New Year's, Christmas, Your Birthday and the Last Day of School

Yes, every favourite day of the year, wrapped in one fish-scented, hungover, sleepover campout weekend for the boys.

As I write, three grownup, responsible men are in my living room, agonizing over the grocery list for Fishin' Season Weekend. Somewhere in Niagara Falls, a different set of grownup, responsible men, are rifling through assorted frozen meat from a year's worth of hunting, to bring to share.

It's hard to describe how big FSW is to these guys, and my sweetheart in particular. They talk about it all year long, keep track of the weather for several weeks in advance, keep photo albums of adventures from years past and every 'last Saturday of April', off they go to a favourite spot in a bend of the Pretty River, the same one they've been going to since high school. They pitch their tents, drink some beer (caesars or scotch nowadays), and tell tall tales about FSWs past. Like the time one friend took a swim in the 'empties pool' (literally, one of those little plastic backyard swimming pools), and needed nine stitches. I'm so sorry for the nurse who had to look after him. Or the time two girls fell into the river while dancing, and had to hang their clothes by the fire, watching them steam in the frigid April night. Or how's about the nickname one of the guys was given because of his antics in 1987, and who goes by that nickname to this day?

These days, the equipment is high tech; no styrofoam coolers of cheap beer. One guy has a teepee complete with a woodstove and camping cots, another brings a whole tricked-out camping kitchen, complete with drawers for storage and an oven.

Friday night at midnight, the trout streams officially open for the season. It's the reason for FSW in the first place, and sometimes, someone will even catch a fish.

But mostly, it's about the friends, and now, the memories.
And I vow never to fall in the river again.