MOUNTAIN LIFE - Blue Mountains | Spring 2020

53 Captain Bernard Lepage carefully steered us through the shallows. The first light of day painted Giant's Tomb Island as we trawled along its northeastern shoreline. The bottom of the Bay was plainly visible, a mere six feet beneath the Laurie E fishing tug. Soon after arrival at the first buoy, I listened to the net lifter tick as it raised the float and anchor lines out of the shallow water while the first mate, Captain Bernard’s nephew Garry, flayed the incoming nets into the net bins. As a 19-year-old, my job was to untie the nets from each other as they filled the bins, and reload the first mate with a fresh empty bin. It wasn’t a laborious procedure unless the nets were jammed with fish. I gazed out over the rail at the lines as they were pulled into the net lifter. The lines were coming up bare, with no net attached. When I peered over the rail to see what was happening, I was astonished by what I saw. There was a massive “shark”— well over two metres long—caught in the nets and tearing them from the lines. This fish was too heavy to lift past the surface of the water, causing the tear. Belonging to the family Acipenseridae , this ginormous fish was a lake sturgeon. No wonder I thought it was a shark—they share the same caudal fin. Captain Bernard reversed the tug to hold position while Garry and I reached for the fish with the gaff pole, hooking under the gills of the gentle giant and trying to haul it in. It required all three of us to heave on the pole to clear it over the rail. Once on deck, it flopped and flailed in agonized protest. There was no getting anywhere near it until it calmed down. I was still in shock that this creature was pulled from the waters I felt so familiar with. We had caught hundreds of sturgeons, all way smaller than this. We had always released them, which was why I was even more surprised with the decision to keep this one. I began to feel a little, shall we say, seasick. As the creature calmed down, I lowered myself toward its eyes. It had cow’s eyes. They were huge. It looked directly at me. I imagined the possibility of this thing having observed me before—perhaps my younger self, swimming in the Bay. Why not? Sturgeons live a long time and travel great distances. I swam in Georgian Bay my whole life. We had harvested so many fish before this. Why was this catch so hard to bear? Why couldn’t we throw it back like the rest of the sturgeon? I couldn’t overcome the feeling of awe at this encounter with such a magnificent creature. On the other hand, this old wonder was slated to be filleted alive in front of me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. That was the first time ever that Captain Bernard asked me to take the helm of the Laurie E. I couldn’t help but wince at the rear-view mirror while this ancient fish was minced for meat and caviar. It was tough. Within minutes, she was no more. A clarity emerged out of that day: I wasn’t a fisherman. Perhaps I’m oversensitive. You know that Nietzsche quote? “Gaze into the abyss, and the abyss will gaze back at you”? Same goes for the eye of an old fish. –Scott Parent Gazing into the Abyss: Commercial Fishing the Bay The Laurie E . SCOTT PARENT