A grand time, hook and all ~ September, 2003

David Heiller

It happened so fast that I can’t say for sure how it occurred.

Maddie had just pulled in a nice walleye, and she gave me the honor of taking it off her lure. She could have done it herself, but I had offered and she had accepted.

I took out my trusty Leatherman, opened the pliers, and was pulling at the hook when the walleye gave a mighty shrug and the next thing I knew, a hook was seriously stuck in the little finger of my right hand.

Grace and Maddie in the front of David's canoe

The fish was still flopping on one end of the Zip lure, and Maddie was pulling the line tight enough to land a 20-pound northern—or in this case a 230-pound German—on the other.

Those, two actions drove the hook in one side of my finger and out the other.

I hollered something that can’t be repeated here, and the walleye flopped off and Maddie loosened her line, and I sat looking at a big problem.

Everything had been perfect up to that point. We were on a secluded lake in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. It was one of those perfectly calm evenings where the water is so smooth that you can’t tell where it ends and the land begins. Two young ladies—my niece Grace and her cousin, Madeline—were hav­ing a grand time, laughing, catching fish, and making me recall how fun teenage girls can be when they aren’t in a wolf pack. So I was having a grand time too.

Then suddenly I had a finger that looked like a side of beef on a meat hook.

For a few seconds, the worst case reared up: I would have to paddle out, go to the emergency room in Grand Marais hospital, and have the hook taken out. It would cast a cloud over our four day trip into the Boundary Waters, maybe end it altogether.

But worst cases usually aren’t that bad, and this was no exception. I tried pulling the hook back the way it came, but the barb prevented that. I couldn’t cut it out, because it was in too deep.

Maddie, Grace and Phil

So I took my pliers and straightened out the hook a bit, with a few more choice words that impressed even the 15-year-olds. They couldn’t help but laugh, and I did too. That helped. I snipped off the base of the hook so I could pull it through, then grabbed the barbed end and pulled. Out it came like a stainless steel sliver. Thank goodness for my Leatherman!

A great relief washed over me, and the girls too. We sat and laughed some more. I apologized for swearing, and they reassured me that it was quite all right. Then we continued fishing and paddling and soaking up the golden evening.

We did a lot of fishing during those four days last week, and that was heavenly. I love to catch and eat fish. But that really was secondary.

As we paddled the lakes and cast our rods, I was reminded how good fishing is for achieving something we don’t often find: a way for people to get to know each other better, especially people from different generations.

Grace, Maddie, Levi, Phil, Collin, Randy, Malika & David

One of my sisters told me once how much she enjoyed doing dishes with Mom when she was growing up, because it was a chance for them to visit. Fishing is that same kind of thing for me.

You tell stories. You ask how things are going. You sit quietly and soak in some of God’s greatest handiwork. Silence can be golden when you re fishing. You do some teasing, laugh at something dumb. You have a little adventure, push the envelope. It turns out fine.

And it’s all fuel for future trust and common ground back in the real world when things aren’t so simple and stress-free.

It may sound strange, but I’ll cherish that hook in my finger. It will bring back memories of a very fine canoe trip with two very fine young ladies. And it will remind me that sometimes the simplest things are the most important.