Moosebunk

Good point Roy. On a personal note... Caught a few OOS smallies this past winter. Four guys, 8 holes, spread right out in depths from 4 to 18 feet. One of my holes gets 3 OOS smallies, big suckers too. Best smallie outing I've ever had. Meanwhile, the other guys holes not twenty feet away are firing walleye. Am I moving?... no way. Later caught 3 walleye too out of the smallie hole and missed some fish. Wasn't there targeting bass but I feel it's absurd to pass on a great fishing area because OOS fish are being hooked 1 to 4 to the target species. Scenarios like this have happened other times as well... heck, I caught 2 OOS sturgeon recently while using deadbait tactics to take 12 (I think it was) mixed bag walleye and pike at locations where all those fish swim. Also catch most of my ice-out pike at warm water outflows where OOS walleye may be lurking as well. Fishing in-season fish is allowable but I wonder what a CO would have said about some of these cases...? The bass season IMO isn't right. This fish on a pedestal is absurd. The "slow" growth for these fish compared to U.S. fish means nothing, as, it applies to pretty much all of our countries sportfish. Walleye and trout across the province need to be stocked yet they're seasons allow ice fishing and much shorter closures. Bass are open year round in some parts of Northern Ontario where bass are fewer and farther between, so why in the south do they close this fish?

Nice Fil... One question though... the guys here talking nothing but C&R only, are they tourney or muskie guys? Or are they fisherman at all? Had to. Just messing.

Stellar speckles. Very nice, thanks.

You're looking skinny and white. More sun, more filth, more fish.

It's like 8 hours there and 8 hours back is it not Mike? Makes for one heckuva trek but I believe you made that one very worth it. Good on ya.

If this isn't criticizing Garry you are the child. C&R is a practice, not the law. This past week law would have permitted me 4 walleye, 5 pike and 5 trout... I chose 2 trout. The law allows selective harvest as well as the "picking of wild flowers." Your Holy High horse rambling that takes a pretty broad swing at some people here does nothing but show you have an obvious disregard for other's views and you don't mind being an arse. What your experiences in the south have to do with mine in the north only cancel each others points... they don't permit you to refer to people who keep fish as "spoiled children." I take fishing, fish, the art of, the love for, the keep and everything about fishing quite seriously and with much more passion than maybe you've ever demonstrated to us here.

Funny that you remember "Rhonda." Still on the first prop, it's been filed down a few times but I haven't had to straighten this one out with the hammer yet. Have a brand new one that I'll put on once I move south, if I keep the motor. The French in spring isn't usually as hard on the motor as is the Moose in summer and sometimes fall. I used to think Johnson/Evindrude had the toughest skegs, I'm sitting on the fence now. Rhond'a been good to take some of what she has but, this is why up here a 15 maybe 20hp is the best to have. They can rebound OK from direct hits but the bigger motors suffer way more if they smoke something at full out.

There was a supportive point made along with that statement, which did lend to the thought behind it. Rereading, maybe the message was a little too firm. Ill tell ya I have no evidence though, it's all hypothesized and personal. Same as the "arguable" and "apparent" examples here. Will say this to anyone, keep your limit if you like, it's YOUR LIMIT. I don't presume Canadians to be stupid people on the whole; but we all know there are idiots out there who totally abuse, and at the end of the day C&R is important, yet not necassarily and always the rule to live and fish by. My heart and head are with the sport and the release, but I can't deny mine and my family's love of the enjoyment there is with the keep.

Quality time on the water and report Cliff and Bly. I like the second pic. She's like... "Hmph?" And then there could be 10,000 different things she's thinking about that fish.

I keep walleye cause I can't catch enough halibut, mahi mahi, grouper, red snapper, salmon, trout, crappie, perch, whitefish, pike, catfish and arctic char to keep me happy. Actually, I do feel it's important that fishing always involves an element of catch and keep. It's the reason angling began and the way its roots have taken hold. It adds reward and validity to hooking and potentially killing fish through the ideals of sustinence (first) yet with sport involved. Probably the truest and most honorable meaning to what "fishing" is, has and always should be. There's value to fish being in the water obviously, but to be a fisherman and keep fishing what it is, there has to be harvest. Afterall, hunting without harvest is just stressing and killing animals... would not take long for that plug to be pulled. Make fishing about sport only... our historic pasttime wouldn't stand a hope in hell come time to argue it's needing to exist. Fish in the waters, that's up to us all. Fish on our plates, that's up to you or me.

Some salmon reel peel should be on everyones Xmas list, every year...... along with some BPS action. Good sutff Mike.

Very nice Johnny. The early season fishin' and weather can be pretty tempermental up there many days. Ya DONE GOOD!!!

I live on fisheries where probably 90% of people keep all of their angled, netted, nightlined and speared catches. Still good, but could be mind blowingly better.

Have a great time. I'm sure you'll be up around the Albany watershed and the fishing will be amazing. Here's hoping for some warmer weather in the north for ya.

As always gang... thanks for the replies and appreciate those taking the time to read through all that ramblin' on.

