“Fisk Kamp Shore”, oil on 9×12 canvasboard, study, by Rog Lyngaas, 21jul08, using X1 palette.
This scene reminds me of the fish camps in northern Ontario and northern Wisconsin. In summer you can fish for and live on Walleyed and Northern Pike. There the lakes can be so still, clear, and beautiful you may believe the dream.
Upon placid water is lain fisk line into depths of flourescent seaweed. A Dardevelet tumbles down with it’s three prongs waiting their use. Areeling in a 2 second pull with a 5 second reel; it takes calm, silence, and patience. Is it the red and white stripe of it’s convex side or silver of the concave side seen? It twirls back and forth tricking tricky eyes to see double; with vibrating fin action. Sudden test of reel drag alerts the man that his Molsen will now fall into water as he relishes to hold his wrist tight to keep the tip up. Now the three prongs are one, for two have broken off from gnashing of teeth. If these teeth swallow ducks whole, surely a hook may be devoured via breath. But the 2 pound test line holds as the reel drag passes the test, because man held the rod tip up and his wrist tight; as the bottle gently slipped into the depths pouring out golden Molsen nectar, blessing the sea. Two sets of teeth gnash now as the man grips hard and the formally lit cigar now falls into water that needs nutrients as such. Line strips off reel quickly as a run ensues. Deeper goes the pike and now under the boat. With the tip still up the man wonders what has happened as the line goes limp. Gathering senses he gathers line quickly only to feel the sudden tug and straight shot to the air, the glory, the jump of flailing back fin dancing upon water. It is the man’s dream fight, he is fighting a water dancer. Will fisk find escape, or will man will it’s capture? Line is limp again as fisk stretches man’s imaginative boundaries — his lucid dreams are now real and what has happened to his trophy? Oh it’s their in the depths, diving under the boat once more, only this time to realize which side of the boat has the motor. Man feels the turn as fisk aims to breakoff the line of fight by spinning round outboard’s prop. But installed upon this motor mount is a quick release, so decisive man executes his loss prevention program. Now the engine splashes to the deep. This lake needs more minerals he thinks as he knows now that he has outsmarted the smart one, the fisk of the century. So fisk drives towards the now missing motor for another run now to the cold springs of his home. Saying “I don’t care” like the man; fisk drives a longer yet slower run — further than before, where is he going? The tightness of the line lessens and the man gently reels in a now tired log of fisk towards his prop-less boat. Exhausted fisk rises to water’s surface showing his size yet hiding his strength. “You win”, fisk says as he approaches now 50 feet away. Man is smarter than this gesture though, as he opens his knife to cut anchor cord. Once long ago this fisk broke off on the anchor cord after the fight was basically over and man will not live with that same regret again. For it is a 20 pound wonder that is his fisk reward; his heart’s desire. Man turns his head to find large net. Never used till now, it has waited for this occasion, patiently rotting away. His son sees this look, and helping father he grabs the net ready to swirl it round dad’s trophy dream. Fisk has arrived to starboard side; son swirls and lifts net as father holds tip up. There lain upon the boat deck is the 20 pound wonder fisk, 4 feet of snake and one foot of teeth. Man says “grab him!” Son looks at the teeth in awe, starring at what will bite him good. Seeing that fear, man drops pole, to join it’s friends the anchor, the motor, the cigar, and the beer — and lunges for the fish which flips once to avoid the grasp, twice to dance upon the deck, and thrice to flip o’er boat’s edge. Splash and its over; for there is no pole to grasp now, no line to reel in. There the two are, up the lake without a motor. Only oars for the 5 mile return trip. And the lake now returns to silent lucidity; where dreams live.