There are two kinds of people in this world: people who think fishing is a calm, meditative experience, and people who’ve been to my annual fishing derby and know better.
This year marked the Second Annual Camp Fishing Derby Extravaganza (yes, that’s the working title, and no, I’m not making T-shirts… yet). What started last year as a harebrained idea has now ballooned into 60 people, donated prizes, and the kind of potluck that could make Martha Stewart weep. The dream? To bring people together in the funniest, lowest-effort way possible. And the reality? Absolute, over-the-moon fun.
The Secret Recipe to a Great Derby
Step one: make it simple. Nobody wants a 17-page rulebook and a measuring tape inspector with a whistle. My rules are straightforward:
- Teams of up to 4
- Bring a dish for the potluck and fish fry
- Win bragging rights, and maybe a prize if you’re lucky
- Cheap shots and trash talk highly encouraged
That’s it. If you can write your name on the sign-up sheet, you’re in.
The Prizes
Listen, we’re not giving out new trucks or trips to Cabo here. Prizes are humble, donated, and funny. Categories include:
- First, second, and third place (classic)
- Overall biggest fish (cue the one-uppers)
- Smallest fish (a crowd favorite)
- Door prize (you literally just have to show up)
- Random prize draws (because chaos is fun)
It’s low stakes with maximum laughs. And somehow, everyone takes it way too seriously anyway.
The Big Day
The day starts at 11:00, with everyone jammed into the harbour like sardines, waiting for me to blow the air horn. The best part? The banter. Picture 60 people, mostly old men, heckling each other about who’s going to win. “Hope you brought a magnifying glass for your catch this year, Carl!” The air smells like lake water, sunscreen, and pure excitement.
Once they’re off racing to their secret fishing holes, I stay back, wrap the prizes, and prepare myself for the chaos of the weigh-ins.
The Weigh-Ins: Where Friendships Are Tested
This is where things get intense. People crowd around, peering suspiciously at scales, making sure I’m not playing favourites (spoiler: I don’t). Every fish is met with cheers, jeers, and the occasional conspiracy theory about “rigged scales.” It’s glorious.
The Potluck & Fish Fry
After the drama of the weigh-ins comes the best part: the feast. Picture tables groaning under potato salads, dips, baked beans, and every pasta salad. Add fried fish, laughter, and a little too much beer, and you’ve got magic.
It’s the kind of scene where people who’ve known each other for decades sit shoulder to shoulder with brand-new friends, and nobody leaves without a story. Sure, there are still cheap shots flying, but now they’re softened with a belly full of food and a drink in hand.
Why You Should Host Your Own Derby
You don’t need a fancy lake, pro anglers, or a budget. What you need is:
- A loosely enforced set of rules
- A couple of prizes (the tackier the better)
- An air horn (trust me, it sets the tone)
- A group of people who love to laugh
Last year, I had a dream. This year, I had 60 people living it with me. And next year? Well, the anticipation has already started.
So plan a derby. I promise you won’t regret it. You’ll make memories, you’ll make friends, and at the very least, you’ll eat way too much potato salad. And hey, if you’re stuck on logistics, I’ll even send you my “registration form.” Consider it the holy grail of half-serious event planning.
Now go cast some lines, make some memories, and for heaven’s sake, don’t let Carl win again.
