Moosebunk

That'll be the day I get writers block Dan and it'll end up just a big disappointment. Nah, I can't wait to see your neck of the woods. Since my other summer plans for brookies fell through and I didn't get very many chances this spring, the time there will be even more needed. Quote JohnnyB "Very Impressive pike!!! Did you weigh it???" Nah!! I'll guess 21 inches and about 6 pounds. I'm only 2' 6" myself. Thanks again for the replies everyone. Always happy you enjoy the reports... makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Welcome to the Port Elmsley Drive-In.... Tonights feature, "MISSION FISHIN' IMPOSSIBLE" starring Moosebunk, Agent Medic Stevie Zebco, the Cheepas River, and Momma Nature... But first the preshow cartoon... GIRL'S RULE. (story told by my youngest) My dad likes fish. My dad likes fish a lot. My dad likes fishing for fish. Dad woke me up early to go fishing with him and my sister. I like the boat and eating chicken nuggets and fries. I brush my teeth with a timer so I do it long enough. I'm four. Dad's taking us to the Bay on a big river. I sawd a seal there and goose and hunters shooting gooses. It's warm outside. I'm sweaty. Dad says we'll troll for trout from the sea. I don't see any fish. I'm sweaty and hungry. I'm always hungry. "Daaaaad, can I have a snack?" Dad let me take off my jacket and drive the boat with him. I'm a better driver than my sister who's eight. There's polar bears out here my sister told me. "Daaaaad, can I have another snack?" I don't see any fish. Dad says he "dropped" a fish, but I didn't see a splash. The worms must be getting tired of waiting to be eaten. If I was a worm I'd be a pink worm cause I like pink. I like purple and burgundy too. "Daaaaad, can I have a snack please? A purple snack?" Fishing is boring, I'm happy we're going home now. My sister is sleepy. Where's dad going now? This isn't the way home. "Daaaaad, are we going home now?" Dad says he wants to check for a fish. Nice waterfall. Dad wants a picture.... again. He takes more pictures of fish than me. I like smiles. Dad likes fishing for fish. I like the boat and ice cream... the white ice cream, and Barbies, and Dora, and Toopy and Binou and Backyardigans. "Daaaaad, can I have a snack when we get home?" The End. MISSION FISHIN' IMPOSSIBLE. Great thing for my buddy Steve, as the dude didn't mind being runner up to an old friend whom seems to have turned sour. When I tele-mo-phoned the local yokel he was all over changing work shifts and making our 6:30am departure a total rock solid plan. The mission, as I had no choice to accept it was, to travel deep into the heart of the Cheepas River wilderness, totally anglinate every living aquatic thing swimming there, then capture a mob boss hostage and reveal his whereabouts to all interested online agencies. If I failed I would self destruct. Come morning we hopped aboard the WarCanoe and made haste for the Cheepas. Arriving there it became evident that a rough road lay ahead. From the river's mouth 37km up the Moose River, it would be another 88km to our target. The water had receeded quickly the previous weeks to levels that would now be classified as "most likely and almost certainly - dangerous." Much time was spent travelling cautiously through rock garden mine fields that would blow any skeg to smithereens. The fish in these murky waters seemed scarce. One thing that there sure was plenty of though, were birds. Birds, birds and more birds lined the banks. Geese, ducks, cranes, whiskeyjacks, robins, ospreys and even an eagle. They all watched on as we passed by, inching closer towards our goal. Steve was a solid gunman and well trained at picking off the few walleye we found hiding in eddies and creekmouths. Every one taken put a smile on his face... the man evidently enjoying his duty. A true anglinator fo'sho'. After brief stops for fish we would blaze back onto the trail. Intel continued reaching us by many different channels. Weather, wildlife, waterway... yeah, we were totally tuned into the three "W's" that would eventually see our mission a success.... ... OR SO WE THOUGHT!!! A little too tuned in I guess, we didn't happen to see a single landmine which lay undetected below the water's surface. The rock smacked the skeg hard kicking the entire motor up off the transom. Immediately the boat stopped and I was in full on red-dang-alert. Steve was shaking his head... "whaddafawkwasdat Bunk?" "Sniper mine