Twelve hundred miles north of the headwaters of the Mississippi lies the Arctic tundra. There is nothing but rock and moss with the occasional small shrub. It is home to musk ox, caribou, and some of the best lake trout fishing in the world.

I was tying up the plane when I heard my dad yelling, “Heel it in.”

At his command, I quickly pushed the float plane back out into the freezing cold water. The wind caught the plane just right and it weather vaned perfectly back to where I wanted it. I grabbed the ropes and started to tie it down, but I struggled to make a knot with my hands. My fingers were so cold they were turning purple from the water. My dad was now unloading the plane and handing me supplies to carry to shore. I was attempting to get my fishing pole out but was soon yelled at to stay on task. After a few hours of unloading and setting up the tent our attention was drawn to the sight of a very beautiful sunset. The sun went down just halfway below the hill then soon set on its journey back up once again. My father and I stood in the screen tent snacking on some delicious maple jerky and cheese as the other fellas went out to fish for the evening. Shortly after, we decided to get our fishing gear on and join them. A small twelve foot portaboat with a five horse Mercury on the back was our ride for the duration of the trip.

The water was as calm as a mirror and there was nothing but the sound of my lure as it smacked the water. The fishing was absolutely incredible. With every cast I drew the attention of a lake trout. I had begun to get greedy and very frustrated because catching fifteen to twenty pound fish wasn’t enough anymore. I wanted to catch a fish that was at least forty pounds.  I casted out again and was soon greeted by a big tug, so I set the hook and the drag on the reel was now screaming out. My heart started to race and my arms whimpered as they grasped the rod as tightly as possible. Slowly, I worked the fish in, as it swam right under the boat; I couldn't believe my eyes. On the end of my line was a huge lake trout with a head the size of a watermelon. It shook its head and I felt a very rapid pull, then it all suddenly stopped.

It was gone.

We had just started to troll back to the planes and I was consumed with disappointment and self-pity when I got a good pull. After I realized it was another small fish, I unhappily reeled it in. I took the large daredevil out and threw it onto the floor of the boat. Then I quickly grabbed the trout and released it back into the frozen arctic waters. Seconds later, the red and yellow daredevil I had thrown to the side was stuck over an inch deep into my finger. Stunned, my dad and I both stared speechless.

Before thinking twice, I grabbed the hook and pulled. There was still not a sound as the hook slowly slid out of my finger until its barb caught my skin. My dad, with an astonishing look on his face, said, “We should go back.”
The feeling of shock started to take over and I thought, “This cannot be happening to me.”

As the boat struck shore I quickly got to my feet and attempted to climb out, but I had become very lightheaded. I had never felt this way before, but I knew I was going to faint, so I sat down in a lawn chair and grasped my finger. I could feel my pulse in my head. My dad’s friends Kelly and Craig hovered over me and examined the puncture as they tried to decide the best course of action. We came to a consensus that using a fillet knife to cut it out would prove to be a better course of action than tearing the hook out with pliers. Kelly then ran down to his plane in search of some painkillers and returned with six Advil. I closed my eyes and washed the pills down with some old fashioned pain killer. I decided that Craig would be the best fit for my surgeon, so he grabbed our brand new leech lake fillet knife and put on his cheaters.

I remember the feeling of the cold sharp blade as it started to pierce my skin. All I could see was blood gushing from my finger as it pumped out to the rhythm of my pulse.  Craig took a deep cut from the backside of my finger until I couldn't take it.

“Stop stop stop!” I cried.

I grabbed the shiny steel hook and pulled, but it still wouldn't budge one bit. Craig then made another cut, but from a different angle this time, to the point where I could no longer take the pain again. After he stopped, we spun the hook over so the barb was on top. I could just feel the blood as it rushed down my hand onto the paper towel that laid below. I bled so much you could smell it in the air. I sat back as the knife ran through my finger once more. Craig pulled on the daredevil  and it moved a little bit. The back of the hook’s barb finally showed and he cut my skin in between the barb. I grabbed the hook and pulled again, and this time it slowly made its way out followed by strings of cartilage. Kelly handed me antibiotic ointment and a bandaid, along with some gauze, so I quickly wrapped it all up and within a matter of seconds it was bleeding all the way through. I sat in the chair for a little while longer until I decided it was time to go back out fishing. I hopped in the boat with Craig and his son Cole and we set out again in search of the forty pound lake trout.

As I sat in the front of the boat, I got to thinking. I thought about how patience and gratitude could have saved me from all the stress and pain I went through that day. If I would have just slowed down, taken my time, relaxed a little bit, lost my attitude, and paid attention the whole predicament could have been avoided. That was when I realized that I need to learn to be patient and grateful not only while fishing, but in many aspects of life.