Moosebunk

SASKATCHEWAN. During Elementary School Geography lessons I remember learning of Canada's Provinces and Territories. Photos from the classroom slide projector flashed images on a screen showing beautiful landscapes such as our colorful Ontario autumn forests and orchards, British Columbia's winter snow covered Rocky Mountains, and Newfoundland's summer coastal fishing villages. By comparison, early memory of Saskatchewan's farm houses and endless golden wheat fields didn't quite evoke the same sense of wonder and awe, and through life thereafter I rarely gave the prairies much thought... not until the days beginning some recent years ago when fishing for lake trout became of interest... Netted by commercial fisherman in 1961, the largest lake trout ever to be recorded came from the northern inland sea known as Lake Athabasca. Canada's Holy Mackinaw, the fish weighed in at 102 pounds. Remnants of once a vast, post-ice age, single glacial lake named McConnell, today along with Great Bear and Great Slave, Alberta and Saskatchewan's sister Athabasca stands as Canada's eighth largest lake. It's area is 3,030 square-miles, stretching 283 kilometers long by 50 wide, and with a max depth of 400 feet. Thanks Wikipedia!!! Today Athabasca is known best for the mining of it's oil, uranium and gold, but for anglers such as myself, it's the lake's enormous and plentiful lake trout and pike which place it on the map. FACE THE NORTH WIND. Stood gazing out the Terminal window watching the sunrise. In the panes reflection, behind me, a noisy man talked fast and furious French into his headset, while waving his hands about as if conducting a symphony orchestra. The other hundred people waited seemingly unaware, their faces zombified to personal devices. Sipping my Timmies I wondered how Len made out with his earlier 6:00am departure... This trip would truly be great for him, his first ever big fishing trip. Our plan was thrown together in just a matter of weeks. No drive in me to revisit Nipigon a third time this year, I stressed for a suitable alternative which would please Len. A last minute cancellation for Laker's Unlimited came up, and after contacting Captain Bruce (Ryan) curious of availability fitting our schedule, the dates and timing for us all aligned perfectly. Len on WestJet and me with AirCanada, each of us paid our own $60 in taxes and cashed in some points for return flights Ottawa to Fort McMurray. We would meet up mid afternoon before boarding a final plane destined to meet our dinner-time reservation on Lake Athabasca. Between naps and connecting flights, during the hours traveling I settled into a new book, one which helped prepare my head for the days to come. Inside the cover, a hand-written note read... Bunk. You mentioned in your Fish-Hawk post about missing the North. Not sure if this will help or hurt but either way it's a good read. The author spent his last years in my home town. I vaguely knew his grandkids. I wish I'd have known of his story before he died. Good fishing, Saskie. "Face The North Wind" intertwines the tales of to hardy Canadian cousins whom began nearly fifty year careers from the 1920's to 70's as trappers in Northern Saskatchewan. Ed Theriau and Fred Darbyshire evolved from greenhorns to expert trappers, working adjacent traplines in the territories roughly defined as Cree, Wollaston and Reindeer Lakes. No modern conveniences, they learned to live off the land and find their way through totally unsettled and unmapped valleys and uncharted waterways. Encounters with wolves, trappers' lore, and exciting tales of fur, game and fish catches, the book captures gripping accounts and experiences of days gone by during the Hudson's Bay Company fur brigades along the Churchill River. While reading, the book completely began to change the face of Saskatchewan for me. The wheat fields gave way to many lakes and bogs, shallow rivers, dense spruce forests, gentle rolling rock hills, plentiful game, and as well, extreme winters, horrendous summer mosquitoes and sandflies; and even a historic glimpse of Chipewyan life, The place imagined was more grand and harsh with each turning page and as so, from one of the two main characters Ed, to survive there during those times and eons before, he would almost summarize what it takes while describing his neighbors with this quote... "The Chipewyan's were a hardy people, descendants of generations of proven hunters. Aggressive, independent, fearless, and almost impervious to hunger and extreme cold. They had qualities of self-reliance and initiative which actually challenged adversity." I wanted to see it more, and walk there... Leaving McMurray Aviation aboard a Turbo Otter aimed at Uranium City on Lake Athabasca, with my eyes glued to the window, in my ear Bud from Arizona shared stories of his many years flying north to fish Neultin, Wollaston and Athabasca lakes. Like Ed and Fred, he spoke his own real tale of legendary Regnier Johnson, a trapper to the area also mentioned in "Face The North Wind." How it was Regnier who once revealed a spring honey-hole up on Neultin where huge cruising lake trout could be viewed feeding on spawning suckers in a shallow creek. Below I watched as the checkerboard and ribbon scarred land of prospected Alberta ceased once over Marguerite River Wildland Park. The crossing into Saskatchewan, beautiful lakes and forest as far as the eye could see abruptly ended where a new natural wonder began, in our sight, the Athabasca Sand Dunes; the world's largest desert north of the 58. Twelve guests, ten Americans, myself and Len all safely touched down upon a rough gravel strip. Gear and camp supplies quickly packed into an idling school bus, out of the rain all were driven down to the water's edge where boats awaited. After the ferry across to Johnston Island, twenty minutes later I poured a gin and seven before sitting down for dinner. "WORK LIKE A CAPTAIN." Exciting is the dawn of a first day on a new body of water. I woke before the sun with the energy of a child, and at water's edge played with the sunrise. Over a big greasy breaky anglers buzzed with anticipation. Courtney, the camp housekeeper and hand, sat across from us and I entertained her with the meaning of the Windigo; she admitting to never having heard of such a thing. When the Captain announced the guide assignments we became eager to greet our man, "Cherry???" Ready, I made my way to the dock... ... where I waited for Len and our guide. In the meantime, while other's trickled down to the boats there was some time to snap a few pics. Known as "Cherry" or "Big Red," Dakota from B.C. introduced himself as we shoved off the dock. Looking this tall, lanky lad over, I was wondering his age before finally just asking, "how old are ya dood, 22?" He laughed, "thanks, but I'm 18!" His first year guiding and so young, admittedly I felt a lump in my throat. Trolling the shoreline of Grouse Island awhile we popped only one laker before crossing a bigger and open expanse of water to Foster and Long Islands. Choosing to call Dakota "Red," he made me nervous while standing to drive us through the waves. Fishing, Len and I had for a short while done what was expected of us. Flat-lining Husky spoons and Dodger size 0's with skirted hooks, the bite was quite slow. Luck changed when we began doing something that Red hadn't ever yet tried in his boat, we started trolling jigs. Just like that in the hour before lunch Len released a 23 and 20 pounder and I picked up several teenagers including an 18. It's some special kinda laker love when you get to nail'em with rod in hand. Mid afternoon several boatloads of hungry anglers came together for a shorelunch. Captain Bruce was part of this group, and parked ashore was his new 18-foot Kingfisher. Recently splitting a Crestliner, he was hoping this new option would survive longer than the two seasons it's predecessor had. Pending performance and durability, Lakers may just have nothing but these boats parked at their dock in the future. Facing east from Foster Island, Len and I were treated to an exceptional Athabasca view and even better fish fry. Although the laker fishing had started off slow this first day, with so much week left no one was concerned. The day bled into evening where back at the lodge Cowboy had cooked up a prime rib feast. Lazily digesting and each man with his select spirit, many told stories over sip and smoke about their personal fish and travels through the years. Todd had twenty-plus years on Athabasca and had experienced much on his favorite lake. Bud and his friends lived a lifetime at Neultin with occasional trips to Wollaston and Athabasca. Shawn and his father Ty had enjoyed thirteen years with Laker's Unlimited. Rob spoke of Northern Ontario, and I too shared memories from Bear, Slave, Nipigon and elsewhere. Blessed fishing lives we lead, seemingly quick within the cozy lodge atmosphere did our tiny group bond. Finally, Captain Bruce and some of the guides joined us for a nightcap. Twenty-nine and running the show, Bruce (his name actually Ryan) admits he is quite likely crazy. Yet, when he speaks of his years, those crazy things done, the fishing and the work, I found not only a quick respect but a sense of understanding. Bruce's heart is fully in it, totally invested, and although it might at times cause him to do crazy things for business and passion, he's honestly just committed because he loves to be so. Nothing crazy in that... "Work like a Captain, Play like a Pirate," that about sums it up perfectly. Continued...