er sumthin Stevie Zebco," I replied. We had to slow the pace. We were in a heavy danger zone. Up ahead too was the biggest obstacle of the mission, the Falls. Where plenty before and plenty to come will likely meet their match. Negative thoughts began racing through my head. If I was Jason Bourne I'd be having a weee bit of an identity crisis at this point. If I was a Charlie's Angel I'd either be PMS'ing or having a full on beeyotch fight with another Angel, or both. I tried to think what Bond would do at a critical time like this... but soon concluded that even if I had a keg of apple martinis Steve's manboobs just still wouldn't attract me enough to bed his sweet white-ass down. A real pickle this all was. We pressed on. But, we pressed on only momentarily as.... BANG!!! Another mine blew and knocked the motor back out again. Quickly I regained control of the WarCanoe but unfortunately my nerves didn't come so easy. Steve and I were at a crawl. The mission become obviously more impossible. I stopped to radio base for a progress report. We'd been at it a long time by this point. Our stop time to anglinate fish was really quite minimal, and our average moving speed was well below my target of 17km/hr. By calculation the Falls would only be about 6 to 7km ahead, and so I had to make a choice. The river was becoming shallower with many more mines and snipers to impede our moving on. At this point too, we were actually very shy of our goal of 88km, as the 74km given on the progress report included 37km of travel on the Moose. We were still 50km shy of the target. It was now about 2:00pm and while I did the math and exhausted the possibilities, Stevie Zebco aglinated another walleye. I opted to shoot up this little swift we were stopped at and ride carefully to the Falls. At that point we would stop for another progress report. After an hour more travelling we came about 300 meters short of this target. The Falls lay around a corner in the bend, we could not see it and we could not go on. A treacherous mine field rock garden "impossible" to pass stood in our way. We were defeated and had to begin a 40km descent back to a pre-established base camp at the mouth of the Abitibi River to the Moose River. We had only just turned around when my old friend "Karma" showed up. We spotted him spying on us. My belief is he was sent to keep watch... maybe as Intel for another agency. All I know is, Steve and I were quick to exploit him and send him packing. The way back to camp I reflected upon what went wrong. Timing was off, that's about all I could come up with. Many factors need to co-ordinate perfectly and in unison to make a Cheepas mission a success, and this day it wasn't meant to be. Even the fish that we could reach on route were nowhere to be found. Couldn't help but feel discouraged... defeated really. We reached base camp and settled into our quarters. As the sun was setting and my flasked Scapa flowed into big pools between my cheeks then warmly past the throat, I had a clear scotch vision. In my dream state I relived Stevie Zebco's and my days struggle to find good numbers of fish and a mob boss. But as the dream went on, through a haze of mystery, it was foretold that tomorrow we would fish on strong. We would break free of this past and hold the faith that it only takes one fish to make a successful mission. From a dark day today there would be light come tomorrow... so Mob boss, look out. . . . . . . (Intermission - get a coffee or beer, take a whiz, kiss your wife, put the kids to bed, have a smoke and a pancake if ya like) . . . . . . (resuming in 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1) Woke a little late and alot dry. Coffee and Bailey's, boat loaded, Honda fueled and oiled, Stevie Zebco and I were before too long taking off full throttle from the base. We had a score to settle. The trip would take us up the Moose River about an hour. The skies were threatenting rain but that was about the only thing not in our favor for the day... Until, we reached our stop. NIGHTLINES!!! Our stop found us at a small incoming creek. The area referred to as the Towers. Campers were set up right there, but, no one was around. Still though, even when off doing other things, people in these parts leave their lines in the water. I won't get into it any further than this. It wouldn't stop us. In fact, it fueled our fire to complete our mission. Stevie Zebco would prove just how game he was to