Some Lessons Are Never Learned

Some lessons are never really learned. This could be the theme for part two of our journeys into Canada. For all the research and talking that has been done about traveling on a budget there were few things that could prepare us for some of the events which would befall us on this adventure. Some things you just can’t plan for, and hell, can’t even foresee.

               We find ourselves, yet again, making plans and preparations for this trip almost a year in advance. It all started when Scott called me and said he had a group of guys going to Canada for a week and to ask if I’d be interested. “Is a frog’s ass water tight? Hell yes, I’d be interested” was something close to my response. This planning process was made more complicated by the fact that I now lived over 800 miles south from Scott. This was one of the many occasions when I lamented my move to Georgia.

               But, all pissing and moaning aside, I was going to Canada again and I was happy about it. As soon as I could round up the cash I fired my deposit to Scott and our trip was set. While we had the regular details to resolve I was faced with my wife’s declaration “I’m coming to with to see my family.” This was a fair enough request and one I was easily able to oblige, though travel with an entire family and an arsenal of fishing gear proved to be a challenge on several levels.

               I won’t bore you with the whole planning process. God knows I’ve beaten that horse to death. My wife and kids were staying at my in-laws, most of which wouldn’t lament my absence, or untimely death for that matter, though I’ve not made real effort to grant that wish. Nevertheless, we filled our coolers with food to give to my father-in-law to ease the burden of feeding my tribe and utilized every square inch of space in our van to get everything to Pennsylvania.

               When traveling, it is prudent for anyone to observe, respect, and anticipate the effects of Murphy’s Law. You know, that law which clearly states anything that can go wrong will go wrong. We had made the first 750 miles of our journey when there was a subtle noise coming from the front of the car. We later found this to be a broken chord in the front tire. Naturally, and magically, this was a tire that had barely seen three months on the road. So my first travel tip is to have some form of extra resources ready for unexpected troubles.

               That being said I do not advocate for the continuous use of a credit card, but it doesn’t hurt to have some plastic in your wallet if you’re planning on leaving home. At very least you should budget in some extra money that shouldn’t be spent on your trip. A good rule of thumb would be to figure on having enough extra money in your budget to buy two new tires for your vehicle. If your car is older or in worse shape you can budget more or less depending on your comfort zone.

               You should also be prepared to be taken advantage of when struggling with car trouble on the road. Of all things, our friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart Tire and Lube associate made every effort possible to manipulate my wife into buying no less than three tires while we were on our trip. This dear woman had concocted some ludicrous postulation that all the tires absolutely needed to match and she refused to replace one.  If not for my darling wife’s tenacious rebuttal who knows how this would’ve ended. “Save money, live better” my ass. Be prepared for an minion of an outfit like Wal-Mart to see that out of state license plate. It’s like an open invitation to be screwed. I guess my second travel tip is to make sure you don’t trust Wal-Mart. You’ll do much better getting your licenses and anything else you need from local people when you get to your destination.  

               So, with the defective tire being handled, and my wife and kids settled at her father’s house I took some time to attend a small cookout at Scott’s dad’s house before we left. We had dealt with a long drive in cramped conditions, but there was no way I was going to skip out on a chance to visit friends so dear. After some time socializing and taking my fill of some good northern cuisine I finally made an attempt to retire for a few hours of much needed rest. As one might have guessed I was so excited there was no way in hell I was going to sleep.

               Here’s my third travel tip. If you’re traveling across town, across state, or even across three states you’ll have an easy enough time. But make sure to budget in some rest time when you have to travel thirteen hundred miles to get to your destination. You’re going to face driving at night, fighting traffic, torrential downpours, and any in a number of travel woes along your way. Even if you get some sleep in the car it isn’t real sleep and you’re not going to have an fun if you feel like freeze dried dog crap for the first two days of your trip. I abandoned Scott for a while and fell asleep somewhere in New York. Such a short nap really didn’t help and I worsened my abused condition by ordering chili- cheese fries at a diner we ate at before crossing the border.

               It was at this point, while paying the monetary bill for my plate of indigestion, that I made the heart-wrenching discovery that my license was missing. Where did it go you ask? I have absolutely no friggin’ idea, all I know was I was getting closer and closer to the Canadian border and it wasn’t in my wallet. It wasn’t in my bags, under the seat, in my carry-on, in my pocket, or even in the state of New York. I can only guess I must’ve been as white as a ghost because Scott could obviously tell something was wrong. I told him of my dilemma and we suffered a joint moment where we wondered what the hell to do. Even a Google search on my stupid-smart phone didn’t yield a solid answer as to whether I could cross the border with only a passport.

