Troubled Waters
Memories of a fishing trip that did not go as planned!
In 1953, my father returned home after serving a tour of duty in South Korea with the Lord Strathcona Horse regiment, under the command of the United Nations. Needless to say, he was a bit edgy and restless from participating in the Korean War and he experienced many nights with horrendous nightmares.
One day, Dad decided that what he needed was a relaxing, quiet holiday away from all the stress and cares of everyday living. He thought a combined fishing and camping trip would be the best solution to help calm his, at times, rattled nerves.
Plans were made to arrange for a fishing trip with six of his closest friends at Horseshoe Lake near Whiteshell Provincial Park in Manitoba, where one of Dad’s good friends, Guy, had a cabin at the very end of the lake. I was pleasantly surprised when he invited me, a 13-year-old teenager at the time, to join the men on the trip.
It was a two-and-a-half- hour drive from Winnipeg to the parking lot of Whiteshell Park. Then it was another two-hour trek through the bushes and swamps, and over steep rocks, to the edge of Horseshoe Lake. On our way through the bushes, we came across some bear scat but thankfully we never encountered a live bear!
Guy had hidden his boat and motor in a bush to keep them from being stolen.
After locating where they were stashed, we were ready to ride across the lake to the cabin. The only problem was that the boat could not fit all of us together at once. It was quickly decided that I would accompany four of the men on the first trip, and Guy would come back for my dad and their friend, Bill.
At first, the boat ride was pleasant as I watched the forest scenery slowly pass us by, but abruptly the wind began to strengthen, producing bigger and bigger waves. They continued to increase in size until they seemed to threaten our little, overloaded boat.
Guy decided that it would be safer to turn back towards the shore but this proved to be a grave error. As soon as he turned, a large wave crashed over the gunwale of the boat. Suddenly, we were sinking.
A Sinking Feeling
As it was early fall, everyone was wearing heavy jackets and boots, but what we were not wearing were life jackets. As the boat started to go down, my fishing rod slipped through my fingers and sank into the dark, cold depths of the lake. I was sinking beneath the water and I couldn’t breathe. I remember seeing my life pass before my eyes in a matter of mere seconds. My new rubber boots were quickly filling up with water and getting heavier and heavier on my feet. I wanted to keep them on because my mother had just bought them for me and I knew she would be mad if I lost them. Eventually, my rubber boots were just too heavy, I could no longer hold onto them and I felt them slip o my feet and sink to the bottom.
Losing all that excess weight caused me to shoot up towards the surface. My head broke above the water and I could
breathe again! But everything was black, I wasn’t able to see a thing and I didn’t know where I was. It took me a few moments to figure out that I was, in fact, under the now upside-down boat. I ducked under the side and came up outside of the boat to where Guy and the three others were holding on for dear life.
Dad to the Rescue
The back end of the boat was now riding very low in the water, so Guy unhitched the outboard motor and let it sink to the bottom of the lake. This gave the overturned boat more buoyancy and we were slowly pushed towards shore by the wind.
Back on land, my dad and Bill knew something was wrong when the boat failed to return to pick them up. They began walking along the shore in the same direction that the boat had travelled and ended up spotting us in the water. They immediately jumped in and helped pull us out.
Onshore, we built a fire to warm us up and dry our clothes. This fishing trip was now ocially over, and it was time to return home. But I had another problem: I didn’t have any shoes to put on my bare feet! My dad took o his kit bag and removed two long fibre-board inserts on which he was able to trace my feet, then using his hunting knife he was able to cut two insoles. Next, he cut a few long straps out of his canvas kit bag and used them to tie on the insoles. It wasn’t the most comfortable footwear, but it served its purpose for our four-hour hike back to the parking lot.
I thought a horseshoe was considered to be good luck? Horeshoe Lake was definitely not lucky for us: We didn’t catch any fish, we lost most of our fishing gear as well as Guy’s outboard motor and I lost my brand new, orange-trimmed black rubber boots. Luckily, when we got back home, I didn’t get heck from my mother—instead, I received a long, loving hug! n