fish by anglinating this awesome pike from it's lair. Dood takes no prisoners. At the creek we managed a few more fish too, mainly pike. Even with the rain starting off and on now, the way the few pike that bit did so indicated they were fiercly hungry. This was a plus. After leaving the Towers we set off temporarily exploring. A nearby cabin which I have passed by a few times over the years could be barely seen off on the west shoreline. Stevie and I rode over there to gather some information about the region. Didn't appear to be overly inhabited. Curious though, we climbed to the top and found an amazing site. Steve was blown away. We were like kids getting set loose in someone's house. We peered around every corner, found trails, and three more cabins to accompany this unfinished grand lodge. I was quickly bothered. The young poplar trees growing all around the site were ten or more feet high. It was obvious this beautiful project was abandoned. I wondered who... why... then felt upset over the waste. The view from here was spectacular, and someone ambitious must have extremely overestimated their potential. I was quick to presume this was a hunting or fishing camp gone bad. The area would actually be quite unsuitable for both except for small windows of time in the spring and fall. Back home I learned a few days later that this site was partially built for a youth treatment facility along the ONR railway. Over a million dollars was supplied to the local band by the governement to achieve this goal but about a decade ago the project was abandoned. As I am told, the actual area was later deemed too unsuitable to access in the warm months because of swampy terrain between it's location and the railway that lay about a kilometer away. My thought would be... fill the swamp where needed to build a trail. DUH! A million has already been spent. The whole idea of it, the wasted money, the idea lost, the rotting work just sitting in the bush bothers me. And to know that this same sort of site exists elsewhere at the Harricanaw River is enough to drive one to want to say something. Something I maybe shouldn't. Pure waste, stupidity and irresponsibility if you ask me. Anyone with money and a dream... contact Moose Cree Band and see what can be done. I had to get my mind off the negative. When heading back down to the boat I spotted a patch of fiddleheads. These fern sprouts were enough to make me happy. I got married in Perth at Fiddleheads Bar and Grill. A beautiful spot owned in part by my good freind and excellent chef. A tonne of fond memories there. Back to the mission, I was optimistic about fishing this one back bay. I don't often get to try this spot, only a couple times over the years, but I have always thought it to hold good prospects. Arriving there we found a gill net at it's mouth stretching halfway across the bay. Behind that gill net about a third of the way down the bay was another gill net. I'd need about a page to type out all the expletive words that I roared at this point. My temper getting the better of me. The net at the river's mouth looked old so Steve and I gave it a lift to check. We wouldn't keep anything, but I would pull it if I found rotting fish. The net was empty. We set off to troll the un-netted side of the bay and also zig-zagged in and out of the pocket between the two nets. Steve and I weren't at it very long before I felt the weight of a fish on the end of my line. "FISH ON!" I said excitedly, "Small one." The hookset felt funny like three quick soft ticks but then a good weight slowed the boats forward momentum after I had killed the motor. I told Steve in short time that maybe it wasn't so small. While battling the fish, from the distance another boat could be heard coming our way, but nothing was in view. A great fight to the WarCanoe, our mission was complete when we were quick to scoop the Mob boss up. The hook just fell out of him in the net effortlessly and then I hoisted my captive for it's mug shots. I have to tell yas that this Mission Impossible sure as heck felt good to see end at this point. Mob boss had eluded Agent Medic Stevie Zebco and I for well over 140km's of tough travel filled with Karma and sniper mines. All it takes is one fish to make the entire effort perfect. A new Moose River PB too that I quickly released before another boat showed up in the bay to remove it's empty net. YES!!! The rest as they say, is history. Mission complete.