Jeez fellers, that's a fun days jiggin' right there. Nice chunker too Doug!

Bren knew what she was getting into when she said "yes." Thank god it seems she's never even learned that other word. Without reading through all this, did ya get to go fishing or not?

Sweet black beauty Brian B!!! Gotta get a new truck soon too.

With those pics a real teaser that was Rob. Incredible place it must have been to visit. Congrats on 10 dood!

Attawapiskat for two plus weeks work with little to no connection and just resurfacing now to look around before kicking off fall fishing. Your boat is waaaay too sexy for running in that Forgan mine field Al. Thanks for the reply... and you "probably" will see me again. It is sorta planned to go back in 2015 as it's hard to imagine missing a year there. She asked about ya Mike. Too busy being angry that it dared walk in my wilderness. Thanks Les. Good to hear you're still checking in. Didn't report on the tags this year Shane but did last year on every one, and yes, the MNR biologist up there heading up the tagging program contacted me to return the info each time. Also, my best fish over the years was a tagged fish that had been caught and released several times over the course of her five year life, 2004-2009. Various stages of her growth recorded and the places she was found. It is the only speck I have kept from the lake and it was awesome to have her life history which I added to a little plaque that accompanies the mount. Uglier every year... inside and out. Thanks man! Read "Through Black Spruce" first, Boyden did an amazing job researching and capturing life on James Bay, many parts and characters truly depicted. Just finished "The Orenda" in Attawapiskat and it's worth the read as well. I'll take you up on your offer too Doug. We'll hopefully talk soon. Thank all.

That'd be so awesome to run 12 rods for muskie. Wicked day out for ya dood! Me likey!!!

Yukon... Alaska... same thing really Chris. lol. Prime time Plummers Lodges would be late July and into earlier August... but don't know how that would stack up with the pike timing Hips. Maybe down the road... Trout Rock Lodge is supposedly another excellent Slave pike fishery.

Away last week and missed this. Good news and nice to hear Wayne. Hope you and Leah enjoy the rest of your summer at the lake.

Talston is the pike stuff of legends. Will be looking forward to this report Hips. Surprised you wouldn't book a 3 or 4 day on Slave for lakers, instead of Hearne. You were already there. Although, a report on Hearne will be interesting as well. Nice job on the big slobs. Jack if I remember correctly had five faves... Talston Bay, Athabasca, Lac La Martre, Midnight Sun Alaska and Wolf Lake... but the biggest pike he ever saw was a river fish in the Yukon. Wish he was around this site to correct me if I'm wrong.