ESKO. Out of the gate 8:00am, destination Esko... aka "The Falls." After the one fish result, it had been six days since Ramble and I made our quick retreat from the rain, snow and sleet weekend campout at Kiwetin. The forecast this time around, sunday through friday, some cloud, mostly sun but with only a little spit today and tuesday. Perfect. I had 90+ kilometers to camp. No Ramble, no Zebco, no Bren, nobody to make the trip with me... the WarCanoe charged upriver in good time. After paddle probing shallow at Makachonau Rapids it was evident the week had seen a solid drop in water levels, but being that I was able to get over, it was a good sign the river would allow me safer travels onward. A few hours in I had to turn off the GPS and stop for a little fish at one of the honey holes. A little bit of rain was just starting up when I pulled in and began casting. Lucky for me, the skies didn't hold back two anorexic milty males from creamin' their jeans boatside in happiness to see me. Orgys are fun and all but not with boys so, I ducked around a corner to see if any phat females were home in the nextdoor river eddy. Only one fella was sitting lazy in the shallows there. I was 45K in with 15K to the next checkpoint. Quarter Mile Rapids; which should be called A Mile And A Quarter Rapids, was the next big obstacle on route that I picked my way through easy enough in shallow drive. Above this point arriving at the Kiasko campsite I was really happy with my pace until I hit a shoal. My fault for losing concentration, I should have been watching the river instead of the bowl of apple crisp in my hand. From Kiasko onward to Kiwetin onward again to Esko was the section of river I was only this year just getting familiar with. For the first 15K of 30K I was reading the water well, probing often and in and out of shallow drive many times through skinny waters. At Milogamau cruise control was confidently engaged when a hidden deadhead kicked my motor right up off the transom. WAKE UP!!! Beyond Milogamau I was set though, only a few more shallows were navigated then it was smooth sailing in a long deep stretch of the river before Kiwetin. 4:20 arrival at camp... the GPS had been on only for the "moving" time. The island campsite was not quite on an island anymore. The water had dropped to the point that its east side (which I had been boating through a week ago) was now mostly just muck. The camp itself hadn't been lived at since we were there last, and after unloading the canoe within the hour it was home again to me. While setting up I found Dave's pocket knife he had lost on the ground... sadly for Dave though, I think I might have lost it again since. 5:30pm and I was off to "The Falls" aka Esko. Rounding the first corner from camp was a chore and I knew right then I was in for tough sloggin'. ROCK GARDENS!!! Tediously, for the next eight or so klicks the Honda had to pick its way through some unforgiving waters. Twice the motor hit hard on rocks which gave me no warning signs that they were even there in the river. A few hundred meters below Esko was the biggest obstacle. Basically a rocky ledge stretches across the river. Lined with big rocks it gave me one narrow sluice I thought the canoe could wiggle up through in shallow drive, so nervously I went for it. Given'er everything she's got... (well, in shallow drive ya can't actually give full throttle and still get forward propulsion, so given'er everything she could handle before burrying the stern too much) ... the bow raised above the ledge. Half of the canoe up and the other half down the current got a little pushy as it was plowing into the canoe's midsection. We were surfing into the wave and I was speed wobblin' against it. Rocks to both sides about six feet apart, the canoes arze end literally wiggled back and forth before the bow of the boat was far enough over to have its weight distribution finally drop us parallel again. At this point the canoe moved forward. A big momentary sigh of relief was followed up with my new stress of wondering about getting back down later without smashing into those rocks.... getting hung up or busted there would be VERY, not good. Almost Esko... just around this bend... ... and finally, Esko. The pool below during week before wasn't like the pool it was now, and anchoring I was quick to start beating the place with cranks, spinners and jig. In a half hour or so I covered every inch of the pool five times over, there were no fish... until there was one, a little fallfish. Instantly the filet knife and a Ziploc came out, first piece of meat (the head) got thrown on a jighead and dropped off the side of the boat. While working away at the rest the rod tip starts dancing. Wait... DOINK... a small pike. Fish released I cracked a pint. Being at Esko was bittersweet that evening. First off, no fish. Secondly, I couldn't relax for kind of worrying about having to get back down through the rock ledge. Jighead and head off the side of the boat... DOINK... a small pike again. These snots weren't going to keep me here so I left to go find bigger ones. Lined up the ledge which wasn't an easy task; as it's on a riverbend and I have 20 feet of canoe to squeeze it's four feet of width straight through a six foot space, I made it unscathed and pulled my motor up for just an instant when the stern took the drop. Heading back to camp I fished an incoming creek, two eddies, the backside of an island, a tight bay and a shallow trouty looking riffle, all spots gave nothing. Behind camp was mint looking slackwater. It wouldn't have been if the current was still flowing through the channel on the east side of the island, but now that it had stopped, created there was a big shallow sandy flat, complete with beaver lodge and a dropoff into the west side channels rocky current. A little green shoreline grass by the lodge starting to emerge, I had really high hopes for pike in this spot so I got to tweaking with all the tools in the box. Took seemingly forever until a BlackFury got just a follow to the boat. The water was still really cold and all day long the pike were acting lethargic. The walleye were out there somewhere in spawn, two milty males that couldn't get a date were the only fish I had seen so far, them coming off one of my best spots. They wanted slow and tasty... so parked off the beaver lodge I chucked out a chunk of meat on a jighead and gave 'em just that. The line wasn't out thirty seconds, my back was to it while rooting around for a beer and snack, when I turned about the rod tip was stroking in a very slow, subtle and sensual way. I had an immediate flashback to watching the rod tips out in BC, my adrenaline was on the rise, the tugs stayed slow but the tip dropped deeper and deeper with each one. Waiting... waiting... there's a solid pull and BOOM!!! Drove the hook. If there was any doubt at all before the hookset that it wasn't a sturgeon, I had no doubt now. The fish was power. For the next twenty minutes or so I held on and let the thing tire while I cleared out the front of my boat, got the hookout and measuring tape ready, set up the camera and finished my beer. The sturgeon gave me two good jumps and two really hearty runs before just beside the boat I saw the bubbles. I was winning, that means their tired, but it also means there's a good chance there's one more big effort in them. Well, the fish tore a good long strip and when finally it came back it did so ready to succumb. My net didn't work... duh!!! I gloved and tried tailing but couldn't reach as its head was up. I stuck my hand in its mouth and lipped it in. In the boat the fish behaved really well, so with everything set to go I was able to snap two quick timer pics and get the measurement in an instant. Over the gunnel, the revival was about 15 seconds before the tail firmed up and it kicked away. Not a scratch. Over the years I have put in some hours for these fish. Lost one once on 6lb test and that began the love affair with these prehistoric gentle giants. The white sturgeon of the west aren't the same as the home water lake sturgeon of the east. Finally, in my final year... coming down to the wire, I get my first. I'm in loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooove!!! A little light left in the day I caught two more snot rockets on the same set-up. Their take on the deadbait wasn't nearly as polite as the sturgeons. Chompers and tuggers they are... yet still, while icefishing I've seen them more ferocious in the take. A later supper I relaxed fireside, totally content and wondering what the next three days would bring. 