Placing a box filled with family photos on the floor next to my chair, I assured my daughter, Tammie, “The picture you want will be in this box.” Reaching in, I pulled out an envelope marked “2006”.

Looking over my shoulder, Tammie shook her head and declared, “It’s not in that envelope. Those are from the fishing trip that Daddy, you and I went on after I earned my master’s degree.”

Quickly shuffling through the first few pictures, I slowed down to study ones that were taken while on the boat, right after catching fish. I sighed, “Weren’t those fishing trips to Canada with your Daddy wonderful?”

Sitting on the footstool next to my chair, Tammie agreed, “I loved the fishing vacations I got to go on with you. The place we stayed at was so beautiful, and we always caught fish!”

Chuckling, I pointed out, “I think Arnie took great pride in his fishing guide abilities when his wife and daughter caught fish.”

Studying a picture of herself holding a walleye she’d caught, Tammie asked, “What ever happened to that resort we stayed at?”

I shrugged and admitted, “I don’t know. The man who owned the resort was a bricklayer from Minnesota. Terry worked at home during the winters and then spent the summers in Canada at Moose Tracks Cottages. Around the time your Daddy died, I heard that Terry had sold the place.”

“Wouldn’t it be fun to go fishing again?” Tammie asked wistfully.

I nodded and admitted, “When I was younger, fishing seemed so boring. But the fishing trips we took to Canada were fun once I learned how to fish.”

Smiling, Tammie pointed out, “When you know how to do something, it’s more fun to do. How would you like it if I arranged for a guide to take us out on a boat for a few hours to fish while we’re in Door County next month?”

On a misty morning one month later, Tammie parked her car at Rowley’s Bay. She’d saved our fishing experience for the last day of our week-long visit to the peninsula. Scanning the boats at the dock, I questioned, “Are you sure this is the right place to meet our guide?”

“Yes,” my daughter assured me. “Sid said he’d meet us on this dock at eight in the morning on this date. We’re just a little early.”

I thought, “So, our fishing guide’s name is Sid. He’s probably a weathered older gentleman with white hair and a bristly salt and pepper mustache. I wonder if he know that his clients this morning were nontypical fisherwomen: an older woman and her physically challenged daughter?”

I suggested, “Let’s go to the bathroom before he shows up. I don’t want to embarrass myself by needing shore leave before our allotted time is up.”

Sid turned out to be a young, good-looking man. If he was surprised to see us, he didn’t miss a beat. He politely ushered us onto his boat and motored out to the Mink River, a short, freshwater river near the northernmost tip of Door County. Like any good fishing guide, Sid set Tammie and me up with fishing rods and reels. Like good fisherwomen, we handled our own bait.

The rhythmic splashing of waves on the boat was soothingly familiar. Seagulls called to each other and squabbled over scraps of food. A fish monitor on the boat said there were fish below us in the water. I remembered Arnie saying with irony, “Just because the fish are there, doesn’t mean they’re going to bite.” We caught small fish but took them off the hooks ourselves and threw them back into the water.

Sid was a stranger, but the few hours we spent in his boat were surprisingly pleasant. However, I felt restrained from chattering like I normally did while fishing with Arnie. I think Sid genuinely felt bad that we failed to catch anything we could keep. I wondered if he felt bad about that.

Recently, I told Tammie, “I enjoyed that time we went fishing with Sid in Door County. It would be nice if you planned another fishing trip for us.”

My daughter reminded me, “You didn’t want to go fishing in Alaska.”   

Smiling with acknowledgement, I admitted, “That’s true. Fishing from the ocean doesn’t interest me. It wouldn’t be a relaxing, familiar experience.”

Tammie agreed, “You’re right. As your travel companion and advisor, I’ll see what I can arrange.”