I have owned five Mojos and had issues with four. Won't be going back despite quite liking one of the rods especially. Eyelet issues in four of the rods, tips breaking too. And because I can't... I won't mention the 25 broken tips off the muskie Mojo rods when put to the real test. If going with St.Croix again I'll be with Lew on this one... otherwise looking to other brands. For casting I like 65 pound braid through a Curado 300 for the small to medium stuff... 80 for bigger on a Calcutta... No where near the hours into muskie as many of the guys here though.

Had thought about it once upon a time. Haven't worked in the North since 2010... but recently have resumed taking locum contracts there again. #1... no question. #2... that light has been flickering off and on since 2007. My 99 Chev is due to retire soon though... will see if it passes it's eco-test in November. It's exactly life for many. No silver spoon here... got a good jump start by making some tough and smart choices out of college. It can't just be all about the "end game" with so much space in the middle. Tagged. Quite possibly by OFC's own Guidefisherman... Al. I seem to catch alot of tagged fish and have done so all over the bloody lake. Those specks go on tour.

Monique on a tear with the big pike. Nice! Stove... actually the camp entirely, looks great TJ. Glad the wreckage crew is thru and you're back to relaxing.

With the Whisper2000 turned up full I can hear ya loud and clear bud. Not yet 40... still young... but for the past five years slowing some... can feel it. Little more "itis" here and there, and the weights shifting from shoulders to gut. Must squeeze in as much outta life early on as one can... cause the days of "can't anymore" creep up on us all. Melanie's a sweetheart... and a solid business woman. She knows big pike too. Currently on this day it'd seem I'm a professional OFC surfer / housemaid / suitcase packer. Took a good break this afternoon though, while my buddy Len paid a visit with a Timmies. Working the next 17 days straight... blah!

Mark said it. OFC was the third or fourth forum I joined. FishOntario first in 2002... Fish-Hawk early 2003... Then YRF & OFC likely 04/05... followed shortly by some others... It's been quite a supportive site and a consistently friendly community overall... Met a number of good people through here and have messaged back and forth with many over the years as well. Sure as shart beats T.V. Thanks Capn' Roy, Mod doods and Pioneer TJ for putting it out there and putting up with so many of us on this big fishin' boat.

Was sitting in the boat tight to shore watching a dying whitefish kick on the surface. Out of nowhere a bald eagle crashes down in the water maybe 20 feet from the boat and scares the crap outta me. By it's third or fourth time doing this I was ready with the camera, even though the whitefish had kicked further away from the boat. You can just see that eagle in this photo. The "selfie" before the bear. Ate the chowder so fast I probably could have barfed instead. My father and uncle who immigrated here in 57 from Brittain, and whom love their cars and that dry humor, maybe know of this guy. Better pay in healthcare with more time off... and besides, writing and photography (like fishing) are an enjoyment for now. Hopefully soon I'll put together a site to archive the 80-100 some trip reports I've saved from over the years... will see if that leads to anything new and cool. Not usually into reds too much... but she did kinda feather her hair nice, stand straight and smile just right. Stick a USB into my brain socket and you'll find that picture saved on memory. Ask anyone with a similar Yammy and they'll tell ya they're great on fuel. Numbers though... I dunno specifics. Can tell you, I could go an entire season 50-75 days and not burn a half liter of oil. This 60 pushing the Rebel 16 goes from 1.4 to 35mph. Prop 11 3/8 X 12-G Gunner... the next report will be even better I hope. Thanks guys.

There's rage... then there's the rage which comes after being stolen from.

Awesome dooood! Tough for any fish to match the power of sturgeon. They've had millions of years to get strong, and when they jump out from that heavy Fraser current it's surreal. Nice job on the fish!

7 years Bill... some summer's multiple trips. Wouldn't say it's more or less busy really. Some trips I'm surprised and hardly anyone is around, other trips are a zoo. This one was relatively quiet overall. More laker guys out there than speckleheads in June/July. Agree though that Forgan is nasty... 90 to 5 is a familiar teeth gnasher in there for sure. Didn't really go as much for specks but just kinda ended up fishing them Ron. Wanted more than anything to find a decent vertical jig bite some place, working lakers like I'd just done so on Slave and through the winter on Nipigon. Second to that, wanted some pike action as there was no planned pike/eye trip this summer. Too tough on Nip this time around for the laker jig so ended up putting time in on specks. Water temps 58-65 through the week made that easier. You and Keith want to plan something for camping on the Skake sometime, I'm game! Skulls and hides...? Been reading more books of late actually, will check out this author. Anniversary today and dinner tonight with the wife... better not jinx that with thoughts of Nippy feathery redheads. lol. Coffee went cold writing it. A "tale" is all it was too... everything including the photos all fiction. Haha fooled ya little buddy, and thanks! 3.5 hours!!! Heck, I'd commute to work and live there. Would like to get a BIG pike trip with a BIG group together sometime in the future Jay. A pike/eye mix especially, is always a recipe for a good vacation. Your 652 lake holding that big girl... wonder how she'd measure up today? Haven't the time right yet Brian and expected come Wednesday to get hit with one of the heaviest workloads I've had in years, but a buddy and I just returned from Northern Saskatchewan on Saturday... the lake trout but especially some of the scenery photos had my jaw on the floor yesterday. It's coming... Thanks gang!

You'll break 44. Still though, it's a real fine catch for the river. Lotsa muskies get boated through the Rideau... spend the time and you'll get rewarded there.

Mike only has about 2 million to go then.

