Camp Story

Fishing season is coming to an end very shortly so I thought maybe I should post one more blog about fishing.  It has been a long tradition in my family do visit what was once my grandfather's camp and spend a weekend fishing.  The camp now belongs to my uncle, and since my grandfather's time, things have changed quite a bit.  One thing that hasn't changed though is the fun we have when we go there.  The camp has expanded from a one room shack with tar papered exterior to a two bedroom, steel roofed, getaway.  The woodlot has matured and the road in is in much greater shape.  Likely the biggest change though is the people who are now coming in with us.  This was my son's first time in and he now makes the fourth generation to be visiting the camp.

The road into the camp after a late snow storm in May.  The weight of
the wet snow bent the hardwoods well over the road.

Every time we go into the camp I can't help but read the journal that everyone is encouraged to sign.  I have written in the journal a number of times and it was great to remember those times. 

One memory that sticks out was a weekend my brother and I were to take a Scout Troop.  It was a weekend in May and we were hoping to take the Scouts on an early season fishing trip.  As it turned out there was a severe snow storm that weekend and the roads were in bad shape.  As responsible leaders my brother and I had to cancel the camping trip.  He and I though headed in and spent a night anyways, just he and I and the heavy, melting snow.  It was a simple but memorable night.

For this more recent trip there was no snow but plenty more memories.  The plan was to arrive Saturday afternoon and do some fishing.  My son and I packed a cooler, some sleeping bags, and some fishing gear into the truck.  He was excited to go but was playing it cool and was behaving very grown up.  My wife was having a hard time as this was to be his first overnight camping trip with the "guys."  She had tears in her eyes as we pulled out the driveway, but I'm certain they were tears of pride.  We had lunch at the camp and then my Dad, brother, his two boys, my son, and I headed to find some water to wet a line in.

Seth spent more time exploring than he did fishing.

We settled on South Branch Miller Brook and at first it didn't look promising.  We had split up and four of us fished upstream and two fished downstream.  My son and I wandered upstream and from time to time dropped a line in the water with no luck for the first 20 or 30minutes, not even a nibble.  My father and one of the other boys were up ahead of us and I knew our luck was about to change when I heard them clamoring with excitement.  Shortly there after we were catching lots of fish.  My son was more interested in simply playing along the shore and exploring mud holes and climbing alders, but he was having fun and when  I would hook one, he'd come running screaming "I wanna reel it in! I wanna reel it in!" It was fun just watching him walk along in front of me.  He kept humming a song and talking to himself. 

That evening we sat up and taught the kids how to play a couple of card games.  We let them stay up late and eat cookies as a bedtime snack knowing that they had played hard enough that day that once their heads hit the pillow they would be asleep.  I know that I don't remember hitting the pillow.

The weekend was about the beginning of new memories and starting new traditions at the "Ol' Camp."  It was a great weekend and we left a journal entry so that we remember it whenever we go back.

Sitting on the step at the camp we posed for a timed portrait.