Excerpt:
The fish took another run but John kept the line tight on it, not treating that poor fish with much sportsman-like play. Pete was ribbing John all the way to shore about his “claim” on the pond, his “stock” depletion and being a “sucker” for a poor investment. John finally had enough. He reeled in the line and with about ten feet of line out gave a pull on the fish that sent it flying through the air, right at Pete. The line snapped and a large fish splashed in the water at Pete’s feet, spraying him with water. It was now John’s turn to laugh.
Pete wiped the water from his face and then looked at the fish struggling in the shallow water. “Holy Mackerel!” he yelled and executed a belly flop right on top of the fish. There was a flurry of mud and water but Pete finally caught the fish.
“My gosh, Pete, I didn’t know you liked suckers that much!” I said. “It’s bad enough to keep the three you caught, but to get soaked for another one?”
Pete had the fish firmly by the jaw. He dipped it into the water to rinse the mud off it. When he held it up both John and I could see the blue and red spots along the side, the bright red pectorals of a prize trout.
“Holy Moses!” John said for the second time that night.

Synopsis
When the snow is too deep or only the black flies are biting, curl up with this hilarious collection of tales by eight of Canada's most brilliant outdoors writers.