The plan was simple: a weekend fishing trip, a few rods in the water, and a livestream for the boys. That plan didn’t survive contact with the tent. “You should have said something before,” I muttered, staring at the phone screen. “This is unbelievable.
It says no connection. The app, the camera… it’s all dead. ”
My friend Flo was already wrestling with his own setup, trying to update the firmware on his camera. The stream had been scheduled for tonight, and right now, everything was falling apart.
And then there was the smell. I had cracked open a tin of “Happy Cadaver” bait earlier—it had burst halfway out of the box. “That stinks like absolute hell,” I said. “Whoever catches the first pike in those waters has to put that stuff in their mouth.
”
“No way, not me. ”
“If you think surströmming is bad, this is worse,” I said. I had ordered some rather strange jelly beans from Amazon yesterday. They were supposed to arrive today, but I doubted I’d be there to taste them.
“That’s probably fine,” I said, laughing. “At least I have my peace out here. ”
“Let me out,” came a voice from the tent. “Kadaver is great.
”
The campsite was a mess of gear. A shower setup with a 5. 5 kW water heater I’d bought for the occasion, an outdoor kitchen, a table, and a camping washing machine that was supposed to be running. “Is that a water heater?
” Flo asked, peeking in. “Yep, a proper bought one, not another of my DIY projects. ”
“I can’t believe it. ”
The first week here had been wild.
We got an internet connection just barely stable enough to stream, but only if everything was positioned correctly. My router had shifted, and the IP address had changed by one digit, killing the feed. “Come on,” Flo said. “I’m going to lose my mind.
I’m getting grey hairs over this. ”
“Why didn’t you tell me an hour ago? ”
“You were too busy complaining about your feet. ”
The whole day was like this.
I could have fixed it all at home before the stream, but here, in a damp tent with a box of stinking bait, the universe had other plans. “I’ve got two lines in the water and they’re just sitting there,” I said, looking out at the still lake. “The pike aren’t biting yet. ”
“It’ll just take time.
”
“Mr. Bad Luck, that’s me. ”
Then Flo’s camera started broadcasting in portrait mode. “Why is it vertical?
What is this nonsense? Where do I change that? ”
“Pull down the menu and look for the orientation icon,” I said, trying to help. “I can’t press it, it won’t respond.
”
“We can’t have the scenic shots vertical. Everybody’s already laughing at us. ”
“I need to get out of this tent,” Flo said. “Have a good evening, folks.
I’ll see you on the next fishing trip. ”
He was done for the day. I was still holding the phone, the connection finally stabilizing. I took a deep breath and looked at the water.
Somewhere in those dark depths was a pike, and I intended to bring it in. “Alright, let’s go,” I said to the empty air, grabbing my rod. The evening settled over the lake, and the few fish that finally came to us were worth the wait. Still, I couldn’t help but think about the dead stream.
My reputation as a guide was on the line. I felt the knot tighten in my stomach. The internet was still spotty, but the fishing was good.
Everything in its own time.