Thanks for the replies guys. Good morning read and worth it to know where people have come from and where they'd like to go with their fishing. Misfish... I pegged you for a trophy hunter for sure.

I remember someone saying...... or maybe I read it...... OK maybe I don't remember how it came about in my mind, but, the jist of it was a fishermans usual progression. In the beginning the fisherman simply wants fish, fish and more fish. It's about getting out there and catching tonnes of fish. A total numbers game making everyday fun, rewarding and important to the growing fisherman. It's totally new yet still safe and accommodating as well. During the process of catching so many dang fisheses the fisherman learns to love the bigguns most. It becomes about the trophy. Gotta get the big one. It's a hugely personal pursuit that is often a challenge mimicked from one's everyday work and home life. A more goal-oriented practice that if done right will ensure peace of mind brought forth by success. After some time has gone by, numbers have climbed infinitely and big fish have been abundant, the fisherman finally comes to realize how much they have loved every moment of it all. Content, and maybe even tired from the pursuit, the greatest times now see the fisherman passing their fishing onto others, taking new found joy in the happiness for others. Even though many people may teeter somewhere inbetween the numbers, the trophies or the love for others, WHERE ARE YOU REALLY??? Enlighten me, I'm bored at work all weekend.

I missed the entire report as I was mesmorized by your banner signature.

Just another day at the office for one of my props. Haha WTG on catching some of the smallest fish I've seen grace a fun report in some time. lol. j/k-sorta-lol The walleye was a good one though.

You're a class act Cliff that's for sure. Thanks for the hard work into that. If it doesn't motivate everyone to put a little more of themself into the community I don't know what would. (cheated at work to see it)

Bly's big fish I can believe. Your's Cliff............ hmmm, keep your wee hobbit hands out of the goldfish bowl bud. lol.

WARCANOE Aptly named by history and re-invented by my buddy RJ I think.

I'd love it if my wife would guide slowly the boat on Kesagami so I could effectively fish the weeds. Better than that. I'd love it if there were two of me for that day, one to guide me and my wife so we could both effectively fish those same weeds. That'd be "kickdonkey" as the OFC filter would put it. Dan's right though... Had some great days out with guides but the most gratifying are the ones when you or a friend were at the helm and made it all happen.

j/k btw

I always tell 'em... Yeah, "I'll give ya a tip... right before I give ya the shaft."

It's great. More and more familiar faces there all the time. But why not... afterall, it's Ontario anglers and hunters that make Ontario OutofDoors come to life.

Can't see it at work. SUCKS. Sure it's "precious" if the Hobbit worked his majic on it. Hehe Cliff.

Don't mind a little hockey threadage. Some guys around here don't seem to really fish though, all they do is talk hockey. Maybe now that it's summer we'll see some fishing reports and threads from them......

Kind of dreary but beautiful at the same time. lol. Great shots. For granny to have birthed 1200 kids she would have had to have lived to about 400 years old and had quadruplets everytime. VERY IMPRESSIVE SPAWNER, SHE'S DEFINETLY A BETTER BREEDER, MOUNTING... well maybe we shouldn't go there!!! j/k The things East Coasters can do and the lives they live man... weird bunch but I hear they're quite friendly.

Fo shnizzle Lewdizzle. Your rimage is totally granola, man.

Thanks all. Don't carry a gun because I've never had any desire to hunt. 1. I'm not a big fan of game meats, although I'd take a moose tenderloin if marinated a few days. 2. I have my hands full and mind totally occupied with fishing. To me it's a hobby, turned obsession, made outdoor lifestyle, that so far has never stopped offering peace of mind, something new to learn, something new or bigger to catch, some new place to go that'll be outside and maybe on the frontier, and maybe something to share at times with others. Hunting would just make my head explode. 3. I'm a southpaw with a master right eye. Rifles were never comfortable and I couldn't hit a gofer at 10 feet. This was the first encounter with a black bear in camp. This is the second weird encounter with a bear in two months. On one of the last thursdays in April before break-up, I had to work a nightshift in Moosonee. The river was thawing out but skidoo taxis were still taking people to and from the island to the mainland. I went down to get a taxi but no one was working. I waited. And waited. Having to get to work I decided to walk across the river. It was wet, but thick, with only a couple spots of candle ice, sun was still out. It's about 2.5km. Total from home to work 4km. I rounded the bend of an island about half way across and noticed alot of people standing on the shoreline at Moosonee. Totally alone out there it wasn't until I got all the way across (much of the crowd had cleared) that someone told me everyone was out because a polar bear had been sited on the river and they all wanted to see. Guess me being the only one out there on the river as bait, I got lucky and we didn't cross paths. Next bear I see will be a grizzly.

