Gone Fishin'

It's easier if I just pretend he's gone fishing.  Brande would be 65 today, a time when many men his age are planning the ultimate fishing adventure.  He's been gone almost a year.  Liver cancer.

You could say that he had that ultimate fishing adventure back in the Summer of 2001.  The year he went fishing, and came home with a wolf.  

We had a rare fight.  It was a big one!  You'd think I could remember what it was about.  I long ago forgot.  We both did. That night, he got in the car, and drove all night.  He called the next morning from near the Ontario-Manitoba border, and said he didn't want me worrying.  He was going to drive to his nephew's home in Saskatchewan.  His best friend flew out to join him, and a week later, with the car loaded with a brand new tent, sleeping bags, and fishing gear, they set out to fish all the way back home.

Clearwater Lake, near The Pas in Manitoba is deep, clear and cold, and renowned for its large lake trout.  The lake is 16 kilometres (10 miles) wide, and at its deepest point, is 39 metres (127 feet) deep.  You can clearly see a world beneath the boat.  Clearwater Lake is cold - even in Summer.  The perfect conditions for trout to slowly grow.  The Manitoba Government says that in that lake, it is possible to catch a 60 year old trout, weighing in at 16 kilograms (35 pounds)!  

So, it was there that the guys spent their days out on the water, far away from the man-eating Bulldog Flies on shore. They would laughingly recall the time the wind blew his friend's hat off his head, and said friend nearly flooded the engine of the boat, doing wheelies trying to catch his hat.  From the boat, they could see deer coming through the boreal forest, down to the lake to drink.  

If you're wondering if they caught any fish - no, not a bite (except the Bulldog Flies and mosquitoes). That is not the point of fishing.  It's about Being.     

   

   

In The Pas, Brande learned about a First Nations artist who had recently been named Northern Artist of the Year. Keith Campbell was known for his detailed pencil drawings of northern animals, especially wolves.  And he only lived about an hour or so from the lake.

With a pouch of tobacco in hand, Brande drove North, to Cranberry Portage.  As he neared the reserve, the road turned to dust, and he soon found himself welcomed into the Campbell home. Campbell had just begun a new work.  His first painting.  The wolf was staring from the easel.

Brande bought it, with the agreement that it would be finished before the week was out.  Campbell wanted to get the wolf's eyes just right.  One day, Brande returned from fishing, to find a note under a rock in front of the tent.  The painting was ready to be picked up.

When Brande returned home, his spirit restored, his tanned face beaming, he showed me his "catch". It was better than any fisherman's prize.  There's an intensity and a tranquility in the painting, especially in the eyes of the wolf.  This is a close up of a small portion of Campbell's wolf.  

  

  

Brande loved fishing.  He truly was himself on the water.  Once he was on the list for a liver transplant, he could not venture any further than one hour from Toronto General Hospital. Fishing trips became something to look forward to, post-transplant. The night before the transplant surgery, a last minute CT Scan showed the liver cancer cells had made their way to his lungs.  There would be no liver transplant.  A year and a half later, he was gone.

September's birth flower is the Forget-Me-Not.  He was an unforgettable man.  He was Hemingway and Huck Finn all rolled into one.  He hitchhiked, and jumped rail cars across Canada.  At age 15, he lied about his age, and signed up with the Coast Guard, becoming Chief Petty Officer, celebrating his 16th birthday while crossing the Arctic Circle.  He travelled as far South as Mexico by motorcycle. He fixed a condenser with a condom, and drove from British Columbia to California, and back.  His life was a daring adventure.  He was a great storyteller, and an even better listener.  I still feel his presence, although his absence is stronger felt.        

A few months after Brande died, I was doing a photo shoot for the Valentine's blog story The Salt Shaker (see the archives for Feb 2015).  I believe that on the final day of the photo shoot, he sent me a message in the shadows, to let me know that he has found a heavenly fishing spot, and he is happy.

Photographs copyright Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Incorporated
Wolf painting by Keith Campbell 2001