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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.