One of our favourite fishing holes was what he referred to as “The Backwash”. It was a spot on the Nith River where the swift shallow waters made a 90 degree bend, pooling into a calm deep pool before returning to shallow rapids. A perfect spot for catching pike. To get here was an adventure in itself. My Dad would drive our car on the early mornings through the gravel pit on roads that were more fit for all-terrain vehicles. I was always impressed that he never got the car stuck in the mud or worse. We would take the car as far as the roads would allow and from there we would hike for another half hour. I can't recall any of our conversations on those walks, just the sounds of the waking world.

My most memorable trip to “The Backwash” was when I was about 13. We had been fishing for a few hours and my Dad got out the lunches he had put together the night before. PBJ sandwiches, apples, and to my surprise, beer. My very own bottle of Beer. Labatt Crystal to be precise. Of course I had never drank a full bottle of beer before. It was warm and I didn’t enjoy it, but I finished it along with the rest of my lunch. The noonday sun was hot and the fish were no longer biting, so he decided that we should pick up our gear and head back to the car. I remember buzzing around in a fog trying to collect my pole and tackle when I tripped on a tree root and fell into the river, pole and all. I was panicked. I turned to the shore to see my Dad with his arm outstretched. I took his hand and he pulled me up on to the riverbank. He cracked a joke to make light of my clumsiness and continued with getting the gear together.

I think this is how I would like to remember my father. As a man who was patient and good humoured. As a father who had the wisdom to allow his children make mistakes in the hopes that they would learn from them. I will miss my father greatly and probably more as time passes. Peace to all.