Isolated Reflections - Drawing Connections

The crunch of the reindeer moss underfoot becomes a frequent sound when in the big land, as does the constant hum of the mosquitos and black flies as they search for bare flesh. Other biotic sounds such as the complex tune of blackbirds and hermit thrush that are the background music to another unforgettable day of fishing. These seemingly minute details that become so regular, and so frequent that we may become deafened to as the summer progresses. Days and weeks after the trip, what stands out but the fish; the song of the reel and the people? After all that isn't that what we all go to Labrador to experience? 

Not is it until months past that these minute, overlooked details of our recollections of past trips become ever more apparent. Photos allow us to peer into the past and reincarnate these intimate forest sounds in our mind. Videos are the next best thing, capturing all sounds; like broken records these intrinsic sound-bits play. Bringing myself, and many other frequent flyers North of the fifty-third parrell a sense of serenity.  Is that what we all chase? But what about the fish, leather armchairs, scotch and camaraderie among like minded anglers? For some that may be so; maybe it is a checkmark on a bucket-list, or to break a personal best, possibly a IGFA line class record? The intent of a trip to Labrador may be clear before, and when one is there. Yet, glimpses of the true reason an angler escapes society can be seen when peeking through the willows of our consciousness to reveal our dream river. 


How do we express or relive those thoughts? Reading our journals, scanning through photos and videos, painting or drawing scenes based on memory, or writing nostalgic hindsight articles like this to somehow reconstruct lived experiences. Whether that is with or without the mind’s eye painting a romanticized version to allow us to feel a deeper connection to the land. Doing so is in no way a degradation of one's character, I myself am probably the largest culprit allowing my mind to roam. In some ways it could be a sense of loss, an empty space that can only be filled by exercising the mind by reliving past experiences. Possibly some form of grieving, or a vehicle to transport you somewhere other than being isolated during a pandemic.

There is no better time like the present to comfort yourself with these fond memories that poke through from your subconscious in shoots of beauty. Flush yourself from head to toe and become entranced by your love for the small things. Become creative, express your inner emotions and thoughts in a physical manner, make them reality. In a time when I am unsure of my departure to the big land, I find myself wandering in Nova Scotia’s barrenlands, to somehow draw a connection that one gets to the expanse, desolation and sense of distance from the world. Bringing those familiar sounds of the North into a reality in my home province will have to do for now. Trudging on through the knee high leatherleaf to get to the rising fish in the stills, or the smell of sphagnum as you punch through the bog as the black flies pick you apart like a skilled angler after trout on mayfly. 

Today, I’m off to the woods like many other Nova Scotians, and we are chasing more than finned quarry. Go catch what your soul needs for your tomorrows.