A DAY WE REMEMBER story

“How would you like to go deep sea fishing?” Grandpa asked Matt, his grandson, during an afternoon barbecue in the backyard.

“I bet you’d like that,” Grandma added passing him a hamburger. The noon sky was the color of robin-egg blue. And seagull “ERK-ERK” sounds were loud in their searching for snacks.

When you’re twelve, it’s not cool to answer right away. Matt had to think about the question, since there might be something better to do as the day progressed. Besides he was busy watching four Chick-a-Dees.

“What’s that again?” he asked as his favorite birds scooted back and forth with seed from their new feeder. He and grandpa had built it the other day and his cut finger, still sore with memory, was proof of their shared project.

“Imagine being in a fishing boat, miles out in the ocean,” Grandpa said. “I could help you catch the biggest fish of your life.”

“Well that might be fun,” Matt finally admitted.

He did like fishing and his visit to Nova Scotia was coming to an end. Sweeping back his dark hair, he wondered when grandpas began to turn white. That is, what was left of his hair. “Har...Har.” He wanted to laugh, but it would be impolite, and he loved his grandpa too much to be nasty. Yes, Matt mused, a trip like that would be a first for him, something special to remember.

“On one condition,” he said. “We have to stay until I catch the largest fish, without any help.” He had heard about people catching awesome fish in the ocean and what a tale he could bring to his friends back home in Edmonton, Alberta. A trip like that would be much different than the brook streams he and grandpa visited several times.

He could sense Grandpa really wanted him to go. They might not be seeing each other for a while, since the boy might want new adventures back home next summer. He was growing up so quickly he wasn’t a kid anymore.

“Sure let’s do it!” he said suddenly. And then plans were made.

As Saturday morning finally arrived! Matt jumped in the front seat of the car bringing with him both lunches and drinking water.

Grandpa and grandson drove out of Truro with images of a huge fish jumping around in the boy’s head. Cars and trucks joined them as a parade on the highway. Actually it was also the first time Matt would get to see Halifax, since his holiday itinerary had already taken them to Cape Breton and Prince Edward Island.

The boy figured Grandpa must have saved this one for a last-minute special.

Misty trails from airplanes soon circled in the sky.

“We’re getting closer to Halifax,” Grandpa said, matter of fact. As they crossed the MacDonald Bridge the boy’s eyes feasted on sleek ships below. ‘They’re from the Royal Canadian Navy,” Grandpa pointed out.

“Wow…neat,“ Matt remarked. “Is that the size of boat we’re going on?” he asked.

“You’ll see soon,” Grandpa answered. Down the highway ramp they sped, Water Street ending at a parking lot beside the waterfront. People were milling about, some had large backpacks others lunch boxes. Grandpa and Matt paid for their tickets then joined the lineup.

“I’m going to catch a monster fish,” Matt told everyone. “He sounded like a little kid, but he didn’t care. He was looking forward to fishing in the ocean.

“Look Matt,” Grandpa said. “There’s the Theresa II for sailing tours. And the John S. Brown sailing ship.”

“Is that a Sampan?” Matt asked.

“You’re right.” The boat had a square sail and pointy ends, coming briskly alongside the dock. Grandpa and grandson headed down the walkway to their boat.

“We’re going on a Cape Islander built in the village of Chelsea,” Grandpa said.

Matt read, “THE PUFFIN” in large letters on the side.

Grandpa helped Matt climb aboard the forty-foot boat then sat together under the extended cabin roof.

“It’s built like this, in case of rain,” Grandpa explained. Ten more people came aboard. Chugging loudly, the Puffin soon headed towards the Atlantic Ocean, and slowly moved past the berthed Penney Ugland ship.

Matt liked that ship’s bright orange sides with green top. He waved to people watching from the shore. “I’m going deep sea fishing!” he yelled, his excitement now building.

From here, the CIBC and MTT buildings looked like mountains. And the MacDonald Bridge was a rainbow of steel behind them. Huge cranes appeared as vultures, curving over railway boxcars parked on the docks. Mansion-houses and skyscrapers perched like seagulls on Halifax hills.

“Over there, Matt!” Grandpa shouted. “George’s Island.”

Matt stared at the rocky shoreline, noticing an old fort and two small buildings. “When are we going to start fishing, Grandpa?” the boy asked.

“Enjoy yourself. These new sights are part of our fishing adventure.”

The boy was really glad he decided to come on this trip. Men, women and teenagers were dressed in sandals and shorts. Some had backpacks and sunglasses. Grandpa looked cool wearing his peaked Captain’s hat. The boy listened to everyone’s conversation. Unmindful, the Puffin’s 195 HP motor continued to ‘CHUGG’ along.

People chatted about friends and families from all over Nova Scotia. Tales about Yarmouth, Amherst, New Glasgow, Sydney and Truro soon had everyone chuckling and beginning friendships.