10:30 I crashed hard. Machine gun woodpecker drilled right through my earplugs. Cold night, dropped down to -4C. Blackcat warmed the tent in the morning to the point I had to stick my head out to breathe, all the while the tunes on the IPod speakers were helping me get some much needed get up and go. "YEAH! I am the Astro-Freak, A demolition style hell American creep, yeah. I am the crawling dead, A phantom in a box, shadow in your head, say... More Human than Human." If White Zombie can't get ya motivated what can? Water dropped even more over night, about four inches maybe. After a slow breakfast and my touque accidentally falling through the crapper hole gently into some fresh excrement, I took a stroll along the east of the island to see if anything was fishable. You tell me? This is actually a picture of pure garbage water. Deceiving because, it should be warming up quicker than the river being shallow and calm but, a week ago there was two feet of water zipping through there. No quantity of fish would find it suitable. I took off for a creekmouth to investigate some morning walters. Beaching the canoe I saw in the mud the hull mark from where Dave and I had gone ashore the week before. It was now two or more feet above the present water mark. The river was a completely different beast in such a short time... Anyways, one thing didn't change, there were no fish here yet. Beautiful day. I had no interest in testing fate with Esko again. Around the island and along the shorelines I plugged away casting and trolling. Some mayflies were hatching and the geese coming through in droves. Fishing some seams off of eddies I tried deadbaiting again and managed another snot and a fresh bait fallfish. While sitting in wait for fish I was thinking about the number of cormorants I had seen this spring. Going back it was 5 years ago I saw my first, and that was only one. Four years ago it was six. Three years ago there were about two dozen, and two years ago the same. Then last year I don't think I saw any, but now this year probably five dozen or so have flown by me. My stomach took over methinkins and I went for an early afternoon feed and siesta back at Casa Del Bunko. I was King of the castle... Ruler of all my domain. Nobody in the world but me out there... except maybe some imaginary friends whom I conversed with in my head. Afternoon came and I headed out upriver towards Esko... didn't want to go all the way though. Rounding a bend I saw a moose duck into the woods, making that three this week. This section of the river, although a little hard on the skeg, is kind of enjoyable. Fishing was killer slow for the day. A fallfish and a pike in the morning, that's it. Returned to camp for dinner and decided the evening I would sit out off the back the island again and dunk more meat. Only so much birds chirping, geese honking and beaver tail slappin' a man can handle. Besides that, inside the lodge I could here toddler beavers playing and squeaking at each other, and they were having too much fun. IPod on again it was a full on hour with the Red Hot Chili Peppers, watching the rod tip get the odd play, missing some hooksets and enjoying the odd sody-pop. Hello pike!!! This fella had the hook deep so he departed with a fashionable chartreuse Jig-A-Joe throat-ring. Great pike for the North French. It's a walleye river with a tonne more suitable waters for them. The Moose and even Cheepas seem more pike friendly, so in other words I was quite happy with this fish. The faint sounds of swish, swish, swish, swish caught my attention. I was half asleep waiting for fish, but off in the distance I wasn't dreaming when I caught site of a moose coming up the west shore towards me. Crouched down I went for my camera at the front of the boat then took a still position and waited for it to come closer for some pics. There was no way it would smell me. I was downwind. I shut the IPod off. Swish, swish, swish, swish... the old and mangy looking beast came closer. On its shore is a high embankment where the shoreline gave way and dropped some trees into the river. Where the moose was heading there was no way it would climb up and into the bush and it would have a time getting around that landslide. I waited. Before reaching the obstruction the moose stopped. He looked perplexed then he looked over at my boat. I was still and silent as a stone. The moose entered the water and next thing I know he's moving like a torpedo straight for me. I mean Holy, these beasts can swim fast! Half way across he didn't change course. Maybe 40 meters and closing... 30.... 20.... my heart is in my throat. Suddenly I grab the paddle, stand up tall, smack the water and give a loud "HI-YAH!!!" Takes him a minute long second to realize I'm not the gradual tapering shoreline he's going to use to get up the bank and onto the island. He does a 90 degree right and goes about five meters upstream before finding his legs on bottom. Then he takes a little time to spin and consider his options. I am no less than about 35 feet from this beast. I'm at the shallow point, he's looking at a vertical bank nearly as tall as himself... and it remains that way for a distance up the shoreline. I'm in his road. I am trembling. I am trying my darndest to hold my camera steady and keep my colon from releasing. He's not moving now. He's HUGE. He's staring at me and not making a peep. I'm staring at this bull and my insides are screaming. So many pictures didn't turn out after this point. Finally, he moves to the shore and stands up, throwing his front legs atop the steep bank. In one big move he's made it. Now, standing above me on the shore he's even more impressively large and scary. Again, we're back to the stand-off. On the fringe of a nervous breakdown I give. Very slowly I turned my back and stepped gingerly to the rear of the boat. My anchor was out on the shore towards the moose but not really attached to anything, so I was tempted to just giver in reverse as hard as I could anyway. One pull of the Honda and it fired, then I looked back to the moose before putting it in gear and he was gone. I got the anchor and raced around the island to see if he would hit my camp but, that moose had already cut through about 150 meters of bush, cleared my site and was on the opposite shore. No more fishing for the day I started the fire and swigged heavily off the flask ti'll lights out. 9:30am, camp was broke, boat packed, meal down, no tree toilet mishap and the coffee was in the travel mug. The weather was looking unsure but I had a plan to drop back downriver 30K and take the day fishing this new stretch along the way. The water over the two nights had likely receeded another foot but heading downriver is always easier going. The canoe moved quick, top speed 28K BABY!! Sticking with any incoming creeks, any eddies and the backsides of any islands everything remotely fishy looking got some attention. Funny thing was, there were maybe about a dozen really promising looking spots that I hit, but none turned up fish. My usual spring lures weren't producing. It was around 1:00pm and I was already at Kiasko where I had planned to end the day and camp. This was no good, so I figured time would see me push on to another site 20K downriver and instead camp at Owl Island. While cooking up some chili and sitting anchored in the pool at Kiasko, a blackbear came out on the shore and that pretty much sealed the deal... I WAS camping elsewhere. Before I could go I caught this one pike on the ole' jighead and chunk o’ meat and I swear, I've caught that pike there two times before. Hard time I was having eating that day. The guts had been bad since breakfast and I nearly tossed both meals on the day and couldn't finish half my lunch. An intermittent and mild nagging head and neck ache along with being sluggish, the only thing I felt quite good about were the achy muscles in my legs and butt which let me know I was living in a good and active way. While contemplating my symptoms I rigged up my old camera to film me coming down through a shallow section. If I ever figure out how to post that I probably won't. Haha. Stopped at a little walleye spot I quite enjoy. On the way up two days prior there wasn't a fish to be found. Now, it looked prime level and had a little runoff trickle provide some warm water there into it. Well, it took the fish a moment to start taking jigs but before long it was evident... I had just hit the jackpot. And in the hour and half on that tiny spot, the ultralight plucked through about three dozen walleye in the 1-2 pound range. It was pretty sick fun. Only one color combo grub would produce, I tried three others for sharts and giggles but they wouldn't have any of that other crap. Even the fallfish showed up for the party. In truth, I exhausted that spot in about an hour and fifteen. Caught a 7+ pounder there last year and was hoping for a repeat... but reality was these fish JUST got in there and turned on to feed, off the spawn. The big females will likely need a little more rest yet. The fish and the river both need their time to be just right in the spring, for fishin's sake. Cool thing was, the first time I ever fished three overnights on the French in May, I now shattered my walleye numbers today by about