From its creation out of Lake Agassiz to today, Lake Winnipeg has long been generous to those who understood its opportunity. It has been a supplier of food to those who braved the Siberian land bridge and later to my family, and other peoples from Iceland who settled along its shores. With the Lake as a ready larder, The Hudson Bay Company was able to feed its growing entourage and safeguard its future. Lake Winnipeg also provided the spark that ignited generations of entrepreneurs, regardless of their age.

My brother Robert and I spent a good deal of time playing by the lake. First at Albert’s Point on Humbuck Bay, and then in Gimli. As our family earned a living from the lake, it was natural for us to want to fish. I remember especially one Spring in the ‘40s when we were about 10 and 12 years old. While still years too young to go out setting and lifting nets with the men, we weren’t too young to catch the entrepreneurial spirit from the lake. The weather was wonderful early that year and a number of Winnipeg people were taking advantage and opening their cottages for the season. We figured that they would like some fresh fish for lunch - who wouldn’t?

We had approached my uncle Siborg who had an old skiff that he kept at Miller’s Creek and we persuaded him to let us use it. To call this a boat would have been far too generous -  you would be afraid of sailing it in your bath tub, let alone the unpredictable Lake Winnipeg. My father also gave us some old linen nets. “Gave” might be a little generous as well - we sort of took them.

I should mention that the season had not opened yet, but the lake was. We set out rowing at six in the morning on a beautiful spring day. Fishing was good and we did not get caught by the Fish Inspectors. We took the catch home, and I can honestly say that is where Bob got his start on the way to being the greatest fish filleter on Lake Winnipeg. We had an old scale and we balanced a pound of butter on one side and a pound of fish on the other. We gave good weights to be sure of repeat business, and wrapped the catch in copies of the Tribune newspaper (which I am sure added a little spice to the taste).

While Robert filleted the pickerel, I jumped on my bike and made my way over to the cottagers. Every cottage wanted some of the just-caught fish. I made many trips back to the apprentice filleter to fill more orders. Some even placed orders for the following weekend. We went out in the skiff the next morning and were just as successful finding buyers for our catch. We went out each weekend that summer and were rewarded with a steady clientele.

It was a kid’s dream - virtually limitless demand for our product, and as for our cost of production: nets - free; boat - free; license... what license? Each weekend we sold the pickerel for 25 cents a pound, and with the cost of a movie at 18 cents and a Coke for 7 cents, we had a great time! At the end of the summer Robert purchased some new clothes and I owned a brand new C.C.M. bike.

Our father was an entrepreneur in his own right and he admired our initiative. Nevertheless, the fledgling filleter and the young salesman needed to learn an important lesson about the business of fishing. A few weeks into our venture he took us aside and said simply, “The sweet smell of your success is being overshadowed by the odour of fish trimmings not properly disposed of”.

As bad as cleaning up that mess was, it could not diminish the magic of that summer. More than 60 years later nothing has changed - I still love to sell, and my brother is still fishing the lake. He has a better boat, though.

Ken Kristjanson

January 2009