COLUMN: Hook, line, and sinker - a tale of fishing, injuries and making the most of life

“He's got me!” exclaims my dad, Moe Bjorgan. In normal circumstances in fishing, he'd be the one saying “I got him!” to a tiny but wiry 12 inch northern pike. My father, an experienced fisherman and outdoorsman, was about to execute one of the most gruelling and impressive things I have ever seen with my very eyes.

As he reeled in and grabbed the small fish in routine fashion, the unprecedented unfolded. While he gripped the fish's body in an attempt to remove the hook through its lip, the slimy tubular animal suddenly flipped out. This drove a hook into the webbing of my dad's hand between his thumb and index finger. The fish, still attached to another hook, continued to violently flop while the hand hook was embedded. The hook and barb then visually pierced through the other side of his hand.

The water gently lapped the serene and untainted shorelines of Gourlay Lake, an 11 hour drive north of here and a 25 minute bush flight inland. We had no cell phone reception, and the nearest hospital requiring plane evacuation (if weather permitted) was another hour of driving to the small town of Wawa. Dad and I were alone on an unsung shore saturated with dense spruces and large rocks, the little fish back in the water, and and a man caught off guard and caught by his own lure.

I'm not sure of this next moment makes me a good son or not. Before taking any required action, I grabbed my camera. In my mind, whether we unearthed this barbed monstrosity in 5 seconds or 5 minutes from now wouldn't affect the outcome. As I snapped the photos of his hand, I think we both knew that this would be a photographic memory for the books. Finally, I passed him the pliers.

My eyes widened and my adrenaline pumped looking at the hook penetrating through his hand. We both remained calm and talked about what should unfold next.

“Would you like me to do it, or, would you like to do it yourself, Dad?” I asked.

“Give me the pliers,” he responded. I even have a video of him casually burping after saying this. Cool as a cucumber.

The peaceful sunshine, the relatively calm lake and calls of loons were a stark contrast to the thought of, “My God, are we getting extracted to Wawa for this?” Upon a closer look, the hook was dangerously beyond the webbing, with a risk of some sort of tendon or ligament being ripped apart. I had no idea what he was going to do next, and then I witnessed one of the most badass things a son would ever watch his own father do.     

To be clear, in circumstances where you are in civilization, first aid instructs you to keep impaled objects in the body so they can be surgically removed by professionals. We didn't have that luxury, so Dad took matters into his own hands (literally). He proceeded to clamp the sharp edges of the needle-nose pliers onto the hook, breaking it and leaving only only the horseshoe-shaped metal inside of his hand. Fortuitously, the barb has bursted through the other side, which meant that like an earring, he could use the pliers to continue smoothly pulling the hook through, and then out.

It looked vile, and I normally have a strong stomach and a calm mind in these situations. When it came out, I was a little shaken up and recommended we go back to our island cabin to clean it up properly and take a rest. When I recommended this, he grabbed the motor and said, “I've got a couple more hours in me until lunch time!”

Legendary. It likely ranks as my top father-son moment in life. Legends are born in the back bays of isolated lakes and wild frontiers- in a landscape that has supplied and crushed mankind for hundreds and thousands of years.

This is the exact buzz that I get out of this fishing trip. It always captivates me how a place like northern Ontario can be so tranquil and unforgiving at the same time. For every beautiful sunset and impossibly dreamy starry night, there is a moose being eat alive by wolves somewhere. When you sense the aura of the many bald eagles who grace your presence, you know those talons cut deeper into a fish than the hook ever could into my Dad's hand. A pristine summer day will eventually give way to temperatures and silence that can break your skin just a few months from now. The true wilderness is an experience that excites and challenges someone, and beckons you to plug your perspectives back into the bedrock of this landscape.

Myself, my Dad, Doug Howse, Rob Burns, Robert Copeland, Tom Copeland, Jimmy Roe and Ken Garland all had something to gain from this natural wonderland, brought to us by White River Air and it's consistently friendly staff, pilots, and dock crews. We come back here every year or two for a good reason.

I know my Dad has stolen the spotlight here, but I wanted to mention my favourite moments with every other man listed here.

Rob and I decided that the remote island cabin wasn't remote enough, so one night, we embarked across the lake by boat and set up a wilderness shoreline camp featuring a beach, a fire-cooked steak sandwich, and hundreds of thousands of spruce trees as our neighbors. It felt as if we were camping on an abysmal cliff, with this thin beach hosting our tents between a world of open water and impenetrable, dark forest.

Doug and I have done this trip a handful of times now, and I particularly enjoyed sharing the cabin duties with him, including the intentional and careful act of fish cleaning. Doug also loved upsetting my bocce ball game whenever we played on the various wilderness beaches in the area. He may have also caught the most walleye on the trip.

Robert “Copey” and I have done this trip once before, but never have we been in the same boat and experienced the feistiest afternoon of fishing we both had on a trip. I loved reeling in more delicious walleye than northern pike for a time period there, as our lines were tight for about half an hour straight at one point it seemed.

His brother, Tom Copeland, was entirely new to this fly-in excursion, and it is always awesome to see someone new take in the grandeur of this White River Air experience. He not only got to sit at the front of the bush plane on the flight back, but he was also a recipient of the coveted “Big Fish of the Day” hat twice in a row.

Jimmy and I have been through this before. We both relish the quiet evenings and the wildlife out on the water, despite if we are slaying fish or missing them all. At one point, we both witnessed a northern pike leap up and out of the water to hook itself onto my lure that was resting on the side of the boat. We thought this was an appropriate testimony to the hungriness of the fish up in these lands.

Ken Garland would ultimately take the 33.5 inch northern pike “Big Fish of the Week” award. As another newcomer to this trip, that was fantastic to know that Ken got “the big lunker” of Gourlay Lake. And, to boot- he was also as superior as the nearby Lake Superior itself when it came to making us delicious camp cocktails. Thanks for keeping us hydrated, Ken.

There is only one thing that could make a trip like this more memorable. On the last day, we had all of our gear packed and loaded and ready for extraction. Mother nature ultimately had other plans, as her tempest of low clouds and angled rains kept the planes grounded until the next day. The way I see it, we got another day and night in paradise- devoid of social media, news, emails, and the hustle and bustle of our non-wilderness lives.

What can I say? I am filled with gratitude for what ultimately turned out to be a safe and hilariously memorable trip. Everyone is home safe to their wives, kids, jobs and dogs. And, a freezer full of delectable, fresh caught walleye. Thank you once again, White River Air and your staff for this opportunity of a lifetime all over again. We're so lucky to have your team, and the feather in our cap of calling northern Ontario one of the most amazing places on Earth.