I’ve been on vacation. Is that the right word to use when you’re retired and going out-of-town? I wonder. Anyway, this vacation is a big deal. Several guys fly up to a remote fishing camp in Ontario, Canada. We’ve been doing it for years. In addition to fishing for Muskellunge, We catch up on each other’s lives and confess to how well we can relate to, or cope with, events that seem to pilot our happiness. If you can imagine a “Buddy Film” that has been written and directed by Woody Allen, that would be us. 

There are two teetotalers in the group. The other three guys drink up most of the 5 cases of beer, 8 liters of Canadian Whiskey, and a quart of Vodka, over the seven days we’re in camp. This year I brought along some of my medical marijuana to ease the discomfort caused by the chemotherapy I have been prescribed. It worked pretty well. I’m not one of the drinkers, but the weed gave me a ticket to slacken my casting efforts and hang with the drinkers. We would fish for a while and then meet in one of the bays, tether our three boats together and drift while drinking, or in my case, smoking.

It became a habit of mine to spin all three boats in a slow circle with my craft’s electric motor while humming a circus tune. That event became a signal to my comrades that it was time to return to our rods and reels.

Jeff had caught four muskies in the first four days. A huge accomplishment for anybody who fishes for Muskies, but really something for a guy who’s sober for only three hours each day. On this day, after my carrousel spin, we untied from the others and headed across the lake. I drove a serpentine route to a spot where a big fish was spotted that morning.

It was windy in that bay, so I told Jeff that I’d hold the boat with the electric motor while he cast for the big devil I had seen earlier.

It was cold in that bay. I pulled up the hood of my red sweatshirt as Jeff casted a red bucktail lure while we drifted. My mind wandered. A few minutes later, I began to cover my hooded ears with my hands and recite, “Bite the red bucktail.”

“I’m using the power of my mind, through this scientific red hood, to lure the Muskie to eat your bait.” I told Jeff.

“Pretty weird.” He said.

“Not really. I’ve done some work with Dolphins in Florida. Of course that success was done with a gold hoodie. Since you’re throwing a red lure, I think this red hood will cause the best result. Hang on to that rod, Buddy.”

Jeff threw his lure out again. “Have you ever thought of maybe having a beer instead of the pot?”

I went back to my fish telepathy and after a while told Jeff I was experiencing a buzz from under the hood. “I don’t want you to think about this fish. I’m picking up some distortion in the signal I’m sending. Think about something else.”

Jeff sighed and promised to think about his wife and I went back to work. Concentrating and reciting, “Bite the red bucktail.”

Jeff cried out, “I got one! I got a big one!”

The hooked Muskie mesmerized me as it pulled, leapt, and spun on the end of Jeff’s line. I hurried to him at the front of the boat and screamed. “Holy crap! I did it! Look at this. Can you believe this? I did it. Holy crap!”

“Get the landing net.” Jeff said.

“My God. This outcome is better than the Dolphin thing in Florida. It’s the power of my mind. I bet that I can teach you to do this, too.”

Jeff wound line onto his reel and pulled the big Muskie to the boat. “God damn it. Get the net!”

I watched the battle. “I think that I could present these findings to some kinda psychology journal. Don’t you think? I probably should include the data from the Dolphin experiments, but that was about getting them to jump through the hoops. Not at all as remarkable as this.”

“Please. Get the net. I’m gonna kill you if I lose this fish. I swear to God. Get the net you son-of-a-bitch!”

As I dropped the net over the side of the boat and trapped the fish, I said. “I suppose that you’re going to take all the credit for this, huh? You hold the fish and I take the photos. Is that it? You go back to camp for a celebration while I nurse this pounding headache? It’s not fair, Jeff.”

The Hood Enticed Fish

Jeff gave me that disgusted look I’ve seen so often in my life before releasing the hooked fish and hoisting it for my camera. After he put it back into the water, I took a few more carrousel spins with the boat and hummed the circus tune before returning to the cabin for celebratory whiskey and congratulatory toasts from our friends.

True genius is seldom celebrated.