Home a week from the Arctic there was no work lined up for ten days in late July. The girls attending camp then headed for Toronto with their mother, on a Thursday morning it was decided I would head out alone on a fishing trip. Nipigon in mind, that following Tuesday at 7:30am, I hit the open road. This was the result... CENTER LINE SOLO. My pencil arms, my foot of lead. Burn, let the engine dry, while the miles fly. This trip as mentioned was a quick decision, and the plan was to sorta and simply go with the wind. A sixteen hour and more drive ahead, bed made up in the back of the truck, I would drive ti'll crashing. It had seemed a long time since any significant last solo outing, so this one I was nervously excited for. I was surprised to see the Laurentian Ice Cream place in Deep River closed it's doors. In my travels, the stop has been a sweet staple along trail to North Bay for years. Onward through the rolling hills of Mattawa, Wayner's tall Temagami pines, them Earlton canola fields, Kirkland eskers, Dan's Smooth Rock taiga, Longlac a Lac Lakes, and all that Beardmore burn, the jaunt across Highway 11 covers some significant geography, and when passing through alone you're kinda forced to really notice much of it... for a long, long, bladder bursting time. On the road of life there are passengers and there are drivers, and if I could just kinda drive while sleeping spaciously in the passenger or back seat, that would be about a perfect way to go places. The Husky flag in Hearst was standing straight up, and while tumbling through to Longlac over the Province's longest boring straight stretch, the wind had me sideways at times. Blue Rodeo, The Band, Neil Young, CCR, Hip, Eagles, Floyd, ACDC then leading into Tool and the RHCP, all kept me energized and upright most of the way. It was only New Liskeard to Cochrane where I dozed off asleep behind the wheel for a couple hours. At home gas prices were all the way down to $1.18/L and $1.30/L for the premium. My Yammy drinks only the finest ethanol free single malt fuels so, the Lund tank was full and six geris were on reserve to rock a pale-ale Seafoam preserve. Being that I'd hoped to be heading close to 30 kilometers out onto the lake and find camping, packing gear a little light but hauling heavy fuel was necessary. Despite nearly killing myself a few times while waiting on roadwork or, having to urgently brake for same, I reconfirmed that below North Bay all drivers but me are aliens and those in Dodge Caravans, Hyundai Sante Fe's and Subaru Foresters should be dragged out of their vehicles to be executed in a horrifically gory roadside beheading. The center line as my Lord and savior, sixteen hours later I pulled into a truck stop at Nipigon, crawled in the backseat and pulled a blanket up over my eyes. Exhausted I lay ti'll 6:00am, sleeping like... well like a trucker, DUH! Dreaming of yellow lines that go on and on forever up to heaven. BEAUTY RIDE. Timmies in Nip couldn't make the double double any less sugar free, but the feathery redhead behind the counter who lost a tonne of flesh over the winter was sweet enough for me. After bathing in my truck side mudpit, spit rinsing my teeth and brushing the shingles from my roof, the Mickey D's trots onward to the lake were slooow and steady. On the way, fresh bear tracks in the morning muck, scat piles and one mangy looking grey wolf littered the roadside. Nature stuff at it's peak this fine morn, until right there smack dab in the middle of God's green earth some vandal sprayed his graffiti. At the launch I loaded up the boat. "A place for everything and everything in it's place," some smarty once said to me. Cause yeah, everything does kinda HAVE to go in the boat eh!?!? Just foolin'. It truly was a beauty day though, and not what I had expected after enduring a stormy Hell path the evening before. Full confidence by all things quadruple checked, inventoried and obsessively compulsed about, I parked the truck, emptied my bladder and turned the boat key. Hehehe we're off!!! I was doing it, getting out there. The pic above was taken approaching the Shakespeare Island and in my little world I was feeling big balled, foot loose and fancy free. Aha!!! 30 klick run out went quick and painless, didn't take me long at all to find what I was looking for either. Through the winter pouring over Google Earth, my topo software and any old reports and other online info available, I'd pretty much figured 75 percentish that there was a "used" and sorta safely protected camp on one little island off the Shake. Turns out I am awesome afterall. Late morning began setting up camp then broke for lunch. Come afternoon I was headed out to explore new digs and find what I call the "North Hump." The Hump a mythical and magical laker place teeming with beautiful and big unicorn sized lakers, hungry to feed on whatever jigs I offer. The lake so calm I easily found the place, even saw some of these unicorn lakers on the sonar, but they were a dream on the jig at this hour. Afterwards I went on tour for specks and found some of them willing to eat, and a small laker too. Now there's a start at least. Cruising I saw an actual school of uncooperative pike. Maybe they didn't like me calling them names when I cast at 'em. During the evening still out-and-about, I found the pike lock-jawed and speckles scarce so I called it a day. Plenty more time ahead. At camp the wood was rather wet and I made a crappy fire. Deer flies had been bad in the afternoon now the mosquitoes were absolutely horrendous. Thought camping way out here they wouldn't be too bad? It was then I realized I'd forgotten the Pic coils and didn't have a heckuvalotta bug juice either. I'd have to deal with it. After sunset, retiring to the tent I was jotting down some notes when I'd notice my leg was burning, then my wrist, then my ankle. Dang no-see-ums were getting through the screen and ravaging my lily white soft skin. Totally spent it didn't matter for long. DEAD CALM. Woke early with the mozzies on the screen so thick I think they were setting up tents on my tent. Not a quiff of wind in the air, the boogies in my nose were really thick and crusted thanks to a week of breathing smoke and ash up in the Arctic earlier in the month No Dristan or nuthin', I was wimping about through breakfast and my lunch makings as the skitters were drilling oil wells into my hands and eyeballs. Thinking of touring the small islands for morning troots, I wasn't ten minutes into that rip when around the corner from camp I spot one