For many years my oldest son and I enjoyed traveling to remote locations in northern Quebec and Ontario, Canada, to spend time together and to fish. On this morning we found ourselves some 3 or 4 miles north of our cabin on Matawa Bay, under spotty clouds and sunshine, our rain gear packed and ready for use should the weather change rapidly. The wind swirled, kicking up chop on the lake water around us. Without warning, my son calmly uttered those exciting words we both were waiting to hear, "Fish on!" It was evident from the beginning that more than a small fish was on the end of his line. The tussle went back and forth, with first the fish gaining the upper hand, and then my son making headway. The fish at last began to tire. Then, as if giving one last mighty urge for freedom, the fish jumped and stood on its tail as it shook its head violently, trying to rid itself of the hook and line that held it. As the fish plunged back into the water, the fight that had been so vigorous seemed to leave it, and my son carefully reeled it to the boat. The walleye, more beautiful than its surroundings, was perhaps 8 pounds and close to 30 inches long. Sometime in the future someone else may capture the "Tail Walker" because my son graciously released it back into the cold waters of Matawa Bay. I did not have any photographs of this event, so the painting came from only my cloudy memory.
For many years my oldest son and I enjoyed traveling to remote locations in northern Quebec and Ontario, Canada, to spend time together and to fish. On this morning we found ourselves some 3 or 4 miles north of our cabin on Matawa Bay, under spotty clouds and sunshine, our rain gear packed and ready for use should the weather change rapidly. The wind swirled, kicking up chop on the lake water around us. Without warning, my son calmly uttered those exciting words we both were waiting to hear, "Fish on!" It was evident from the beginning that more than a small fish was on the end of his line. The tussle went back and forth, with first the fish gaining the upper hand, and then my son making headway. The fish at last began to tire. Then, as if giving one last mighty urge for freedom, the fish jumped and stood on its tail as it shook its head violently, trying to rid itself of the hook and line that held it. As the fish plunged back into the water, the fight that had been so vigorous seemed to leave it, and my son carefully reeled it to the boat. The walleye, more beautiful than its surroundings, was perhaps 8 pounds and close to 30 inches long. Sometime in the future someone else may capture the "Tail Walker" because my son graciously released it back into the cold waters of Matawa Bay. I did not have any photographs of this event, so the painting came from only my cloudy memory.