passes over that part of NW Ontario."
I wonder where that flight originated...
"Like sucking on a skunk," I thought to myself, blowing out a cloud of rancid cigar smoke.
A year ago I bought a box of cigars, rolled with some new strain of tobacco leaves. The box, itself, is beautiful - cedar wood with a hinged lid and a small hasp for attaching a padlock. It looks like a pirate's tiny treasure chest.
The cigars inside are awful. So bad I wished I were the father of newborn twins so I could give them away two at a time.
Yesterday afternoon, to start the weekend, I plucked one of these stinkies out of my humidor, hoping it had mellowed with age.
"Oh, well," I figured, "it's a fabulous spring day on the deck. I'll just make the best of it."
After a few more puffs it seemed only fair that I mix myself a Caesar to wash away the ugly taste of cigar.
The next half hour was unremarkable, really. I had a pretty view out over the lake ice, nice music making a soft background, and the alternating tastes of bitterness from an abominable stogie and the soothing smoothness of a cool Caesar.
For some reason, as I savored my fine tasting drink, glass half empty, I realized with a flash of brilliance that comes only to certain people, that I had forgotten to put the vodka in my Caesar.
At that point, the music changed, and I began plotting a way to justify throwing away the unsmoked half of a sour cigar and pour out half a glass of sissy drink.
And my dream was fulfilled right then as I noticed my cat - the one who had woken me up three times the night before as he slunk through the darkness in the bedroom yowling his head off - exploring the sand on the beach 20 feet in front of me.
With the precision of a good relief pitcher, I launched that cigar upward and outward, and watched the perfect arc as it sped from my perch 15 feet above the ground toward the sky and then descended to plop with a satisfying thump and great cloud of smoke immediately beside the cat, who had not seen that coming.
A quick jump and a startled Pfffft later, I received the withering stare that only a 15 year old cat named Monkey can shoot in a laughing man's direction.
With that, I quickly polished off my accidental Shirley Temple and ate the olives, then hustled inside to choose a good cigar and uncork an awaiting bottle of wine.
Within minutes I was back on the deck, admiring the promise of spring, and thoroughly enjoying the new tastes dancing in my mouth.
And, best of all, Mary came out and sat with me and drank a glass of wine, and we talked til dusk on an early spring day in Sioux Lookout.
I wonder what's happening with the birds at camp.
As of Friday we had the usual flock of chickadees by the dozens, and numerous other birds flitting in and out, feasting on seeds and suet.
Yesterday and today I am seeing one Whiskeyjack and a single chickadee.
I have sat with this chicken and nursed it all afternoon in my smoker on the deck.
It looks so pretty and smells so delectable I don't think I can eat it...