jackarze of a black bear duck into the trees along the shore just two islands over from mine. Methinks, FTW is a bear doing out here on these little slivers of land??? I'll tell ya what he's doing ya dummy Drew, (slapping my own face) he's coming to raise hell around the camp. Probably swam over from the Shakespeare in the night, maybe having caught wind of the fire or food or my delicious royal blue blood or sumthin? Afloat and just sitting there annoyed I weigh in on the situation... Bold bear??? No gun!!! No phone. Radio maybe has the range... Nobody knows quite exactly where I am. Bear eats food today or tomorrow, fine, the trip is over. Bear eats food the following day after that, windy north weather front and storm expected, I'm maybe stuck out here with a bear for two more days afterwards because I can't get back to the mainland... Ohhh, and bear eats me it'll suck and I will be eternally pizzed off I got eaten by a bear when I didn't have to be. How in the damn am I gonna sleep tonight? If I leave the camp will this tornado of claws and fangs start ripping into my life? With all in attendance at the meeting, every single one my imaginary friends present, it was a unanimous decision that we pack up and leave. With the help of everyone too, it took no time really, forty minutes or so. Gear in the ark on one flat lake I made haste for the Virgin Islands. Once arriving, I let all my people out, told them to get to work, and in no time Rome was built. Mid morning I was back to fishing and exploring. A full day of touring around the Upper River, Virgins and Bonner, a few OK specks and hammer handles were caught. Took a shirt off pic with one speckle, that I'd rather not share. Finding happening laker structure to jig was more difficult, and after trolling for a few hours seeing very little I gave up on that chore. Have to lie and say that it was a great day to be just chillin' in the boat taking in some sites and eliminating water though... No, it was a good day for it, serious. Water 60F I dunked my loins in a cool bath on the beach and vowed to just go with the stink from then on out. In such a short bit of trip I'd already used up a couple geris of gas and lost some ice, so I figured on maybe heading into town in a couple days anyways. Get me a shower, shave and some feathery redheaded Timmies lovin'. For now though, I still had time to rip around and cast about, so that I did. In the grasses and over shallow sand I found hordes of pike sunbathing but they were being real jerks. Try as I might, casting an army's arsenal of secret weapons, I did shoot a bunch of 'em down but they were mostly small. A fish about 38-inches was the best, and if I told you while the boat was just resting still awhile, that a high 40-incher cruised up to inspect my trolling motor during me fixin' up a weedless plastic, you'd probably think I was fibbin'. But I ain't fibbin', not at all, it happened. And also, if you're asking where the pics of the fish are so far I have to let you in on one other thing, there aren't many. This trip alone I used my new-to-me Nikon on the tripod 90% of the time instead of my usual Panasonic, and when I got home found a real treat on the memory card. My fewer timer shots were almost all blurred and shiznitty looking, and because I was only taking single photos of fish to release them quick and healthy, I lose. That's also why, in this report, to save face, you will see a number of photos that are pixelated. Didn't do that to be cool, but did that because usually the fish in the foreground wasn't clear and crisp in the photo. And that sucks when this happens and it won't happen again, and I deeply apologize to all three of those people out there whom might read this, and my parents. Eating supper I stood in the smoke of the fire but that didn't keep the bugs from excavating through my clothes to find the pipelines... STUMPS AND STONES. Breakfast all week is the same when camping. Everything I do in Nipigon on shore is meant to save time, prepare ahead and actually be restful to me. Upon waking up, I boil water for coffee first. Next, toast a bagel while frying up half a hamsteak and maybe an egg, and I make the most heavy bagel breakfast sandwich I can stomach. While the stove and pots cool, lunch is made, and that's usually sandwiches or wraps, with snacks like oranges, trail mix, jerky, cheese, granola bars, water and juice boxes. In less than hour; sometimes a half hour, the pan is cleaned, everything done, boat packed and I'm off. At the end of about a 10 to 15 hour day of non-stop fishing and touring around, I return to one of my pre-made frozen meals. Chili, stew or chowder is what's on the menu, and they're all frozen in aluminum take-out dishes, in a separate cooler, and ready to simply throw on the Coleman and mow down on. The weeks menu is always planned but, I add a few extra things in case I feel like a fish-fry, or get stranded and need a couple more days of food. Before ever departing on such trips the boat goes into the shop for fine tuning. At home, all batteries are charged, wiring inspected, bilge, livewell, sonars tested, screws tightened, trailer bearings greased and tire pressure checked... Again, meals are well planned out, with provisions. Geris clean with fresh premium fuel and Seafoam, spare prop and tools, ropes and anchor accounted for. Plan A, B, C, D, etc., gets discussed with the wife. Areas researched ahead of time, shoals, safe harbors, camp and fishing locations all mapped. Plenty batteries for radios and equipment... There's that and even more stuff to consider if wanting to be prepared, and even with all that, you can still never be 100% ready for what could happen out there on Ontario's sixth Great Lake. One year I remember going with one buddy's buddy and his boat. Before we even made Deep River his trailer lights weren't working. We get to the lake and his bilge wasn't working, and neither was his sonar. He had an 18 foot boat, cluttered and dirty, and it took two trips from launch to camp with the thing just jam packed full. There was so much crap we didn't need, including his talking down to me and pouty fits during a week when I put him on PB after PB. Decided after that if going back I'm going in my boat and with trusted friends, and because Nipigon is a big, moody lake, I won't just go there and fish it stupidly. But stupid was what I felt up to today so, I fished Forgan Lake, top to bottom and every which way sideways. Big lake was a blow anyways. This lake is a menace. Stumps, rocks, shoals, floating