“Hey, that’s where I’m from,” Matt said, interrupting. “Truro.” He loved listening to their loud talk and laughter. The wind whipped against his face and he leaned against Grandpa for more warmth. The Sir William Alexander, a Canadian Coast Guard boat passed them. Its red and white colors seemed to stretch proudly from bow to stern.

It seemed silly at first, but Matt proudly stood up and saluted the Canadian flag.

He pretended he was the Captain of the Puffin. But, the real Captain stood before his steering wheel in the cabin. Far as the boy could see, the ocean stretched in the distance. The wind was whistling loudly in his ears. Suddenly, as if awakening from a dream, there was temporary silence. The motor’s ‘chug-chugging’ had abruptly stopped, and ocean waves now splashed against the hull.

The Captain’s yell of, “Time to fish! Caused everyone to scramble for the best fishing spot on deck. “We’re now seven miles out from shore,” he said. Then he made sure everyone had the proper equipment. And that included Matt.

The Captain explained how to use the rods and reels for ‘jigging’ mackerel. “Drop the sinker to the bottom,” he said. “This spot is about 25 feet deep. Bring your line up about two feet. Then swing your rod up quickly and down slowly. If you feel anything, jerk on the line.”

“And reel in quickly,” Grandpa said.

Matt closed his eyes in pain to the prick of sharp hooks. There was a heavy sinker on the end of his line. And three hooks were tied about eight inches apart each having and orange feather.

“Now watch this,” Grandpa said. He swung his line over the side, splashing into the water with a loud ‘KERPLUNK!’ Moments later his excited movements meant success and brought a holler from Matt.

“Hey, you caught something!”

Three mackerel fish flipped back and forth over the watery surface as Grandpa gave his grandson a triumphant smile. Then he swung them into the boat.

“ATTABOY GRANDPA!” Matt screamed. Now it’s my turn.”

Now the ocean air was filled with yelling from other lucky fishermen. As Mackerel lines dropped onto the deck the captain removed their hooks. Smaller sized fish were quickly flung into the ocean, followed by sinkers and feathery hooks seeking more fish, even larger ones this time.

Mackerel, Blue fish, Pollock and a few Cod were quickly filleted by the Captain then placed in a large tub. And covered with crushed ice.

By now Matt was having his share of success, except he was being more than a little fussy. “Not this one,” he was saying. “Not that one either.” He didn’t want to keep any fish for himself unless it was the largest one caught today, determined to fulfill the promise made a few days ago. He also bragged about it to everyone on board.

The Captain kept moving the boat to different locations allowing new scenery and trying out different depths. Each time Matt hoped his monster fish would be waiting. Now they were in sixty feet of water and nine miles from land. Surely Matt thought this was the right spot for a first time young deep-sea fisherman from Edmonton.

Grandpa was quite pleased with his grandson. Their 40-foot, twelve-ton boat was like a cork on the ocean. It swayed with each rolling wave and not once did Matt have an upset stomach. “You must have natural sea legs,” Grandpa said, gently squeezing the boy’s shoulder. “But, you shouldn’t be so particular, Matt. You have to keep at least one fish.”

“Nope,” the stubborn boy answered. “If it isn’t the biggest one than any one else’s, then...” and he let his words linger. He carefully compared the size of each catch to the others. “Nope,” he muttered. And once again threw his fish back. Of course, the fish didn’t mind.

Biting his lip, he tried again. Oh, this one felt heavy. And he heaved it onto the deck.

“That Codfish must be the one you’re planning to keep,” Grandpa said patiently.

Matt carefully studied his newly hooked fish. It looked kind of neat with huge lips and wide fins jutting upwards from a brownish body.

“Hurry up and make a decision,” Grandpa said through tight lips. “Your hook didn’t damage the fish, but he can’t stay out of the water too long.”

Everyone stared as the boy checked out the stack of filleted fish in the ice chest. He shook his head and glanced around the blue painted deck. It’s amazing what goes through someone’s mind Matt kept thinking when an important decision is about to be made.

He noticed two red fire extinguishers in the corner. Several blue and white tea towels hung from a string. Matt wished he hadn’t boasted about getting the largest fish. It was too late now for him to back down. The boy slowly walked to the edge of the boat, shut his eyes and gently released his Codfish.

Grandpa came and stood beside him. Matt knew he’d understand. Just then, the boat captain announced loudly, “Pull your lines in! Time to head back to Halifax harbor!” Matt’s misty eyes watched as sail boats plowed through the whitecaps. He didn’t even have one teensy fish for mom and dad.

“They’ll also understand Matt,” Grandpa said quietly. He knew what was on the boy’s mind. Clouds were puffy-white in the sky. And the sun was warm on Matt’s face, as he turned to his Grandpa.

“Okay if I try again next year?” he asked.

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(c) Richard & Esther Provencher
Website: www.wsprog.com/rp/