YES MAN. AWESOME!!!. That tent is great. I've looked at them through Cabelas. Maybe in the future. I'm guessing off the 652. Couple big lakes up there could hold monsters like your awesome PB. Congrats.

KARMA IS A BEAR. When it comes to fishing and karma I’m a total believer. No good will come without some sacrifice, and great happiness one day should mean that come the next you’d best be watching for falling anvils. Unless of course you can beat karma with luck, yet so few actually have that in any regularity. Last trip upriver with Bren was all about karma. Elated to have caught a big walleye and some beauty trout in the same outing, I could only expect that cloudy days lay ahead. I was right, as snow, high winds, drizzle, and pure garbage all blew over the north after the long weekend, keeping me housebound during most of my fish vacation from work. One attempt on the water in that time proved to be a pure Gong Show, all I could think was that I had it coming, and man, did I get my butt whipped by the elements and karma that day. It’s the price of great fishing though, no trophy comes without first having to play the game... and games sometimes see ya win, and other times they beat yer punk donkey down. Nearing the end of May six trips on the river had been made; a far cry from the 12 to 14 days I had planned for the month. The 29th came and weather looked to clear up nicely so, I packed up all the camp gear and made a lone escape into the wilderness, eager as ever to find fish. Equipped for anything, the plan was to take no chances. For the last few years trapping minnows in the spring by the hundreds has never been an issue, but this season all that have been caught are fifteen in a dozen days. My pond is blown because of the flood, and just the day before leaving on this trip I was back at the spot to find others have been checking my traps. They also weren’t so kind and chucked one trap into a spot where it got hung up, forcing me to return with chest waders on to retrieve it. Was a peaceful morning having the North French to myself while making the trek up. Where I started at the boat launch is four feet above sea level, and where I was headed to camp was 38km from home and an uphill climb to 56 feet. A few fishing spots at the 57km mark would take me to 65 feet, but that was later in the day. First spot I hit I tried for trout and not quite ready I blew the first fish. Hoping to be given another crack a few casts later and I was struck hard by a fish that gave up quick. No trout, turned out to be a fallfish. I moved on. A few minutes later I stopped off the back of an island and fished the seams and slack water in behind. First cast I felt some ticking, and a couple later had the first eye of the day. Staying there twenty minutes I picked off four walleyes and another fallfish, then in the distance I heard a motor and spotted a boat coming my way. I decided to stay ahead of it and took off, not looking back nor stopping again until I reached camp. Was a speedy set-up before getting back to the river. At the campsite when I was there with Bren on the long weekend I marked the water level. Turns out even with all the snow and rain it had dropped more than a foot. I was finding on the river I needed to be more careful reading the water as many areas were shallow now. Fishing was great and I was getting good numbers of eyes and pike along the way. The pike were really aggressive and just smashing big spoons. Sizes though, not too good, especially the pike. Most walleye were eaters with a couple in the 18 inch range. One spot being shallow I chucked Wholly Buggers with a 6wt floating line to a 5 foot leadcore lead then 5 foot, 6 pound florocarbon tippet, to get the offering to drop and swing along bottom in the current. Chartreuse was good, then yellow... black not so good. The winds switched after awhile and became more gusty so the fly rod went away and the jiggin’ stick came out. I finished one productive spot off with a pink grub before continuing on upriver. Finally around 5:00pm I made it to the eddy where I caught a big eye a couple weeks ago. Quietly I pushed wide around and past the tiny spot, shut the motor off then drifted back into position carefully dropping anchor. First cast I plunked it right into that exact hole and immediately felt a big walleye. