Treasures of the past & expectations for the future
Following two pandemic cancellations, I find new meaning in our family’s annual fishing weekend
We call it the BMO (Bush Markle Oatway): our traditional family fishing weekend.
Since 1997, the male descendants of John Samuel and Alice Bush (originally of Salford, Lancashire, later Gill Street, Orillia) gather for a summer weekend of fishing, fraternity, and festivities. The first couple of BMO’s took place on Stratton Lake outside Sudbury. It then moved to Uncle Richard’s Algonquin cottage – originally constructed by Walter Louie (also of Orillia).
Officially, it’s a tournament – with a trophy awarded for the biggest fish (determined by weight). Foie gras-style force-feedings of sinkers have been alleged over the years – unfortunately, with insufficient evidence – but to this day many view Cousin Glen with suspicion. Like the Stanley Cup, layers have been added to the coveted prize to make room for the next generation of inscriptions.
The coveted BMO Trophy
Our family’s diaspora reaches across the continent with participants coming from far and wide and who can number up to 30 or more.
Uncle Richard succinctly sums up the meaning of the tradition. “It’s a tangible way to show love for relatives, hopefully create fond memories for people, observe inter-generational antics, and have some fun.”
Current senior BMO member, Uncle Jack, recollects the event’s origin: “The first gatherings at Stratton Lake included cousins from Michigan, plus Bill and Richard. Plans were discussed at evening informal gatherings as to regularize the event. To include everyone (Bush’s, Markle’s, and Oatway’s) required referencing back to our common ancestor which was Bampie Bush. You can appreciate how detailed our discussions were. Richard has carried on the BMO tradition in style and now it is definitely an annual event. Louie’s Landing in Algonquin is perfect because it has such a family history. There have been periodic suggestions to expand to include the “fairer” sex, but so far, this has been vigorously opposed.”
The original BMO invitation
Like everything else – the BMO was cancelled the last two years. And as I contemplate this summer’s edition, I admit to mixed feelings.
There’s excitement but also trepidation. Like many activities these days – a hint of melancholy dampens my anticipation. It’s not just grief. It’s a spiritual malaise hanging in the air. I find the past two-and-a-half years have left us feeling uprooted and disconnected.
I nonetheless pack my swim trunks, deep woods OFF, sleeping bag, whisky, and Montreal-style smoked meat brisket. You see, for me, the BMO is more visiting, food, and drink than any actual angling. My phone buzzes. It’s a text from 20-year-old nephew Ben. He’s on his way to the BMO and his pickup’s broken down outside Gravenhurst.
I decide to call him – much quicker than trying to decipher emoji’s and text messages.
“It’s the gas line. Sprayed all over the place,” Ben says matter-of-factly.
Of course, I’m happy to pick him up and I’m even happier to spend some one-on-one time.
Ben’s a behemoth – with a heart of gold. Like his father (my brother, Jeff), Ben likes to arrive at the BMO as early as possible.
“It won’t be the same without Jeff,” I say.
Ben silently nods in acknowledgement of my stunning grasp of the obvious.
Jeff’s name is inscribed on the BMO trophy more than that of any other participant. Last year, when we knew he would not return, and despite that second consecutive pandemic cancellation, a posse (including his father-in-law, Ian, and daughter’s boyfriend, Steve) gingerly brought Jeff to a lake closer to home so he could cast his line one last time. The BMO Organizing Committee (a shrouded and impenetrable secret society) met, suspended some bylaws, and arranged to have the trophy once more awarded to Jeff.
Jeff’s (successful!) final cast
The BMO Organizing Committee arranged to have the trophy once more awarded to Jeff
Ben and I complete our journey and pull into the long lane that leads to our destination deep within the primeval Algonquin bush.
Pine branches scratch and squeal along the sides of my truck as we slowly negotiate the forested tunnel that leads to Louie’s Landing. “This is the best feeling,” Ben insists.