debris, current, funneling winds... as much time as was spent fishing I was looking out for obstacles. Been here numerous times to do some of it while passing through, but on this day the Lund got it's nose waaaay more dirty snooping into the filthy bowels of this beast. OK... so in these photos it doesn't really look all that bad. Anyways, got some speckeroonies in a couple spots but smaller ones around 18 to 22 inches, had to work too much for 'em IMO. Over some depth I searched out humps and drops for lakers, marked some, but after dropping tubes, bucks and spoons got fed up with it. Finally, come mid afternoon while trolling hard for pike, I got something rewarding in this nice one, which from structure city came up and smoked a Husky on drive-by three. Feeling like I'd pounded the Virgin's hard and sucked Forgan pretty raunch, I'd load up my bed in the shaggin' wagon that evening and head out for new digs. Next days plan, catch stuff. SHIFTING JINX. Woke in the middle of the night in a panic. Heart racing and adrenaline pumping. Pulled my earplugs out and laid listening. Last time I remember this kinda jolt happened it was because a bear was sniffing at the tent two feet away from my head. You can read about that if ya want, it's in this old report... 2008. "Karma Is A Bear." http://ontariofishingcommunity.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=20152 But I heard nothing. Nada zilch. Deadness. Total silence. The absence of sound. Blackout. Calm..... and back to zzzzzzzzzz before waking early to breaky. Tired start and needed lotsa fluids. Nearly overfilled my urinal in the tent overnight, spillage narrowly avoided. Paranoid I took that pungent bladder juice and splashed it out about the camp. That'll piss off those stinkin' Windigos from coming around at nights. Specks first for warm-up fun, 0930 hours and the laker troll began. Gretzky back, Jagr down over Lemiux to Bourque I scored four times in what it'd take to play three periods of no stoppage. One stick, one player, one jumbo-tron... Won a game for a change but with no real huge payouts, just some solid play. Hot sun bread crumbs, left a trail of floating orange peels to find my way home later and pointed the Lund out into the distance. The next eight hours was both a lazy but ambitious fish that just didn't stop. From camp to one far off Dead Poplar I inspected countless nooks and crannies along vast lengths of shoreline. Few specks, few pike, and a whole lotta peace and quiet under bright blue skies. Water temps reached 65F today, warmest it'd been all week, and the clarity in places was improving too. From time to time I'd spot some wood along shore that would end up in the boat for the evenings fire. The weedbeds on this trip were non-existent. Cabbage which would probably be at least a few feet by now, if not more, was only about 6-inches to a foot grown off bottom. This made for sucky piking, and when I did fish some spots that would normally hold the big toothies, I'd often see schools of suckers, whitefish and even specks cruising around without a care in the world. While fishing on the return to camp, I was surprised to find two girls sitting, laughing and drinking beers on a nice sandy beach, but no boat in sight. Obviously having fun, minding my business I cast nearby before waving goodbye. Heading back I dropped in at the launch to leave a few things in the truck. At the dock one older fella cleaning a greaser was all curious as to what I was up to out there on the lake. First he asks about the fishing as most do, then about my being alone. "You're camping out by yerself," he questions. "Well aren't ya scared of bears," he asked? Told him if I was scared of bears I'd never go camping at all. Parting ways I got back to my site and prepared the boat for some thundershowers expected in overnight. Back early, about 8:30pm, it was a chowder night. Good wood this time around too, I started up one beauty fire and while the meal cooked put the camera on a log and took a few stupid selfies. I'm fat... side, front and back profiles all prove it. Sitting a little in the smoke to keep the bugs at bay, chowin' on the chow, my noggin rises up to peer out at the lake when right in front of my eyes a black head is surfing across the water not anymore than three full stone throws away. My face surely turned ten shades of whites before standing up from my chair with my fire-pokin' stick and shouting, "GET OUT OF HERE BEAR!!! GET GOING!!!" Whacking my stick on the fire pit rocks the bear reaches the rocky shore and begins walking towards camp. Swallowed twenty gulps of chowder in one and threw the plate aside; cause even in a panic I can still eat The bear tucked into the trees but listening quietly I could still hear it walking through the woods, where it would certainly meet the easy trail leading directly into camp. Yelling over and over, and smacking the stick on rocks and trees, when my ear catches up with the bear again it sounds as though it's still headed my way. My axe in the tent I go and retrieve it, and zipping up the door stand and turn around. Stick in one hand, axe in the other, the bear enters the other end of the campsite at the trail head and we stand about four truck lengths apart. The bear is stopped and staring. "GET OUTTA HERE BEAR!!! GO!!! GET GOING!!!" Standing tall, weapons waving and screaming expletives is about all I got. Needed a megaphone or at least a missile launcher. The bear stands still on it's all fours for seconds, maybe a half minute not really sure, before it just kinda shuffles, turns 180 and slowly heads back the way it came. I wait. I can hear it walking further away. Before the sounds stop carrying back to me, at 9:30pm with little daylight left, the camp is then completely disassembled, packed up and in the boat within 25 minutes. There would be no way I'd get sleep or comfort here. At the launch other campers watch on from their fires as I roll in fast nearing dark. One fella hollers over, "man, that's the fastest I've ever seen anyone set up a tent, mine took me two hours!" Truck and trailer parked beside my tent now, while laying things out and covering the Lund I hear a woman's voice from otherside the boat call out, "when you're done there can I buy you a beer?" She is one of the women from the beach. Another storm is coming, but I'm thirsty as Hell, and it'll have to wait for one drink. THUNDER LOVE. She hammered down hard on me in the tent all early morning long, the thunderous claps and electric jolts felt beneath the sheets. Around the