Tezzeron. Just saying it puts hair on your chest. Or in our case, fish on our plates. It’s one of the spots where my Dad and I went fishing last week; he wanted to show me where he’s been going with his buddies each September for the last ten years. It’s a beast of a lake with only a few rough cabins on its shore, and that day we had the entire thing to ourselves.
We set out with visions of five-pound trout in our heads, though these were quickly hammered away by a hailstorm en route to our spin-casting spot. My aggressively-parted French-braided scalp took a beating, but we finally found sunshine and set about hooking the big one. Within minutes my Dad had a bottom-feeder, which he released, then I made my first catch of the day: a clam.
Call me ignorant, but until that moment I didn’t realize there were clams in lakes. Now that I know there are, I’d like to point out the considerable skill it requires to hook one. They’re tiny, have no mouths, and can't chase after shiny objects like fish do. So really, well done me.
I didn’t reel in much more, though I caught a few small Kokanee the next day. By caught I really mean drown. One was so small I didn’t know he was there, and after 45 minutes of being dragged on my line the poor guy didn’t need a bop on the head to finish him off. He was already very much done. Guess I’m not much of a fisherman. Fisherwoman? Fisherlady.
Fortunately my Dad had better luck, and between my few Kokanee and his good-sized trout, we had a proper feast. At least I’m good at eating.
(Lack of) skills aside, fishing is really about enjoying the water, each other’s company, and snacking endlessly on a 2kg bag of trail mix. And clams! I now know it can be about clams too.