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 There
I stood on the shore of a small northern Ontario Lake holding
the biggest damned Pike I’d ever landed. No trophy by most
standards, but my personal best by a long shot. Its’ toothsome
head draped, exhausted over my left forearm while I gripped its’
tail with my left hand, fingers unable to close around it. Moments
ago I had handed my battle scarred Pentax K1000 camera to my companion
and stood waiting to be immortalized in glory with a "snik"
of the shutter. I had unwavering confidence in that camera. It
was the very same that has seen me through oceans, rivers, deserts
and rainforests without fail.
The beauty of the situation was that none of this was ever supposed
to have happened. I was, you see, on what had been billed as an
expressly non-fishing vacation, per agreement with my wife, Nikki.
At her urging we had met in Montreal where she had been on assignment
for her employer. From there we had begun a two-week planes-trains-automobiles
trek that saw us through Montreal, Quebec City and ultimately
Toronto.
We stayed just outside Toronto in Mississauga with friends whom
we’d met in Utah several years earlier while skiing. Their
names are Paul and Ruta and both happen to be native Canadians
of Lithuanian decent. When not skiing, Paul and I usually talk
fishing. Whenever Paul talks fishing, the topic inevitably meanders
to tales of monster Pike caught by he and his buddies at a place
a couple of hours north of Toronto called Fox Lake. The Lithuanian
social group that they belong to own and operate a camp there.
The possibility of visiting this gem of a Lake had always intrigued
me, but as promised I was on a non-fishing holiday. The prospect
of his sharing with me this magic spot must have been on Paul’s
mind as well, because he had begun asking for permission to steal
me away for a couple of days to take me there almost as soon as
we set foot in their house. I put up the obligatory objections
required to ensure that I would not return home to find that my
offshore reel collection had been donated to the Salvation Army.
After a suitable pause during which my wife’s eyes rolled
back like a Thresher Shark working a tuna carcass, I raised my
hands in the uniform gesture of helplessness, pleading that it
would clearly insult our host if I didn’t accompany him.
Ever the observant husband, I set to reading my wife’s expressions
carefully. The flaring of her nostrils and narrowing of her eyes
seemed to suggest that she was not in agreement that I should
honor our guest’s gracious invitation. The clenched jaw and
thin line of drool tracing it’s way slowly down her chin
clearly told me otherwise, so I slapped my friend on the back
and off we went to his basement to begin packing.
A day later as I stood on the bank of Fox Lake beaming at my catch,
I couldn’t help but think of what incredible luck I’d
had. Not only had I escaped certain death by successfully locking
myself in my host’s guest bathroom and shinnying down a drain
spout to jump into his Pathfinder and ultimately to freedom, I’d
actually caught a Pike! And what a beauty it was! I’ll never
forget the feeling of satisfaction knowing that I was, after all,
the man.
 Two
weeks later, I picked up my pictures on my way home from buying
back some offshore fishing reels at the Salvation Army store (I’d
gotten one heck of a bargain on a hardly used Tiagra 50WLRS).
Hands trembling, I ripped open the package and tore the photos
loose, shuffling through images of dimly remembered Canadian historical
landmarks and garlic-reeking French restaurants, seeking proof
of my phenomenal fishing prowess. What I found set my teeth on
edge and caused my stomach to lurch. There in my hands, next to
a couple of pictures of smaller fish and an unlucky snapping turtle
that had noshed on my bait and gotten himself hooked, was what
must have been the picture that I’d taken a thousand times
in my mind, the picture that would set my spurious angling cohorts
forever in awe of my fishing skills. Although taken in late morning
on a mostly sunny day, the photo was so underexposed that the
fish was almost invisible except where held in front of the white
shirt I had worn. In short, the picture was a useless blur and
all my marital machinations had resulted in naught.
My first inclination might have sent US/Canadian relations into
cold war status. Upon second thought, however, I was forced to
acknowledge that the error was entirely mine (I can admit this
type of thing freely within this forum, secure in the knowledge
that my wife never bothers to read anything that I write, anyway).
In retrospect, Paul had told me he’d never used anything
other than autofocus cameras. Although I’d set the picture
up before handing off my camera, I had made the mistake of asking
him to operate an instrument that he wasn’t comfortable with.
In turn, I had paid the price for a lack of good judgement.
On the heels of my profound disappointment, I urge you to keep
in mind that no matter how good your camera equipment is, the
experience and skill of the person behind the lens is often the
limiting factor. Those of you who take a measure of pride in your
photodocumentation efforts can back me up on this by making a
quick inspection of your outdoor sporting pictures. You’ll
probably notice that your collection includes more than a few
nice shots of others in pose with fish and game interspersed among
primarily marginal to poor shots of you and yours.
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| Note the contrast in appearance
between the two anglers. Mike Burneson [right] seen nicely
presenting a good Chinook. Kevin Krause [left], fish bleeding
and turned oblique to the camera, has placed his hand through
the front gill-plate of his slmon partially obscuring the
fish and creating a less natural presentation. The photograph
also has some framing and shadowing problems, to boot. |
For this reason, I have adopted a policy of
keeping a simple disposable camera on hand whenever I take to
sea or field. You never have to worry about the comfort level
of the person behind it. You will also worry less about damage
from impact or water, as they are compact, light and even come
in waterproof models. These inexpensive cameras now sport many
features. Some even offer a choice of panoramic or standard view
pictures in the same unit.
I’m no great photographer. Those that know my skills will
tell you I’ve got my hands full telling an F-stop from a
backstop. What I do have is a not inconsiderable base of game
photographic knowledge gained both from years of mangling my own
efforts, and from looking over hundreds of your photos submitted
for publication in this newsletter. My lack of technical camera
skills aside, allow me to impart a few quick tips that will help
ensure that the quality of your next trophy photo doesn’t
leave you muttering in despair.
Keep the above tips in mind and not only will you find your game
pictures much more satisfying, but my job as editor of this newsletter
will be that much easier. I penned this article in the hopes that
I might break the seemingly endless cycle of game photo disappointment.
If I can stop just one bad picture from being taken, it will all
have been worth it!
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