four times as many. Not ten minutes down river was a spot that my cousin Mike told me he catches walleye at in the evenings. It was around 4:00pm, a little early, but in my experience there I've caught a few pike. Feeling a little more perky after the walleye slay, when I arrived there my rejuvenated energy was cause for me to spray that slack water and shoreline with a fury of pikey lures. Too bad the pike didn't show up for the fight though. Top of the slack in a river bend is a wee drop off some rocks and down into a mud flat, perfect spot to plop a chunk o' meat. Right off the mark the tip is getting quick and light play so I take it from the holder, wait for the nibble to start again and set the hook into a small waltereye. Quick release, get set up again and in about five minutes same thing... set the hook... this time a snot rocket. After that a little lull in the action, I kick the feet up on the Honda, sit back and begin to enjoy a Keith's and Snickers. Tap, tap. Tap........ tap.......... tap.......... Tug Tug I take real interest, sit up slow, plant my feet and butt behind the holder (quick release holder) and... Tuuuuuuuuuuuuuug. Good bend this time, next bend like that I'm driving this fish right out of holder. It's pretty much obvious what this has to be. Tuuuuuuuuuuuuuug. THWACK!!! Yeah baby it's ON. Gave it a Slop expletive. First sturgeon was twenty or so minutes on the medium-heavy 50lb baitcaster gear, this one wasn't coming so easy on the 20lb medium spinning outfit. I had plenty of time to clear space in the boat, get set-up for a couple quick photos and measurement then get this sturgeon back in the drink. When I say plenty of time, it was about 35 minutes. Again, finished the beer and chocolate bar, watched this good fish jump four times and loved every second of its dogged struggles. It was a good thing too that it stayed in the slack and didn't head for the current, that could have been big trouble for the old 2500 Abu. In the canoe everything went smooth. These lake sturgeon are absolute gems, and once in the boat they behave like Grannys at a tea party. The fish measured in at 47 inches... the previous one was 49. This fella seemed a little chunkier to me but I gave them both around 20 pound status. Hard to tell with fish I've never caught before... and these fish do taper quite thin from their funky big noggins down to their shark tails. And, I gotta wonder if them being all cartilage makes their mass more or less than most fish with skeletons. Ahhhh heck, four footers anyways, and that's freaking gnarly fun stuff regardless of the technicalities. This here is some money. Hoover oughtta hire these sucking machines. Another good release. I didn't stick around after this fish. Time was pressing on, it was nearing 6:00pm and I had two more spots to hit up before making camp on Owl Island. First hole, nada. Second, booyah!!! The walleye were home here too. In a few minutes I released ten or eleven. The Coleman came out and I threw on some stew, so that meant meat off the back of the boat while I tended to other things. Couple of beavers came by and smacked their tails around me, trying to scare me off. I got hold of a big rock and in turn temporarily scared them off. Nothing like sitting there all quiet and unsuspecting and having a beaver sneak up behind the boat and smack his tail. This happened to me alot this trip and quite frankly, I was tired of jumping out of my seat spooked. By the way... Hello pike. Glad you liked the fallfish. Was a nice evening to be out... warm... and before leaving the hole another dozen 1-2 pounders came over the gunnel. Arriving at Owl Island camp was made and I had a bit of a time getting the fire going but when it lit up, man... it was a toasty good fire. Feeling in the party mode with some tunes going I enjoyed the end of my scotch. Their was a little more than expected rationed out for that night and it was great to help numb the stinging of a thorn I had in my right palm and another little one stuck in my left index finger. The IPod speakers I bought about 5 years ago work great, go with me every trip and amazingly have never once needed to have the 3 AA batteries in them changed. Tunes, booze and heat... fire good, pale face like. Tomorrow was the last day. In my slightly buzzed state I "may" have got a little emotional about this likely being the last time I fish the North French. This is the river I really cut my teeth on up here and shared some really great fishing memories and times with friends and family... I made sure to whiz all around camp cause this was where Karma the bear and I had one frightening night the previous spring. Didn't go to bed sad or worried about anything, with dry socks from the fire it was a totally comfortable slip into a peaceful dreamland. Bright and early, Time to go, Face the day, I'm heading home. Water down again the canoe was good and beached upon wanting to leave. Was calm and looking like it was going to be the perfect day for the ride home, I was excited to see what the lower river had in store for me. So far, this was already the best North French trip I had ever taken and one helluva way to end things here if that be the case. A great river pike, two amazing sturgeon, a five-dozen walleye day and not just the single moose encounter but, I actually saw five moose on the trip; taking the week plus total to seven, and a black bear. The time alone was something spectacular as well, and the feat of conquering these far out frontiers on the river was quite rewarding in a sense. Camp broken and I was off. First spot on route is a cool little sandy hump that drops into some rocky rubble. If the water is a little warm suspect walleye be home, if it's cooler then it's redhorse and maybe pike. Or, so I thought. When Dave was here at my house he was checking out some pics from my albums when he said, "This has got to be the biggest fallfish I've ever seen." I looked at it and told him I didn't think it was a fallfish but instead a northern redhorse. Dave argued differently. He's the biologist with the majors in this stuff, and he's also fished fallfish every spring for years. The bigger specimens here in the north take on a little extra color but in fact, upon close inspection he pointed out some scale and facial patterns that did make his case. The Canadian record is 2.34lbs... I thought to myself there have been a couple times that if I mistook a bigger fallfish to be a northern redhorse that, I would have certainly broke the record had it been a fallfish. Off the back of the hump, chucking a twistertail it just so happened I picked up this 17 3/4 inch fish that nudged my 25lb Rapala spring scale to 2 1/4 pounds. Not so totally accurate I guess, but this was not the biggest I've caught... close, but not the biggest. These fallfish are alot more fun than eyes, I got another 17 incher to convince me of that. They actually pull drag and go nuts. I was casting out and felt the hit and tug of what I thought was going to be the biggest of all time. From behind the boat I saw a flash of silver that for a second I thought was a whitefish, then the lure got spit. I kept hitting that spot cast after cast when the jig got pegged again. I had a Floaty moment with... "IT'S A TROUT!!!" Holy, I was nervous playing this guy out. I knew he was good the way he gave my ultralight the best test of the trip. Ziiiiiiiiiiiiiing. So wily in their fight, twisting and turning, they can be heartbreakers when they find a way off the line. But not this time. I got him. GRAND SLAM!!! 20.5 inches of searun chromage!!! Pure bliss. Man, I was some happy. This is a rarity for me to break 20 inches and it's only been done a couple times before. Well, the hump got humped and humped and humped and pumped after this fish. I was an angler on roids. Maybe it was too hard workout though, cause nothing else worth mentioning was caught after this speckled gem. On route home a few more spots got checked before I finally chose to stop for lunch. The North French has by my guess another week tops before the shallow flows protect its reaches from any wanting travelers. Enjoying some chowder and the view, it was good to think that the place exists in such a manner by which it only permits the smallest windows for which one can peer upon it's splendors. Keeps it almost untouchable and unspoiled in that way. Then I chipped a tooth, the chowdaaaah, and that really screwed up my little moment of reflection. I chipped my tooth... What gives? Before getting off the river I couldn't help myself. Plucked this beauty from my favorite little drift and gave it a bonk. Destined for the BBQ. Greatest trip on the home waters. Very satisfying in tougher fishing conditions to take a 100km stretch of river, pick it apart and break it down with everything learned over the years fishing here. Rewarding, soul shaking, momentous life. Memories headed with me way beyond where I have already gone.