               My forth travel tip to the novice traveler is when all else fails you just press on. After completely dismantling the cab of Scott’s sexy new Toyota Tacoma we left the diner parking lot and went to the Thousand Island Bait Store. This stop is almost a ritual stop, as we’ve stopped on both of my trips and Scott has made this stop every time he’s been to Canada without me. When you enter this store it will be clear you’ve entered the mecca of fishing tackle, bait, and advice for angling adventures in upstate New York and Canada. The store in of itself is almost too much to describe and the impressive display of trophy pike, bass, and salmon on the wall clearly shows what you will find in that region.

               But, as much as the visit to such a large bait shop is a cool spectacle, it was time to press on. It was sink or swim as to whether I could actually get in to Canada without a driver’s license. Screwing with the Border Patrol is not something I wanted to do in today’s world of terrorists and drug trafficking. Every horrible scenario I could conjure up bounced across my mind. As we approached those pretty, green gates I was pretty sure the chili-cheese fries were conspiring against me. We pulled up to the gate and Scott handed both of our passports to the Border Patrol Agent. There was a few moments of standard questions and the agent seemed satisfied with the answers, even if you couldn’t tell past his stoic demeanor.

               There was no clear indication he was done questioning Scott. He quickly closed Scott’s passport, which included Scott’s drivers license, and flipped to mine. “Now, about your passenger” said the agent in a tone that implied he was eager to chase down a wayward alien. It was at that moment I was sure the chili-cheese fries had wrought their revenge. I was having flashbacks of a time I was detained at the Mexican border trying to explain to a Border Patrol Agent that my dark-haired, tan-skinned self wasn’t even Spanish. In my mind’s eye I had visions of an aerial view as Agents threw me on the pavement and slapped the cuffs on me.

               Yes indeed, I was sure this would end badly. But the good fellow simply asked when the last time I had visited Canada was. After mustering all the composure I could I simply answered his question, and he handed our passports back to Scott. Victory was ours. I defeated the chili-cheese fries and learned that as long as you’re not driving you don’t need a driver’s license to cross into Canada. Now I know. The only harm done was I wouldn’t be able to buy any booze, but seeing that we had come prepared that wasn’t much of an issue. We pressed on and were one step closer to getting to our home away from home for the next week.

               Oh, how beautiful Canada is. After a time you get to an area where man hasn’t made such a profound mark as what you often see in America. Let’s face if boys and girls, America may be the best country on Earth, but we don’t take care of our natural resources the way the Canadians do. Our journey was quiet at this point. We traveled through wooded areas and small towns all along our way. Most of the scenery was worthy of a Norman Rockwell cover. We even got held up in a small town so a local parade could pass though. Naturally, this forty-five minute traffic jam was the perfect time to have to take a leak. Yet, among all that beauty there wasn’t a bush to be found.

               We finally arrived at the Tumble Home Lodge and got checked in to our cabin. You could tell immediately this was a place where one could catch up on their thoughts. It was only then I realized my next problem. The burning question at that moment was could I purchase a fishing license without a driver’s license? Here again, I was certain Murphy was doing everything he could to best me on this adventure. With neither Scott or myself knowing what would happen we again pressed on and I was able to actually get my license at the small bait shop right at the resort. So now I know you can travel to Canada and purchase a fishing license without a driver’s license. Add to that I had defeated Murphy’s Law to my list of accomplishments and it was turning out to be a very good day.

               The Tumble Home Lodge is a resort on the southern end of Crotch Lake. The main part of the lodge has the afore mentioned bait shop and several rooms overlooking the lake. There are a series of cabins and campsites situated around the property and a boat dock where boaters can rent a slip. They also have boats for rent, as well as a number of wilderness camping sites scattered around the lake. The lodge also has WiFi, which Scott and I used to text our wives over Facebook. This saved a small fortune in international calls. The lodge had all the comforts of home, right down to a fish cleaning building and small grocery store.

               Upon arriving we wasted no time unloading our gear and setting up the camp and the boat. We were on the water before sunset for our first evening of fishing. This first trip out was our chance to acquaint ourselves with the lake and the terrain. My fifth travel tip is be sure to allow time to get your bearings. It doesn’t matter if you’re hunting, fishing, hiking, or whatever, you’ll need time to figure out the landscape and make a plan. So often we see a travel destination on television and say how much we’d love to go there. But television doesn’t make allowances for the reality of travel. Especially travel on a budget.          

               Most personalities on television have some kind of operating budget and guide to direct them to all the best stops. Remember, they’re making money by producing a product where as you are traveling for your own personal gratification. When you go somewhere for the first time you’ll need a period of time to figure out what you’re doing and where you’re going. Most unguided and semi-guided outdoor adventures will require you to be able to adapt quickly so you can accomplish what you set out to do. Your own level of expertise will ultimately determine how effectively you acclimate yourself.