edges and in the seams, things were getting wet, dripping moisture onto the bed and piled clothes. Like a storm does, she just wouldn't quit either, not until completely exhausted and everything totally soaked in her wake. Thunderstorms are a beautiful thing from the comfort of home, but when you're in the bush for days, horny to get fishing, they're about as welcome as a naggin' wife interrupting your play time. Muscles were stiff this day, in a good been worked kinda way. People noise in the a.m was up and about, and I could do without it. Rain slowly showing signs of giving in eventually, I took the remainder of the morning to sneak into town for fuel, a shower and some ice. Andrea at the Petro-Can agreed with me, apparently the bears this year were a nuisance, and in town too. In a few hours the to-do list was complete and sadly missing the feathery redhead at Timmies, I was back on the road solo with only a fresh cup of caffeine. Rolling and trolling in the waves that afternoon, my eyes got heavy to the rigger noise humming a sweet lullaby. A sailor from Wisconsin was somewhere out there on the lake, the smallest little sailboat with oars and minimal gear he was just out there crossing the whole big sucka end to end and back, alone, no radio, no nothing but a note on his little Volkswagon saying if he's not back by such and such a date, call his wife at such and such a number and let her know such and such. Stuff like that just makes my nads shrivel. A dirty day pike inspection turned into a speckie run, and although earlier I'd popped a couple lovelies in front of my Thunder Bay beer buddy from the night before; and her father, I was on my own when hooking into this sweet fatty-freight train mid evening. After my late supper, Ashley, her mother Karen, father, grandpa and more extended family all invited me over to their fire. Sitting around in shorts and long johns, the girls teased me of being a southerner. Told 'em that by season's end their local Walmarts will be carrying this fashion on the shelves. Couple of brews, good company, the fella who jinxed me the evening before by bringing up bears while at the dock, starts talking about more storms coming and lightning taking down trees which fall on tents killing people in their beds. Dood's got some serious paranoia issues................. or does he? Ashley's dad wasn't too impressed with me, fishing out there alone, in the waves, no life jacket, standing up in the boat all the time to fish. Got every kinda, "this guy and that guy went overboard and died" story there ever was from around those parts. "You'd wantchyer wife to find yer body, so she'd get yer insurance money. Whad aboot yer kids?" As much as it was annoying he was kinda right. Always put a lifejacket on when nervous or worried on the water, but don't wear it for the every moment of the day out there fishing routine, that'd be overkill. Beat tired this day, with the tent wall lit up by the flashlight I made a short finger puppet film before instantly being crushed by an enormous falling white pine. WHERE THE WIND BLOWS. My Thunder Bay girlfriends were packing up and leaving me. Waking tired and to a late start I could see the wind was already up purdy good. Checking the marine forecast on the radio that repetitive monotone voice reported, Lake Nipigon, mix of sun and cloud, winds NW 10 knots this morning, becoming N 15 knots, building to 20 knots NE this afternoon. That's about 40km/hr I think, not including gusts... so maybe some waves I'd guess about 1.5 meters or so. Wasn't into that. To Forgan for pike. Over there the lake was still kinda mean too. Got blown around for six hours with NOTHING to show for it. A farwking skunk! Big ole donut. Worked this awesome area where I'd got the good pike earlier in the week but the fishing just wasn't happening. Again, crazy hazards in this lake and a big stupid wind, I gave up. Quitter. Trailered over to Jessie Lake thinking I'd run that lake to the river and fish into the evening. That wasn't happening either. Not too bad around the launch the winds were coming right down the pipe and the lake was kicking good in the belly. Didn't bother, instead called the girls at home then almost hit an owl driving back to camp. I rationed one beer a day this trip. Sometimes I enjoy one in the afternoon, sometimes with supper. The Thunder Bay folks offered me a few the nights before so I had two days of extras in reserve. That meant if I wanted, I could have three beers today for any of you math dummies. Also had a bottle of scotch... cause I enjoy a tin cup and neatly poured, few fingered single nightcap by the fire. FYI, it's not a case or more a day wheelchair or anything crippling like that, barely even a crutch, just a vacation two drink a day kinda thing. My neighbors from Sudbury Brian, Maggie and Marlo invited me by for a bevy there. Great people this gang. In for ten days I think they were on like day four already and still hadn't gone fishing yet. Loved the sun, campfire, their dogs and the pints. I liked them cause they were friendly and funny. In camp a new group had arrived while I was out fishing. Brian and Mags new them sorta already, told me they were from Bancroft. All had been hanging out earlier and sharing a laugh. Guess the O.P.P. had been by a couple days ago to launch their boat but, something happened and their truck rolled into the lake and completely sank. The cops weren't very happy about that I was told... This was one of the stories that gang was sharing. It was a relaxing night. Kicked my feet up in the lawn chair in the box of the truck and kept on with that same book I had started on route to Slave. Early to retire. 