Moose River... hours before Break-Up. Break-Up... next day. Three days later, Rob my taxi boat driver dodges ice heading back to Moosonee. MILOGAMAU. The good ole Honda fired up on the fifth pull. All greased and oiled she was primed and ready for the long awaited premier spring haul up the North French River. The WarCanoe was good to go too. Flipped, pressure washed and inspected, atop the trailer and clean as a whistle it looked mint. I set out from the launch 9:30am, May 11th against a warming southwesterly. The Moose River had just cleared of break-up a few days prior and so it was an intensely heavy and high current to face, with the odd piece of debris still flowing out to James Bay. Arctic terns, sandhill cranes, ducks of every kind, and arriving geese filled every inch of the waterway while I motored upriver humming to greats like "You Can Call Me Al," "Jesus Just Left Chicago," and "Kickstart My Heart." Forty minutes passed before rounding the bend into the mouth of the North French. Just inside is a large boulder in the river which foretells of the travel ahead. If the top of the rock shows above water by about 6-inches, proceed with caution, if it's more than a foot, forget it. On this day the rock was totally submerged, as I pushed on upriver I came to the quick realization this was the highest I had ever seen the French. Stopping to fish the backside of an island that years ago coughed up my biggest two French River spring pike to date, I came to a second conclusion, fishing was going to be tough. Ice cold chocolate milk and way too much of it drowned out that spot, and traveling onward many other holes were in the same condition. Waters high I blazed on to areas that would normally take significantly more time to reach. No shallow drive, little water reading, cutting corners and confident boating, I took little time to slow down. Spots I would normally stop and fish for walleyes I passed by; as the season was still closed, and most pike spots after quick inspection were deemed devoid and not ready. About 2:30pm I found myself 60km up the river at the Kiasko, at a campsite there. Shedding a few layers of clothes under the afternoon sun, I unloaded some gear and set-up the tent. Some bear skat kicked up under my boot but it looked old... this night I was thinking would be safe from "Karma." Hours to burn yet and the river calling, I set off into the unknown. Many times Kiasko was the last stop but with the waters high there was a chance to explore new reaches with relative safety. I no sooner rounded the bend from camp and sped through a known shallow stretch that I felt a sense of ease. Looking at the map about 25-30kms of water between Kiasko and a lake called Milogamau was ahead, much of that stretch on topo pointed out shallow or rapid sections. Motoring on, those rapids didn't exist with the spring levels so high. Less than an hour later I passed the Wekwayowkastic River. Wilderness canoe trippers and brookie enthusiasts in the know can speak of the allure of the Weak, but I stayed on course heading into the rarely traveled and never spoken of realms of the North French..... and it was at this point I double-checked my fuel situation but also began worrying how one hidden rock could leave me alone and paddling a long, long, way home. There was enough gas to make Milogamau Lake. In October of 2002 while on a first fall overnighter on the French, Old Man Jimmy showed my friend and I a topo map of the river and on it I spotted Milogamau. Lakes in this area are so few and far between that; like only one other off the Moose River, I was drawn to the idea of fishing it. Over the years I thereafter learned getting to Milogamau was no easy feat. Now, I stopped the boat in a deep pool and gazed at a wall of trees that was expected to be the entrance of a kilometer long creek that would take me into the lake. Impossible... Milogamau is impossible, and would remain a place of wonder. Firing up the motor I decided to keep going up a little ways when just 100 meters around a bend there was a camp. Going ashore to the top of the bank, there laid out in a clearing were gas cans, a paddle canoe, a relatively new Bravo snowmobile and an old torn apart Elan and a newly built wooden box sleigh. Tarps covered the skidoo and top of the box sleigh, but a bear had definitely been by and it tore the tarp off the sleigh. The exposed inside housed a number of bags of good clothing, a prospector tent and bedding, snowshoes and some other odds and ends. A couple of the gas cans had been bitten into by the bear, and the makeshift forest tent frame expected for the prospector had been pushed around a little. I peeked under the tarp on the Bravo and the keys were there in the ignition. One of the gas cans had a part name on it and it that read first name "Her"... and second "Chee"... Herbert... Herman... Cheechoo... I could only guess, but Cheechoo is a common Moose Factory name. The whole thing was weird... someone abandoned this winter camp which they snowmobiled to but the last interesting sign I took note of was that canoe. Not just a winter camp then it must serve another purpose. The canoe itself was pointed in the direction of a previously cut trail, the trail heading the direction of Milogamau Lake. My butt parked itself on a stump because my mind went into dreamy overload. I peered down that trail very wet and still snowy and finally came to my senses. The day was too late and the trail very likely swamped out. Milogamau was still impossible, so I took to the river again and kept heading up. My maps ended. Milogamau was like the goal I guess when I printed them up a few years back. A place simply referred to as "The Falls" was in my mind the next, and final stop. A fella named Tom who fished sturgeon with me in BC back in 04 did once or twice speak of "The Falls." I remember it was his little heaven on earth up there. I rounded a second bend about 15 minutes from the camp that I had just stopped at, when there on a high bank stood a small stake. Curious, I was challenged to anchor the boat and get ashore, but did, then climbed the hill and found nothing but a small clear cut and that stake. From this point on heading up river it was evident that it was a long straight stretch that looked to go for miles. Only a drop in the boat tank left, I had burned about 35L and had 20L left to get home on next day, it was there I turned around for camp. What took an hour and forty-five minutes to ascend, took an hour to return back on. I plied into some narrow spaces between shore and islands to explore. Many parts of the riverbanks were still littered with deposited ice chunks melting high and dry. Every now and again a piece would startle me when breaking off, falling into the river. The perfect camoflauge of the biggest snowy owl I have ever seen also spooked me when it took flight off the bow from the white icy shore. Arriving back at Kiasko a little earlier than expected