Few things compare to heading off on a fishing trip...old water, new water, exotic locales whatever- you are fishing not working. If it is a good trip you are out of cell coverage for a significant part of the time. The only signs of civilization are satellites that pass on a clear night sky. The Boundary Waters have been on my list for many years. From my Mum, it is the loons and their beautifully eiry call. From my sister, blood sucking leeches, windy lakes and dirty portages. From my brother, tales of deep clear lakes with big smallies and ravenous pike.
It is blessed relief to finally load your gear into your fishing transport, in our case a canoe. No more worries about gear, food- if you do not have it you make due. The weeks leading up to the trip I was following the weather. I knew it might be cold- already in July there had been many days of really cold weather. If nothing else that means the ticks and the winged blood suckers should be down to a tolerable level. On this trip I was going with some new people which is great fun but you also think in the back of your mind- what if they are boring, complain about camp food or in our case since we were there to fish they decide they would rather read books than fish. Luckily for me my companions were awesome fun they took the bugs, the rain and everything in good stride. Camp fires were full of conversation sometimes beyond me but always interesting. Smiles all a round whenever a fish was brought to the boat.
Like any good outfitters everybody said the fishing was great- the water was up, it was cold, the moon would be full, they had made the necessary sacrifices to the fish gods. In case you are wondering the right sacrifice to guarantee a good fishing trip is to burn a copy of a how to guide on snagging trophy salmon on gravel beds on the PM.
A mandatory safety video before you went on the water harped on bear bags but finding a good one was tricky especially when trying to hang food for a bunch of guys for a week. I have heard stories about trees falling on tents during big winds. Want to know how to find the trees most likely to fall on your tent. Hang your food, go fishing, and listen from the boom- lesson number one for the trip.
it was great to finally get fishing that first night. Forget the fact that most were small they seemed eager so it seemed to bode well for the trip. Unfortunately they never grew in size but the numbers stayed true for the rest of the trip. For a few hours each day the fish turned on and we had fun. Which was good because the fish made was work for them. Casting sinking lines standing in canoe aint fun. Sink tips, big streamers, small streamers nothing sparked the big fellas to come out and play. I tried insulting the fish hoping to piss them off and that did not work. One day we decided to have a fish dinner. I am a dedicated catch and release guy for years but sometimes eating the fish you catch is terrific. Me eating the fish I catch is an event that happens about once a decade or if you believe my Mum as often as I clean my room. In a desperate tactic to find a better fly we cut their stomachs open. Each and every fish had empty sucks. This went on and on and occured again during our second meal. The only fish that had something in its belly was a hammerhead pike with a small little baitfish mostly digested.
The scenery in the Boundary Waters though more than makes up for it. Sometimes the fishing is really secondary to the whole overall experience. Something that I almost never say or really believe but in this case its God's honest truth. Everyday we were surrounded by loons. Night time was punctuated by their calls breaking the silence of the night. Beavers were plentiful. Swimming around throwing up huge wakes as they swim around. No matter how many times I hear it when beaver's slap their tails to warm their friends it is still great. Paddling around and hearing that slap especially close never gets old. One day the slap was so close we almost got wet. Though seeing an osprey wing past us with a large pike in its talons was cool it was also kind of stinging. Two playful otters pasted us one day I love those creatures. It reminded me of my favorite river in Montana where I regularly saw otters playing in currents.
More coming soon
No comments:
Post a Comment