13th HOUR. Wide awake and out like a ninja. On a milk run by 6:00am that wouldn't finish until 9:00pm the Lund put in crazy time and miles this day, dodging rain cells and bumping into different folks all over the lake. Michigan lads staying on the lake were up early too. Saying "gidday," they were looking to try lakers. First timers with a rigger, never caught 'em before on this lake. Offered up some advice and locales to try and off they went. Nice guys they asked me by for a drink later but I wasn't sure... American's eh!?!? Joking. Little later ran into Phil and his daughter (maybe daughter-in-law) Shannon from Bancroft. Pretty girl, blonde, tanned, fit, curvy, fishing, say no more say no more. I had to get out of there but her dad did first, maybe cause I was popping specks out from under his boat. A group of cottagers who are the luckiest people on earth seemed to have been reading my mind part of the day, for they were beating me to every good fishing spot first. Nice people though. The lone sailor was spotted returning from his expedition and this made many folks who were annoyed by his action, suddenly happy. Most of the day I had the calm lake to myself, and so I took some big runs to the Macouns to explore. It was an OK tour but the fishing was blah. Couple small specks trolling shoreline were probably just lucky catches. Hadn't been there before and in low light conditions had to travel a little slower in this heavily shoaled area. 13th hour on the return home found the Michigan lads out trying for lakers. They had got one finally and were over-the-moon about it. Dropping the ball nearby it wasn't long and I was into fish too. Got the smallest laker I have ever caught, two fivers and a good one. It was a long and great day. My 5-day cooler with the frozen dinners managed to keep 'em cold seven days, but the trick is a cardboard divider with a towel over everything that is pressed in tight over the food. This night I joined Brian and Maggie over with Phil, Shannon and the rest of their family. Immediately Shannon and I were chatting about fishing, hunting and the outdoors. This girl is serious about her fish and game, and with two kids in tow she trailered her 5th wheel and boat up north, only stopping here for a few days before heading on to Lac Seul. That's just sickening awesome. PEACE. Rain pounding on the tent at dawn and another big N.E wind expected in the afternoon, I couldn't decide on staying or packing up a day early and heading home. 9:00am the sun breaks the clouds, rain stops and the air is still, so I crawl from the tent and whip up a little breakfast while Brian serves me up a few cups of fresh coffee. Figured then I'd just hang around and let some gear dry out at least. Go for a laker fish but have lunch and snacks packed for the day in case of staying out longer. Now under a warm morning sun, between 10:15 and 11:05 out on the lake I pop seven lakers from the rigger and land five. The Michigan boys were out again as well, sometimes trolling right alongside. It was hilarious to have the one rod continually firing while they looked on, bored and in wonder... From then on I had followers. Wherever I went the Michigan boys would putt over to me later. So I took 'em for a rip and let them watch on while I picked specks from here, there and just about everywhere. Truth be told, there was a wicked good speck bite on and even the snot rockets too. Lost lotsa lures but, myself and eventually the Michigan doods were into them. Everyone happy. Hot speckie sweet, you know what I mean. As much fun as I was having it was a good thing it was nearing weeks end. This final day my right ball for no good reason started chaffing me, and in the boat I went moobies up too after I slipped on some pike slime. Crushed my Pringles chips, hip and elbow when that happened. Even in all the discomfort though, the specks just kept coming and I managed to reel in seven or eight of the buggers along just one run of shoreline. Fishing on, outta nowhere the wind comes up quick... real quick. In fact, there was maybe a two foot chop I had been protected by, now it was curling whitecaps. Nearing 4:30pm I'd had a good run anyways. Finished strong with the lakers and specks on a shortened day. The way back to the launch the lifejacket came on. Waves were up and about five feet high, going sideways with them for a long while, the boat rolled beautifully side to side over each wave, just had to be careful. When I turned to go with them we surfed right into the launch, to where they crashed into the shore. Inconsiderates had all tied up leaving barely any dock space to narrowly squeak my 16-footer in. While retrieving the truck, pizzed off I told 'em all too. Any bigger a boat or any consoled boat and they couldn't have done it. No way, don't care how masterful one might think they are. Anyhow, the Sudbury and Bancroft clans came over to see me as I was taking easy time packing up. Leaning over the gunnels they admired the Rebel. It's a great boat for me, lotta fish and compliments grace this Lund. Few stops for gas along the way, Timmies too, folks are always commenting on either the tiller, all the room there is in the boat, or how the black looks good. Ahhhh shiznit... gets me all crushin' on my boat eh! After all the packing I could do was done, it was 7:00pm or so and the wind dropped as fast as it had come up. Everyone around camp went fishing and the place went quiet. Just like the trip had started, the first half of it as well, I was alone in Nipigon. Did purdy good out there on the lake. Covered an immense amount of water, dodged bears, big waves and changed campsites too many times over. Fishing only one rod off the rigger I caught more lakers than any past trips when there were friends along side. Solid numbers, but just couldn't find the 20 plus pounders like other times. Specks were okay as well, thirty for the week and a number of those from new places. 25 and 24.5 inchers were the best two. The big pike this year remained difficult to coax though, saw quite a few but could only muster one over forty at a rather respectable 45-inches. Smaller fish were too abundant to count. Sun out, from the box of the truck with my feet up I finished my book. What an ending. "Three Day Road," Joseph Boyden, check it out. It was sorta like it had been in Moose Factory, many days and most trips up those rivers alone, exploring the natural world and learning better how to fish. Same as ever back then, another good trip this one was. And although it had seemed a long time and I certainly felt a little older each dawn and dusk while on Nipigon, during the hours of the days the energy barely faded at all. Fished hard to rest easy, my way, experiencing something new while taking everything in... Well, almost everything... there was one beer still in the cooler when I arrived home, and girls back from camp, a big reminder I don't have to go it alone. Bunk.

I think the girls are pretty darned cute too... thanks Old I. If you can walk 9... you can certainly do the main chasm. They have it well set-up... and distance is about 1.5-2 miles I'd think. Adding the dry chasms might be a little more difficult.

PB ice and softwater lakers, and grayling so far this year.

Be watching this one too Raf. Need a replacement soon enough. Made 'em years ago for the WarCanoe trailer and they're still in great shape... just can't remember with what exactly.