I took a short detour up that river. Just a few hundred yards from the river's mouth is a tributary that flows in over a sand and gravel bar, I jigged it hoping to find any spring brookies that are rumored to be caught there periodically. The runoff was likely too muddy yet, but upon leaving the spot I trolled the shoreline back to camp and picked off a half decent pike on the ultralight while trolling a jig. The fish kept the skunk off, but really I hadn't fished much more than two hours worth in the day. Bacon and eggs in the cast iron pan, toast on the rack over the other burner, Keith's in hand I talked a little to myself just to hear a voice. Would have been great to have Bren with me I thought, she would have liked the view from this camp. The wood around was mostly wet but there was the odd dry find. Some splinters off a chopped piece were enough to stoke with a bacon grease saturated papertowel, and before I knew it there was a solid fire putting off some welcome heat in the cooling evening air. A lone mosquito came buzzing around to keep company, unsure about landing, and across the river a beaver sat on shore to chew a little wood for a late supper. The sun gave way to a waning full moon before hitting the hay. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz........... It was some cold at 5:10am when I woke for a whiz. The sky had a little light and some annoying morning birds were chirping along with a woodpecker pecking and a crane just screaming its bloody head off. I jammed in some earplugs, put the touque on and rewoke about 7:30am, then fired up the Blackcat to toast my feet and hands. By 9:00am the gear was packed and in the boat, breakfast consumed and coffee in the travel mug. The whole day ahead was an easy float down river home with many fishing spots to stop and pray for fish at. Overnight and in exactly 12 hours the water levels dropped 6 to 7 inches. It was at stop number five that I caught a fish. Now you'd think I targetted the little terd with that jig... well, you're wrong. Last spring all my immediate ice-out pike came on hair or plastic jigs until the water warmed a little. Guess the pike like things a little slower in the still frigid waters. This trip I chucked spinners and spoons, jerked some twitchbaits and twitched some jerkbaits, and in the end caught that pike the night before slowly trolling that same jig. So, the plan was now, fish the warm water creekmouths with jigs for pike. I caught a couple more eyes here though, and left. Down at stop number ten the previous year I caught a good number of pike, so I parked the boat there to see how it'd go this year. Three quick eyes, one on a Smithwick, one on a Bluefox and one on a Johnson, I took off these pike baits and put on a jig. Sure enough, I get some reel peel. After the pike though, the bite goes two more walleye before I start heading down river to look for a spot out of the wind to cook some lunch; or hit a redhorse sucker hole... whichever comes first. The belly won. Once I was fed too it was around 2:00pm and getting real gusty. Not taking any chances with the Mighty Moose leg of the ride I felt satisfied I had enough play this trip and called it quits. Not many fish to count... 2 pike and 8 OOS eyes, but it didn't feel like too shabby a trip at all. Got home and Bren asked "How was the fishing?" "Didn't do much of that at all really, just a bit of living babe." Got the gear unpacked and partly repacked again, and went out and set the minnow traps. "The Falls" is calling now..... stay tuned. KI"WET"IN A chilly rain was being driven by a nasty west wind down main street Moosonee when I ducked into the SkyRanch for some dry warmth and a cup of coffee. It was nearly 3:00pm and a number of the local girls in the restaurant were waiting around on their day off for Rhoda to hand out the paychecks. One of them; a young relative of Bren's, joined me at the table and we both talked about our different life plans which would soon be taking us away from the muck, mire and magnificence of the Mighty Moose. I was over on the mainland that afternoon waiting for a friend to come off the Little Bear train. Dave, aka Ramble On was a young man I met at Kesagami a couple years back. He was a guy one could like right away... smart, witty and nuts about fishing, especially pike. The train was expected to pull in at 3:30pm but when I stepped out the front door of the Ranch just after 3:00pm I could see that it had been parked at the Station for more than awhile. By the time my legs could semi-rush me there I was half out of breath when I apologized to Dave for my delay. He was most understanding. Back on Moose Factory Island with Dave an hour later, I gave him a quick tour of the pot hole roads, local attractions and checked the minnow traps. Come evening he and I settled in for a steak supper and early nights sleep. Next morning we busted out of town with a full pay load. The plan was to make up miles. The day was expected to be all sun with a high of 10C and perfect for traveling. From Moose Factory to our destination upriver I had guessed we'd need to cover 100km's, total time 8 to 10 hours with an average speed of about 13km/hr. Well, to my pleasant surprise Dave's GPS clocked us out of the gate early with a quicker overall pace of 15km/hr... to "The Falls" a day south we pointed our mental compasses. Moose River and the North French were pretty much in the same state I left them after the previous trip to Milogamau that week. High, cold and dirty. Obstacles in the rapids wouldn't be a problem in the going, but fishing in very poor water conditions could prove tough. Still, I was half expecting to find a fishing heaven in the unknown reaches of the river. Just before 6:00pm Dave and I had made it. We weren't yet at "The Falls," yet we were at our island campsite destination at Kiwetin. With a creek right there we decidedly took a few minutes to wet a line. Fifth cast I think it was and Dave picked up one retarded and anorexic looking walleye. We thought we were in for some good fishing, but that would be it after 15 minutes of beating the creekmouth. Onward to the island we were somewhat disappointed to find the state in which the campsite had been left. It could have been called a clusterfawk of trash and prospector pegs... and a whole lotta moosepoop too actually. Anyways, knowing there was some nasty forecasted weather ahead, Dave and I found a really excellent piece of land to make our weekend fortress from. The work was fun, except when Dave farted on me while I held him half way up a tree so he could tie some rope for our tarps. By 9:00pm the Coleman and cast iron was out and chicken sizzled in the skillet. For the first time Dave was going to eat a fajita.... (I know, he's a freak... what twenty-sumthin year old has never had a fajita?) .... and, not only was a new food in his future that night, but a new booze too. Scotch. While we enjoyed our meal and drink, out of camera