I am selfish. It’s something I hate to admit. Let me tell you about it.

There is a small rock face in Tim Lake. I call it my fishing sweet spot. It has earned this designation from the simple fact that I can anchor off the rocky crag and catch a mess of lake trout at 40 feet.

Always.

It’s the kind of place where you can take off your lifejacket and carefully slip into the depths of your canoe and watch the sun drift across the horizon. As you lie back against your seat (with your life jacket as a back rest) you quickly find that life’s issues and problems are held back by the gunwales, the fishing and an impending nap.

A spot where life is good and only I know about it.

I am sure you have your sweet spots for fishing. The spots that you keep to yourself. The spots where the fishing is great and consistent. I think they are sweet spots because of the way that life can stand still in them and not necessarily because the fishing is good. As much as it would be good for the sport of fishing to expand if we were less secretive about where these spots were.

I understand why some things need to be kept secret.

I felt that way until recently. I found another sweet spot. It’s two, actually. This time I don’t mind telling you where they are. When I hold my 6 month old son close, I have found a sweet spot on both cheeks (just ahead of his ears). If life’s problems and trials threaten to distort my hold on reality, I simply pick him up and hold him close.

Then, I sit down and put my cheek against his and watch the sun drift across the horizon through his bedroom window – dreaming about when I can show him a sweet fishing spot.