The fact is, the BMO is a place where Ben is the best – where others measure themselves against his performance. To beat Ben is something else. While his father’s name dominates BMO history, it’s been clear for a few years now that the student surpassed the master.
From 2006 - Jeff teaching young Ben
This year, I observe Ben pay it forward and coach Keegan – a Nova Scotian cousin a few years his junior. They’ve been a regular fric and frac since Keegan attended his first BMO as a toddler.
From 2009 - That’s Ben and Keegan up front on the left
There’s something unique about connections made at such a tender age. I suspect you truly know the other person because you’ve experienced them before any self-consciousness affected their behaviour. You trust because you feel you’ve witnessed the essence of their character.
Keegan and Ben today (with Sam in between)
I scan the scene and conclude that the BMO succession plan looks pretty solid.
There’s a gregarious cohort of active kids. From the cottage, we observe Tobin, Quinn, Sam, and Connor on the sparkling lake – paddling, laughing, and burning up in the sun all day long. Yes, we may have forgotten the sunscreen but then again there’s no screen time either.
Evenings are for Euchre, Risk, and snacks under the ethereal light of propane lamps. Corrine’s popcorn is highly anticipated and Ben’s venison summer sausage is to die for.
Out on the screened porch we gather. Pipe tobacco, whisky, and red wine, with John Prine, Jim Croce, and Gordon Lightfoot playing softly in the background.
It’s our time to check in on one another. “What are you going through?”
Over decades, the replies become more unguarded and our connections more robust.
Roast lamb and mint sauce is the weekend’s traditional final supper as Glen tells a tall tale around the dining room table. After a dessert of apple pie with sharp cheddar, with the sun setting on Algonquin, we gather on the dock. We have a job to do.
Jeff’s name has been added to a roll call that grew far too quickly. We lost some BMO soldiers over the past few years.
Ben stands at the end of the dock with a small jar of Jeff’s ashes and asks me to say a few words.
“The BMO was Jeff’s favourite weekend of the year. He made us laugh. He paid attention to every person. Jeff made people feel good and made the BMO a better place.”
It’s time to add some of Jeff to Whitefish Lake. But Ben can’t do it.
I gently take his hand and we do it together.
Then hug it out.
Mark and Glen do the same with Uncle Don – Bampie Bush’s last surviving son. Don was a loving father, talented artist, Bristol Beaufort tail gunner, and deadly lacrosse player. His ashes are mixed those of his wife, Jean.
And we remember the others.
The act of remembering is our form of time travel. We reach into the past, concentrate, and tug it into the present. Each memory is tied to an elastic that can snap it back at any moment.
Jamie remembers Reid – we miss him for the purity of his soul and his talent as cook and shepherd for our motley crew.
Cousin John and I remember Bill – his insights and sage advice. At the BMO, you sat beside Bill when you wanted a pearl of wisdom.
Richard remembers neighbour Keith, the ultimate fishing companion with a salty sense of humour.
No, the BMO isn’t the same – and never again shall be. But Jeff is with us. As are Don, Bill, Reid, and Keith. They’re forever one with Algonquin and our acts of remembering make us better.
We’re blessed by the memory of these men. It reinforces our sense of belonging and our responsibility to rise to the challenge of the examples they set.
Finally, it’s Sunday morning – time for presentations and group photo. Ben is beaming with pride for his protégé: Keegan’s name is the next to be inscribed on the BMO trophy.
2022 Champ, Keegan - with Cousin Glen
Handshakes and hugs. We pack up, say our goodbyes, and Ben and I slowly drive out through the forested tunnel.
For Ben, and for the rest of us, the passage through the entry lane to Louie’s Landing is ‘the best feeling’ because the BMO is where we feel rooted and connected. It’s where our traditions inspire us – and our ties to the past remind us of what we owe the future.
The BMO 2022 T-shirt design
Simon’s catch in 2012
Ben, Jake, and Louis from 2006
“Human beings have roots by virtue of their real, active, and natural participation in the life of a community which preserves in living shape particular treasures of the past and particular expectations for the future.”
