Speckled Summers
Northern Kitchen
It isn't much of a stretch to say that our parents raised my sister and I in the bottom of an old aluminum canoe. Each and every summer we'd spend weekends at a remote family fishing cabin, perched high above a beautiful speckled trout river. To this day, my favourite way to spend a summer afternoon is paddling down a quiet river casting for brookies.
You all know that I take pride in being a wild Northerner, but you may not know that there was a time in my life when I was actually a wild Southerner. I spent my university years in a small agricultural community just outside of Chatham, Ontario. It was a world away from home, and I'm sure my stories of hunting and fishing made me look like a character from an Alaskan documentary to some of my peers! Unexpectedly, among the farmers and cowboys, I did meet a few very avid fisher men and women. One such fisherman was my residence neighbour Mark. We became great friends, and as I shared stories of my northern adventures, it was clear that a good old fashioned fishing trip was in the works.
After finishing my first year of university, I returned home to Sault Ste. Marie for the summer. Within a few weeks, Mark was pulling into the driveway, his old car loaded down with fishing rods, groceries, waders, and nets. It took about three seconds for he and my dad to hit it off, and we embarked on the trip to the fishing camp.
I always love showing people the north, and that trip was no exception! We paddled our way along the rivers that I knew so well, and with each cast we'd pause and marvel at the colours of the trout we pulled in. We caught and released fish all afternoon, keeping just enough for our supper.
As we walked back to camp that evening, we discussed how we should cook the fish. Mark shook his head and said "It's too bad we didn't buy any of those cedar planks at the grocery store." I saw the wheels turning as my dad considered the idea. Quickly, he retreated to the woodshed. We heard some clunking and shuffling, and then the familiar snap of splitting wood. Several minutes later he returned with a handful of homemade cedar planks. We loaded up the old barbecue with planks, seasoned the trout, and slowly let it all roast to perfection. My dad and I maintained the "we do this all the time" attitude, while agreeing later in confidence that we were surprised it worked out, and how it was probably the best trout either of us had ever tasted!
Mark has returned to fish with us several times throughout the years, and eventually brought his wife Carolyn. They travel many miles to reach the north, but always save a bit of time for one last cast. I hope to see them both again soon, and hope to spend some time in the old aluminum canoe with their new daughter, Brooke.
BY LEIGHA BENFORD