I work in high-tech, a fast-moving industry that will quickly drain your senses and test your abilities to the limit, day in and day out. Like most, I fall back on my weekends and time off to recharge my batteries.

I have found over the years, that the very best way to renew your spirit and lighten your load is to spend time with your oldest friends. They are the ones who know you best. They accept your faults, while you tend not to see any in them at all. They’ve got ‘em, you just can’t see them too clearly. Must be the beverages?!

I remember the first time Rick Lundstedt asked if I wanted to come up to camp and renew the old interest I’d had in bass fishing. I hadn’t been bass fishing in 12 to 15 years because I’d gotten so tied up in work and overtime and yard work and raising a family and blah, blah, blah. The thing I most loved to do, was so far back on the back burner, it never even got warm.

Tripp and Rick. Great combo for the soul, I’d find.

He mentioned a few smallies he’d caught the week before. I told him I’d not seen a Smallmouth bass in probably 15 years. He laughed and said I might catch one that weekend. No guarantees, but maybe, one.

We arrived at Tripp around 6:30 that following Friday evening. I put on my $10 waders and walked into the water by 6:40. First smallie…6:42 maybe, if it took that long. Wasn’t big, wasn’t small, what it was was tonic for a very tired man. I stopped immediately. Couldn’t possibly hope to feel any better than I felt at that moment.

Being a relatively good cook, I held up the fish and said to Rick, "Supper?" What proceeded was a lecture on the benefits of "catch and release" that lasted well into the evening. After about 10 seconds into the speech, I realized that burgers were going to be the catch of the day. I slid my prize back into the water. To this day, I’ve not kept a fish caught on Tripp (or any of the surrounding lakes we fish). Catch……release.

Far more rewarding than I ever thought possible.

Off came the waders and time to move onto dinner; burgers on the grill. But first I needed to celebrate my first smallie in 15 years. Southern Comfort, rocks, with a twist of lemon…double. Aaahhhh.

That evening was perhaps the most peaceful of my life. I sat on the porch outside ‘til midnight, long after my host had crashed for the night. There was a light breeze that would turn from warm to cool and back again. Spring peepers sang so consistently that their sounds represented a soothing quiet. Heard a loon that night and realized I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed the distant, haunting wail of that beautiful sub-arctic bird. It was truly missed…I just hadn’t known it.

The night was black with only the stars for light. No moon. Southern Comfort, rocks, with a twist of lemon…double. Aaahhhh. Nearly jumped out of my skin and spilled my drink when a loon, 15 feet off shore, answered his friend at the other end of the lake. I decided to leave him to his shared chorus. I slept deeply that night.

In the morning, I discovered that jumping up at first light to fish is not on Rick’s agenda. No solar table is going to tell him when to fish! Coffee and cereal on the deck. "Let’s watch the lake wake up." Dead, flat calm, 7:45 a.m. 8:00 a.m., a rise here and there. 9:15, a little wind, time to go. By any standard I knew, we were too late. Wrong! We slaughtered them, both days. Smallies, pickerel, largemouth and on Sunday I caught a surprise salmon from the shallows on a spinner.

What made these days even better was the communication. Very little required. Even though I’d not fished in many, many years, there was no unsolicited instructions. No advice on how to improve my chances. Nothing ruins a day more quickly, whether it’s golf, fishing or any relaxing activity, than unwelcome advice. None forthcoming. Caught my fair share too!

So what’s happened since that first weekend trip to Tripp? Let’s see. Bought a boat. Dusted off the saltwater gear. Fish the Merrimac River in Newburyport, MA., for stripers. Spent all the lawn maintenance money on lures and gear. Probably have deprived my kids of something (although I can’t imagine what…they fish with me now). Been sport fishing in the Florida Keys. Invested a lot in ice fishing gear and I love it. I’m currently looking for a good fly rod. Know where I can find a reliable used one that’s not ready to retire? I tend to appreciate the old far more than the new. I go to Maine, the Androscoggin River and Tripp Lake in particular, every opportunity I get.

Result: I have regained an important part of what makes me, me. What was on the back burner has been moved to the oven. "Hey, Pete, want to go fishing?’

"Yes, I do."

None of this would have happened if not for a man willing to invest the time and patience it takes to become my newest Old Friend. Thanks, Brother Rick.

Pete