range yet within gun shot, a rather large cow and calf moose came out onto a wide shoreline to graze in front of us until dusk. The sounds of falling water in the background, off in the distance a beaver slapped his tail a few times too, before retiring for the night. There was no sunny morning to greet us next day. A damp chill filled the air. Dave and I slept soundly through the night and woke to some warm coffee and Baileys. It was obvious rain was coming so we were pretty quick to jump in the canoe and head off in search of "The Falls." After motoring upriver a time we came to a fork and that's when I said, "Uh Oh!?!?" Checking GPS we were at the beginning of an island, "The Falls" I had been told was before this island. While trying to sort things out with Dave and the GPS I briefly ran us ashore... rather abruptly though. We had just gone up through a rapid and I questioned Dave, "could that have been the falls we actually drove up?" With the very high water levels and the information I was given, it did seem so. Firing up the beached and stalled Honda we kept going. Now I was excited, because it was my belief that only one man had ever gone beyond "The Falls" in recent history and it was rumored there had been trout aplenty for that lone soul. Rounding some bends, plying some washed out eddies for fish and shooting up through some swifts, it wasn't long after beaching the boat that in the distance we saw a "definite barrier to our southern migration." As we pulled into the left side pool the spitting rain of the morning began to fall a little heavier. Unfortunately the camera couldn't do the big rapid justice. The truth is, in all my river travels in the north, this was the biggest rapid I had ever encountered in the coastal and some of the inland watershed regions. Floating the canoe up close to it while it poured its high and powerful flows over the rocks was a little intimidating. Dave had to be patient anchoring in the pool below as the water was fast and swirling all over. The fishing was dead. There were certainly enough signs as to why, but still... until reaching this place I held hope that it would somehow be immune to the delayed spring conditions which were plaguing the other 100km's of river we had driven over. Dave and I worked the waters a short while, but it was obvious the place wasn't ready to reward us. The rain got heavier and we left for Kiwetin. In camp by noon our day of fishing was looking to be cut quite short. We were still having a good time. The afternoon Dave talked about bugs, birds and fish mostly... he has a real solid knowledge base for wildlife. At 1:05pm he took a whiz back by a nice toilet set-up someone had left in the nearby trees. That was a bonus to have in camp until the rain cold soaked the seat. Dave was perfect to have along. I wouldn't have even gone knowing ahead of time what the weather was forecasting for the weekend, but in the end I was happy to have stuck with the plan, for better or worse. Afterall, May long weekend weather up here always sucks donkey sausage, but still, you have to endure sucking that donkey sausage cause it's every northern walleye anglers duty to do so. Dave's a southern angler but with a heart for sucking it out in the north. Haha. Around 7:00pm it looked like there was going to be a short break from the precip, so we took a little time to get out in the boat to the creek mouth just across the way. Got there and within minutes it began snowing. So, back to the comforts of our fortress... After a hearty Indian Oktoberfest meal I subjected Dave to some of my toons off the IPod speakers and a little more scotch. Outside the wind began howling. It was getting freaking cold quick but the tarps did a good job to help slow the draft down a little. We were prepared for winter camping but I'm sure we'd both agree that some heat would have been more than welcome. Nodding off to sleep that night fishing was the furthest thing from my mind... what was, was getting the hell off the North French a day early. She was an awefully chilly site when we finally crawled out of the sleeping bags. First thing first, I headed down to the boat to be sure the motor would start. All systems go I came back to Dave and without breakfast we began the task of packing up. If anything he and I would reach the mouth of the French today and if the winds were high enough to keep us off the Moose we could back track a little to a cabin and take shelter the day there. Kiwetin had me beat. I couldn't stay any longer to fish in this and endure more soaking weather, rising water and high winds. It was some of the worst garbage skies I'd camped under in some time. "Baton down the hatches," was my stupid little coined phrase for pretty much every time we got in the boat. The travel home I figured would take about four hours as opposed to the seven it took coming up. The GPS clocked us top speed 31km/hr heading downriver, (max going up was 18km/hr) but we averaged about 22km/hr or so, I think. There was only one scheduled stop on route for lunch, otherwise it was grin and bear it for the duration. Dave had no insulation in his boots so that was exactly what he did. Poor buggah!! Even with frozen toes and facefulls of snow it was kind of a fun adventure... one to tell about anyways. Me, Ok for much of the drive... little wet at times but, pretty toasty. We got in mid afternoon and that was the end of that. The North French gave us both a good solid arzewhippin'. Fishing could have been much much much much much much much much much much much much much much much much better, yet I had a surprisingly good time. Dave's company, past experiences and positive attitude made enduring the nasty weather much much much much much much much easier. Great time out, we made the best of it. Next day we jumped in the boat during a sunny weather break in the morning and B-lined it out to a creek on James Bay to attempt finding any early searuns specks that may have entered there on a high tide. Within an hour, wicked clouds and building winds chased us right back home. We were smart to go when we did cause it turned real hairy mad gusts by mid afternoon. Not the place to be out by the Bay when that happens. Saw Dave off on the train come tuesday. Poor sucker has to spend the next eight weeks guiding on Ontario's best pike fishery, Kesagami. Me...... well....... Zebco and Bren are out of the plans due to work but, next weekend is looking good so far weather wise. Now that I know the name of the actual rapids I was at, looks like a solo trip may be in the works, or could try familiar waters to catch a fish. Thanks for visiting Dave. Always appreciate it when anyone makes the journey. MAKACHONAU via OTAKWAHEGAN The weather was calling mix sun and cloud and high of 7C for the day, but it was around 10:00am when reaching the top of Kwetabohagan Rapids that this squall of snow engulfed me. For the second time this spring the ski mask and goggles came