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz....... zzzz....... clink. And she came unpegged. I recast, hopeful. Sure enough a couple later... TINK.... zzzzz...zzzzz.........zzzzz and into the current. Right away though it became obvious, I had a pike. Made me wonder then if the first was really an eye. Wasn’t a bad pike, maybe five pounds. Just after catching it, next cast a small grub eating eye came boat side, then after that it was a few more pike and a fallfish. The long journey up to this hole was not quite turning out how I had hoped. I rested the pool a short while and took time for some grub eating of my own. Evening was turning out beautiful. After supper on the retreat back to camp I savoured a cold one and stopped a number of times to wet a line. As the sun began to set pink & white grubs gave change to pumpkin then black Gulp leeches. The shades of the day darkened, the winds died down, and all became so silent. The only sounds heard while fishing the last hole back near camp were distant birds, and my jighead gently ticking rocks below the water. At home on the North French both feet were up over the gunnels in Lazy-Boy fashion, and walleye kept dropping by to say hello. Before long I had to say goodnight and retire. Back at camp I was quick to take notice of this at my landing. Seems while absent I had a visitor. Prints about eight inches left in the mud revealed what I already knew, that the black bear I had seen on the opposing riverbank about 150 meters from my camp had his nose in my business earlier this evening. Poor hungry bugger just awake from his winter nap was probably some upset to realize I had my food in the boat with me. (ALWAYS) Still though, an hour of poor daylight remaining, this black beast left me a little unnerved. I thought about packing up but, riding home through rapids in the dark isn’t an option. I quickly talked myself into staying. These aren’t park bears up here, these guys know local Cree carry guns and usually run skittish of humans. I carry nothing and only pretend to be Cree, but the bear shouldn’t know that, unless it saw my glorious shimmering red beard handed down by my pale faced Scottish descendants. And thinking of my pale face, before hitting the hay I lathered on some hotel room coconut scented skin lotion to treat my sun and wind weathered dermis. In the tent laying still I drifted off with the calls of cranes, geese, toads and an owl naturally singing me to sleep....................................................... sniff sniff ... CRACK!!! I abruptly woke to an eerie dead calm. Sniff, sniff. I heard it again. WHERE THE damn ARE THOSE BIRDS CHIRPING NOW!?!?!? screamed in my head. The bear was right on the corner of my tent. All I could smell was the dang the tropics, and I had a darned awful feeling the big black tourist outside my Cabana was thinking Pina Coladas............... sniff, sniff... and a licking of the chops sound. I shuffled in bed. Probably a shuffle that inched me that much closer to the fetal position and entirely under the covers. The bear outside the tent shuffled his feet and likely wondered if the vinyl dome fortress between him and dinner could be penetrated. What was in all likelihood maybe a minute, lasted an eternity. My heart pounding loud enough the bear could probably feel it’s beating, and if not, in the very least smell my coconut disguised adrenaline. Then I heard him walk on. In fact, I heard him walk on down the way about 50 feet to my boat where he must have clanked my anchor. Now I’m thinking... Hey, I’m on the backside of a little island slightly off the beaten path here, on a shallow and frigid river 40 kilometers from people. Perfect if the bear would set my boat adrift or sink it. And so it was at this point I started to make grunting noises like a bad-ass beast stirring from a slumber. My food was sealed and tucked away tight under the seat of the boat. Unsure if there was much there to smell, he at the very least might have noticed the aromatic scant remains of the couple dozen fish that may have pooped or flopped in the boat and net. Whatever he was looking for he passed up because the sounds of my desperately mean fear were enough to send that bear running scared....... I guess....... OK, well, at the very least, he was moving along yet curious of what could have been cowering under the vinyl dome. I let out a sigh and felt around for my watch and flashlight on the tent floor. Time had stopped. Seriously, my watch had stopped at 11:05:40. The bear gave time a heart attack too, didn’t kill me though, just my Fossil watch. Guess it really is a fossil now, killed dead. Question was, what time