Freedom fog in the USA
I woke up early on that magical morning and looked out the window of my grandparents’ lake house in Manitowish Waters, Wisconsin. That is, I tried to look out the window, for all I could see was a wall of white. The window squeaked as I rubbed it with my nine-year-old hand, checking for condensation, but it didn’t clear. It was fog, the thickest I had ever seen.
I went downstairs to find my grandpa, ‘Bubba’, waiting for me. He was large and balding, fitting the stereotype of a retired fisherman well.
“Are you ready to go fishing?” He asked me in his usual, excited manner.
I glanced out the window and then back at him. “Even with the fog?”
He just smiled in that way of his, the plastic container of worms in his hand, and strolled
out the door. I grabbed my fishing pole and followed suit.
He disappeared from view as soon as he left the house. I followed somewhat nervously, walking down the short sand path to the pier.
There had always been some fog on the lake early in the morning, but never like this. As we pulled away from the pier, it became just the two of us and the boat. We could not see where we were going, and resolved to drifting. The lake had the control. We were free. Free from obligations, free from responsibility. Now that was fishing. It was wonderful.
We would cast our lures into the fog, watching them disappear in pursuit of the elusive muskie, the “fish of ten thousand casts.” While fishing we were quiet, as fishermen are, but nothing needed to be said. Bubba and I were enjoying the moment, entranced by the fog, and free from the rest of the world. It slowly began to clear, and the tops of trees became visible across the lake, one at a time, a painting in progress. With each brushstroke more and more of the shore became visible, until eventually we could see clear across. The fog was gone, and a few years later Bubba would be as well. That’s just the way things go. Nothing can stay. We have to enjoy life while we can.
Now, I see the fog clearing in the morning and rolling in at night and smile, remembering that morning fishing with Bubba. It was a freeing experience, even though we didn’t catch anything.
To this day, fishing the lakes of Manitowish Waters, Wisconsin grants me peace. It gives me freedom, a way to escape the pressures of everyday life. When I am free from outside pressure, I am able to be my true self. There are no judgments. There is only passion. That is why people travel. We need a chance to be ourselves once in a while, to be free. For me, Manitowish Waters offers this freedom. For others it may be an island in the Caribbean, a quaint town in Spain, or even their own back yard. It is important that we find our place and cherish it. So, if you will please excuse me, I have a train to catch. My hook has been dry for far too long.
About the Author: Daniel Szydlowski lives in a Chicago suburb, and always makes time to fish. He is on his high school’s fishing team, and balances out his fishing life with writing, tutoring, tech crew, and science olympiad. He always has fishing on his mind, and even as he wrote this he was wishing he was out on the water.
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