We are at Wollaston Lake Lodge in northwestern Saskatchewan, approximately three hundred miles beyond the last paved road. Some of the maps I have don’t even show Wollaston Lake, and certainly none of them show the lodge. That’s all right; too many people would learn of it and perhaps the atmosphere would change.
Before this happens, Earl is in search of another 40” or longer fish, forty inches being the cut-off for a “Big Fish.” Earl considers anything less than that an affront to his lure. He still includes them in the daily count, but he frowns as the guide releases them back into the chilly waters. “Send your Momma,” he’s apt to yell as the grateful fish disappears.
Today, we caught a total of thirty-six fish; I use the editorial “we” here, since I probably caught six or seven. But my largest was thirty-seven inches; and, for a city girl who hadn’t held a rod until six years ago, that’s not too shabby.
Earl did catch a 40”. But here’s the rub. Now he wants a bigger fish. I checked the log he keeps of his fishing exploits and learned he caught a 43” Pike when we were here in 2008. So I better tell Mark, our guide, that Earl is like Captain Ahab. He is not going to be content until he catches the largest fish in the waters.
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