was it really? Time is something I’ve spent a fair bit of in the bush. Remember taking walks on full moon nights in the winter, going a few miles into the forest on skidoo trails while I lived on night shifts in Attawapiskat. Used to find those cold nights both peaceful and exhilarating alone with the shadows. Don’t scare easy... but don’t scare too hard either. Had I been that type I probably would have packed up at first sight of the bear and at least moved down river a little. The deep woods can quickly make logical men pretty spiritual some days. This is a reality. As I lay in my tent wide awake thoughts raced back to other times I’ve felt the presence of Boogie men and ghosts that might go bump in the night. Truth is, I would argue with near certainty that I have felt the cold chilling breath of the Windigo on the back of my neck, and once seen a Water Walker float above the rapids, this soul of a trapper and time long past carrying his pelts over his shoulder. But only outside of the hustle and bustle of a concrete jungle would spirits like this ever be given a place and time to exist. I opened the tent door and peered outside to make sure no more Windigos, Chupacabras, Yetis or other demons were lurking about in the dark. A short sleep and I was happy to see the sun. The view from just outside the tent... welcoming. Planned to make quick work of breakfast and get back upriver to my honey hole for some morning walleye action. It was almost just as I had said it, except that breakfast made quick work of me. On route threw the whole bloody mess up and over the gunnel while never releasing the canoe from full throttle. It was a violent 6 or 7 rounds but a predictable loss, as I was quite dehydrated and sleep deprived. Up river the fishing was great again. Picked off a bunch more eater sized fish but never kept a one. Catch and release is my new thing... wonder if they’ve heard of it in the south. (haha) It was so far a great trip and I hadn’t remembered a solo effort on the North French ever coughing up so many fish. Numbers were probably 2 to 1 walleye over pike and totaling forty plus fish. On one cast I got nailed by a hard bite and the fish gave the first good bit of reel peel on the trip. Probably the hardest fighter of all. I was getting pretty excited to see this big walleye when I saw the grey back flash at the surface. Ahhhh he!!, fallfish..? Darned big fallfish though... as far as minnows go. Gave it an hour or so then drove back to camp and began packing up. Inspecting the site I found a path Brenda had once pointed out to me in the past. Thought about the bear and how it likely came in that way, right up behind my tent all in stealth ninja mode until it sniffed and cracked that stick. Took some time for an early lunch which I managed to not purge, and drifted out back of the island to take some casts for pike in the slack waters there. Just a ways around the corner I got a birdsnest in the Abu. The boat got blown ashore and it was here I noticed a path. Closer inspection revealed foot steps which came from out of the water upon the shore.

Was all good, but the BBQ was the best. TbayBoy. lol

Caught this earlier. Great report. Nice to spend quality time with your girl, even better in a great area like Temagami.

Just fantastic my good man. Some of those northerns have the most awesome spotting... bar-like. Great read and pics. Gets the juices flowing to take a fly-in too.

I can probably think of 3 people I'm likely better off never knowing.

I do raf. Strictly braids now. Understand though, most times the walleye here bite quite hard (when biting) and are being caught in 1 to 8 FOW below the ice. About two feet 90% of the time actually. I can't remember fishing deeper than about 8 feet more than once. The ice thickness can be 4 feet and when the fish run they're scraping my line in those depths across the bottom of the hole at up to 90 degrees. When I used mono first getting into ice fishing, I lost a couple bigger fish when the line snapped likely from that friction alone. With these dirty waters I decided no more chances as the fish aren't line shy anyway. More than 50% of our pike are caught on walleye outfits, and 20% of those fish caught over 40 inches have been on walleye gear and small baits. I've used Spiderwire, Stren and PowerPro and don't find the ice build up on the line much worse than mono, and on the reel because I'm using so little line fishing such shallow water it doesn't build up much there either.