out of the Rubbermaid. Man, I was chilly for the ride. Nice thing about a river with high water is the safe flow only goes one way, so being blind of distance didn't slow any progress. The North French had so far seen all my attention this spring. Todays plan was to check out what the Moose and Cheepas Rivers were cooking. Normally in spring it's the French that clears and warms the quickest, seeing to it that aquatic life first feeds in those waters. This spring was far from normal though, and to be sure I wasn't missing anything I was taking a full day to fish every May fishing spot I had. Two and half hours was a quick ride up to Renison. This area of the Moose is usually hit hard by Moosonee locals. My best river pike; as well as a few other good fish, have been caught here in the past, and one of the small nearby creeks is supposedly a walleye hotspot. My hands were freezing when I finally pulled into my destination, but when I saw there was competition in the pike bay the heat under my collar warmed me up some. Frustrated to drive all that way and find gillnets I fished anyways. Afterall, last year there were two nets when Zebco and I pulled in, trolled around them and then I caught a tank pike. Casting and trolling I devoured every inch of this bay but still finished up hungry. Nearby was the walleye hotpspot so I moved over there, but sadly when I arrived some locals were camped out and I figured the fishing hole would be beaten. This tiny little runoff creek can be dynamite..... or, at least it used to be in my opinion. There were times when it was said that a boatload could go there and catch 50-100 walleye in a day... but that's exactly what happened. Few years ago I remember some greedy folks tore into this spot during spawn, keeping everything they caught... reports back home on the dock were 40, 60, 80 kept in successive days. Today it's so hit and miss and only ever good for a few catches, guys have begun resorting to nightlines and nets to be sure they get every last fish that ever thought of spawning there. Here's to hoping that all the white froth swirling in the slack water is a life giving mixture of sperm and amniotic juices. I didn't stay long fishing in front of the campers. One fella I know from Moosonee and he's a great guy, and while fishing they called in and shot a mallard right over my head... that was pretty cool. Down river a little was Otakwahegan. Lifetime I had only ever caught one walleye there but it was worth a stop to see if any fiddleheads were out. They were not. At this point it was decided to back track to the Cheepas River and check out the 8km stretch between the train bridge and the mouth. Inside Cheepas was blown right out. The water was choco-moo-moo and flowing like the MacKenzie, its many eddies a total washout. I made the trek inside for an hour and hoped an incoming creek would produce something, but again I came empty handed. It was 2:00pm and so far creekmouths, runoffs and even back bays weren't looking good. The skies were much less threatening now and the air warming so I continued on anyway, fishing a number of other back bays between Cheepas and Kwetabohagan. All the stops have their certain moments through the seasons but I guess this day wasn't one of those days. Casting and trolling and casting and trolling, the pike were nowhere to be found. In a sense I was happy that the Moose and Cheepas weren't ready yet. In the plans for the coming days was another attempt at "The Falls" on the North French. It was pleasing to know if I take the time and risk to travel the 100km's up there for a few day, that if I suffer another skunking at least I wouldn't be left wondering what could have happened had I chosen these two rivers instead. Out of curiosity it was decided that I'd just head over to the French now and check the water conditions. Hammer down and taking a shortcut I was motoring inside the river there in about a half hour. Clarity was definitely looking better from four days prior when Ramble On and I escaped the place in the snow storm. Just a few klicks up the way at a rapids there were a couple boats out fishing the eddies and shorelines. The French was seeing some signs of life emerge, other than me. In one of the boats was the local taxidermist and his son. A little apprehensive of fishing within their view, I was awefully near a trout spot that looked prime for some drift jiggin.' Couldn't help myself, had to hit it. No sooner than parking the boat, walking down to my rock and taking a cast... tick, tick, tick... WHAMMO!!! Got the first searun speckle of the season, a skinny but fiesty 17-incher. I carefully made little fuss and checked over my shoulder a number of times while tending to the pics. Man, I wanted more. Thought to myself, had I ever caught a 5lb'er over the years that was a chrome as these searuns tend to be when first out of the water, I would have a taxidermist do it up exactly how it's supposed to look and not put into the paint the reds, olives and blues that brookies normally have. The shoreline there got worked hard after the first fish. I did peg one more a little ways down from this one but it was off quick. That I thought strange, cause these hungry specks are usually great for impaling themselves. I switched out the 4-inch grub for a 3-incher, just in case length was the prob. Turned out, it didn't matter. A quick bowl of chili and I went up the way to say hello. Taxidermist Tom and Richy were having a slow outing with only one walleye in the boat. I jigged a few minutes alongside them before calling it a day. The cold and work had tired me out pretty good and my vision was going a little blurry by this point. On route home on the Moose though, I did have the eyesight for one helluva a sweet setting sun. Another 150km round trip fishing day. Kept the skunk off and fed the girls their favorite. Turned out great.

You know I always thoroughly enjoy your annual trips to the Park Meegs. Another great one for ya. Very nice. Thanks.

MinnKota trolling eyes. A little different... and scary if that's all the power ya got. lol.

Clive... Nice to see ya fishing and back where you belong. Could always enjoy more reports from ya.

Good fishing, good friends... Great stuff Cliff and company. Ramble On and I were sitting here earlier this afternoon admiring your pike. Great looking PB, well done dood.

Great example of why you're an engineer and fella who likes to build stuff. Looking forward to hearing about the first mission attempts. Nice work Wayne.

I like all the "splash" in that report. Some great Big Lake action... cool.

Well, now that I think of it I can't believe how fast the year went by since I last read an Algonquin Cookslav report that totally impressed me. I agree with Sinker... this time of year is special because of these types of reports. Sentimental favorites on the line for a number of great trip reporters. Yours was mint... again. Thanks.

WINNER RIGHT THERE!!!