I’m 37 years old and yet to be trusted with the names of lakes where the men in my family catch fish. I come from a long line of Lake Liars.

Back when my Grandma and Grandpa used to take us grand kids with them on vacation to the north shore of Minnesota, we’d often go fishing on remote lakes near the BWCA. Being an inquisitive youth, I’d always ask “Which lake are we going to fish on, Grandpa?” His reply was always the same.

“White Pine”

Since Grandpas don’t lie, I never questioned his answer until I was in my early teens. Even then, I was reluctant to verbalize my skepticism out of respect.

And fear.

But the older I became, the more I paid attention to which direction we were headed and which road we were traveling on.

As I began to put together the pieces of the Lake Liar puzzle, I was insulted with the discovery that I was deemed untrustworthy with Lake information.

Did Grandpa think I was going to go into town and announce to all his fishing competition that Grandpa caught his record walleye on 48° 5′ 6″ N Latitude, 90° 44′ 59″ W Longitude in the shallows of Lake Donttellasoul? Was he worried that I’d be kidnapped and forced to spill the secrets of his angling by way of tickle torture?

The icing on the Lake Liar cake happened when I went to the same vacation spot with my parents just last year. Darren had the kids at home which afforded me the opportunity to be on the lake in my parents boat rather than on the shoreline with seven active children.

As we were packing up to head out to fish, I asked the question.

“Hey Dad, which lake are we going to?”

He. Actually. Hesitated. Before answering as if to weigh the risk of sharing Lake Knowledge with someone who has never taken the blood oath of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”.  I guess he was contemplating the scenario of having his own daughter break the golden silence while in line at the Trading Post.

Tourist to me: “Hey, are you from around here? I’m trying to find a place to set my line and you look like someone who easily spills the beans.”

Me to tourist: “Why yes, I was just fishing with my father and grandfather and we hit the jackpot on Lake Donttellasoul. Would you like me to guide you to the spot because I’m the great-great-great-great grand daughter of Sacagawea and great-grand daughter of Deep Throat. Not only can I tell you my secrets but I can SHOW YOU!”

Yesterday Kevin came home from mom and dad’s house where they spent the day putting a hitch on our minivan and building a rack to attach to the hitch so that we have more room to bring necessities. Kevin was all excited.

“Mom! I’m buying a Trout Stamp. When we get up north, we’re going to pick up Great Grandpa and bring him fishing at…”

Kevin stopped midway through his sentence.

MY OWN SON HESITATED TO TELL ME WHICH LAKE!

“BRING HIM FISHING WHERE, KEVIN!” I demanded.

“Um… you know…that lake with the dock and all the huge trout.”

“If you say ‘White Pine’ you are grounded for LIFE.”

“Fine. I won’t say it.”

ARRRRGH!

For the record, when we return from our little camping trip, I’m going to post, for the world to see, the exact name of the lake with the great big monster walleye and the record-breaking trout.

That’s my way of luring you back.