               In our case we were out to catch some fish and relax. We used the depth finder to locate structure in different parts of the lake and we utilized a map I had made to decide where and when we would be fishing. We checked the wind and fished weedy areas where the wind blew in to shore. We quickly learned, through conversation with other fisherman, that bright green weeds held fish because they produced more oxygen and to avoid brown weeds as they didn’t produce as much oxygen and therefore didn’t hold fish. We spent a lot of time fishing rattle traps during the day. We fished them in areas of water where the weeds were about three feet below the surface. We also fished buzz baits in the evening with great success.

               Scott and I spent our days on the water, and our evenings mingling among the other gentlemen in the party. One thing you can’t go far wrong with is your evening endeavors while at a camp. Tired from long days on the water, the gentlemen of our company exchanged endless banter while slowing torturing a large bottle of Jack Daniels into submission. We had the privilege to have a former pro bass fisherman among our group who gave us a number of very useful tips to apply while fishing. Being that most of our group was a bit older we also had more than a small share of wisdom, antics, and outright hilarious stories of endeavors long passed.

               After supper and the mandatory happy hour it was time to take to our bunks to rest for the next day. Except for me, that is. Several years ago I had been diagnosed with sleep apnea, which required I sleep with a CPAP machine for the rest of my days. While I am use to the mask I have to wear it isn’t always easy to find a bed with a conveniently located electrical outlet. Moral of the story, I ended up sleeping on the couch. Though I’m not complaining because it was truly a comfortable couch, unlike what you would expect.

               This is the part of my adventure that turned interesting in the small hours of the evening. I learned that as I advance in years myself I can expect an even less stable sleep pattern than I already have as there was a seemingly never-ending parade of guys using the bathroom in the middle of the night. You can’t imagine the emotional scarring suffered from being woke every twenty minutes to see a saggy, beany, old-guy ass in their undies heading to take a leak during all hours of the night.  Despite this continuous parade the guys were up before the sun every morning to make their breakfast and take back to the water. Usually by that time I simply pulled the sleeping bag over my head and made the effort to sleep then. Scott and I had good intentions to be up early, but we didn’t do such a hot job of that.

               Here again, when you travel with a group you need to have a good sense of humor and a willingness to enjoy yourself at all costs. While it would seem I’m bitching again, I must say the gentlemen we were in the camp with were of the finest quality. Except for the guy who hoarded the toilet paper, he was a jerk. But the other fellow, Dale, more than made up for him.

Dale was the kind of guy you’d want to adopt as your crazy old Uncle so he could tell you stories about some of the fun stuff he did when he was younger. On the opposite side of that coin you need to grin and bare it when one of your party does something stupid. Like the same guy who hoarded toilet paper also started a grease fire that smoked out the entire cabin. I ended up breathing rancid, scorched grease through my CPAP every night for the next month because of that little misadventure. I stress again, sometimes you just have to take the good with the not so good, or smart for that matter.

After a few days on the water, we were starting to gain perspective on how and where to fish. We found a perfect little cover with a lot of stumps and weeds for cover where we had great success on buzzbaits. We even went so far as to carry the boat over a muddy bog to get to a different lake that feeds off the main part of Crotch Lake. It was here I lost my sandals in the mud. Despite battling calf deep mud we were able to get the boat through a narrow channel and caught a lot of fish in this area nobody else could reach. Scott and I always had a way of pulling off something nobody else could.

Sadly, the week had ended and it was time to pack for home. When you travel, it is important to know the laws so you can bring home your catch. Face it, there’s no point in going if you can’t come back with some dead critters. You always will want to check in advance to see what species you can keep, which are legal to transport, and which you plain want to stay the hell away from. In our case we only had several largemouth and smallmouth bass to clean and bring home, so we were fairly safe. However, once I went on a guided hunt in Texas where I would’ve been allowed to shoot and keep an armadillo. I didn’t get on, which was good, since the guide didn’t bother to tell me armadillos carry leprosy. But hey, why sweat the small stuff.

So, we were coming to the end of our journey. We had battled rain, wind, lost documentation, grease fires, and chili fries. We had overcame and thrived in the great north and had some fantastic memories to take with us. We had some great stories and some great times, and I had adopted Dale as my new crazy Uncle. If he knew that he’d probably call me a freak and tell me to get the hell away from him. But that’s okay. Ultimately, when the trip ended I realized it was the lessons we didn’t bother to learn that make the whole thing a time to remember. Those memories are why we hunt, fish, and travel. There’s always room for one more memory, so make sure to never stop.

After it was all said and done I never did find my damn license.