While perusing my files, I came across a little piece I wrote back during the 1970's. I was still teaching at Millersville University, and sometimes the pressures of the job were adding a significant amount of stress to my life.

I was part of a group of six guys who went to Snow Road, Ontario on a one-week fishing trip every year just after school ended. It was a time of great joy to all of us, and we looked forward to this vacation all year. We made this trip for twenty-one years. I hope you enjoy reading this piece as much as I enjoyed the experience of living it.

Eventide on the Lake

The first stars of the evening are already visible as the boat slips out of the cove. The low hum of the motor is comforting as we head out across the lake. This is my favorite time of day. A pair of loons is still visible in the fading light. A whippoorwill begins its incessant call. The air is now chilly, but the smoke from the cabin chimney means that someone has a warm fire going. I can smell the coffee brewing on the old wood stove as the bow slides up on the bank.

"Catch anything?" a voice calls from the cabin door. "No, but I have a feeling they'll be hitting tomorrow morning. We'd better get out on the water early." One quality that fishermen all possess is eternal optimism about the next attempt at fishing. You just know that you're going to have a record catch.

The human spirit is a marvelous thing. How quickly and easily it can be healed when placed in a serene environment. It was just a few days ago that life seemed almost unbearable. Everyone was on my back about something. The days were made up of one long series of deadlines to be met. The phone seemed to ring incessantly. Life was passing me by. Why is it that we seem to lose all perspective amidst the rush of daily activity?

Here on the Canadian waters, I find a place where I can make peace with myself. Here, the tug of a walleye seems to bring everything back into focus. Those unfinished tasks back home on my desk still need to be completed, but they just don't seem very important now. The important thing is to get out on that lake tomorrow before the sun is high. Those bass can't resist a surface lure while the mist is still on the water.

You might call this escapism, and it probably is. But who cares? I seem to recall a man from Galilee who periodically went fishing with his friends when the workload got rather heavy and the crowds became too demanding. He and his little group are often referred to as Fishers of Men, but sometimes they just went fishing for fish.

Boy, I'd like to stay here forever. But in a few more days, we'll be heading back home with a pocket full of memories, enough to last us through the many months ahead. Throughout those cold winter months, I'll be anticipating that come May, I'll hang a sign on the office door: