Ottawa Report

Page 2

I have a confession ? I'm an addict. I'm not addicted to heroin, cocaine, alcohol or even tobacco. Instead, I'm hopelessly and helplessly addicted to fishing. In fact, if I don't get my fix on a regular basis, I get withdrawal symptoms ? my skin breaks out in a rash, my eyes get blurry and I get very cranky.

When I can't be out on the water, I control my craving by watching fishing shows on television, reading fishing magazines, browsing through the fishing section in department stores, telling fish stories to anybody who'll listen.

In short, I'm a fishaholic. But it's really not my fault. I was born with this obsession. My astrology sign is ? you guessed it ? Pisces. I especially like fishing for bass, rainbow, salmon and pike. But really I'm not fussy. I'll go after anything with scales and fins.

I can manage my addiction ? most of the time ? but I lose all self-control once a year. It always happens on the last Saturday in April ? the opening of trout season. So again this year there I was, standing on a dock at 5:30 on a cold spring morning, waiting for trout season to begin. My partner was another fishaholic ? I'll call him Scout. We had a canoe, some food, clothes, camping gear and enough fishing equipment to open our own tackle shop.

We spent a week canoeing and portaging through the Ontario northland in pursuit of the elusive speckled trout. When we weren't sleeping or portaging, we were fishing ? every moment of every day from dawn to dusk through rain, snow, sleet, wind and even a little sun. We caught enough fish to choke a whale and we ate enough fish, considering the pollution and acid rain that probably was in the water, to glow in the dark.

There's a point to this story. And it has more to do with the process of going fishing that it does with putting a worm on a hook. I should explain, first of all, that I work most of the year out of an Ottawa office. I spent most of my time talking to politicians ? both the Native and non-Native variety ? and the subject is almost always politics. The work isn't strenuous. In fact, the only exercise I get is running off at the mouth.

I'm not the only one in this situation. A lot of other Native people are (pardon the pun) in the same boat. We're all too wrapped up in our jobs ? if we're lucky enough to have one ? so we don't get much exercise, and we live most of the year in an urban environment.

My annual excursion is more than an excuse for me to indulge my passion for fishing ? it reminds me of a lot of things I tend to forget about during the rest of the year. I was reminded, for example, of a kind of lifestyle our ancestors lived every day -- not just one week a year.

The trip demanded a lot more strength and endurance than I normally need. Carrying a heavy pack and a canoe is a lot harder than packing a tape recorder. Even though my canoe and camping gear are made of space-age lightweight materials, the portages are pretty rough and they make me think of how much harder it must have been for our ancestors to live off the land. Boy, they must have been strong people!

The weather also increases my appreciation for the people from days gone by because the weather is so unpredictable this time of year. Campers can get sunstroke and frostbite all in the same week. What Scout and I got was four days of snow. The weather and the work combined to give my soft city-body blisters, cuts, bruises and aching muscles. In the process, I also got a deeper appreciation of just how physically tough our ancestors must have been.

The trip took us far from cities and other people and it left my senses tingling with the experience of the great outdoors. I'm still dazzled by the sight of billions of brilliant stars twinkling against a jet back sky. My ears still ring with the haunting call of the loon. I can still smell the warm fragrance of the red pine forest. My mouth can still taste the cold clear water that splashed its way down a hillside. My feet can still feethe soft, spongy caress of a moss-covered trail.

It was all so different and so much better than my normal surroundings ? a world of fluorescent eyesores, honking cars, smelly pulp mills, chlorinated water and concrete sidewalks.

In any event, y fishing trip was one of the best things that will happen to me all year. In addition to my rekindled respect for the beauty of the outdoors and my increased respect for my ancestors, I have also renewed my respect and admiration for those Native people who still live off the land. I'm reminded that they ? like our ancestors ? are tough, hard-working people who are surrounded by beauty every day ? not just once a year. I envy them and I want to see their way of life protected until the end of time. Lastly, I think I also know why I'm hooked on fishing ? it's one of the rare chances I have to share the strength of my people and enjoy the peace that comes from life on the land.