June 19, 2009 01:07 am
—
By Silas Gray
sports@joplinglobe.com
It was the first morning of our stay. Kevin Badgley, Jeff Cantrell, Zach Kinler and I were spending six days in a cabin on an island in the middle of Batchewaung Lake in the wilderness of Canada’s Quetico Park.
It may have been the trickling sweat, the stifling heat or perhaps the sound of Jeff opening windows that woke me very early in the morning. We’d built a modest fire in the small wood burning stove in the living room the night before. The cabin was compact, and overnight that small fire had raised the temperature well into the 80s. The owner had mentioned that when the cabin was rebuilt not long ago, they had insulated well enough for use in the Canadian winters. We now believed him.
As I pushed to open the door which led to the front porch, a very stiff breeze pushed back. I slipped out into the refreshing cool of the morning. Aside from narrow shoreline patches of solid granite, the island was covered completely with pines that ranged from small and spindly to many that towered high. The wind was already bending those tall pines, and a substantial chop was on the water.
I walked around the island and by the time I returned, both Kevin and Jeff were up and beginning to lay out the ingredients for our breakfast. The cabin has propane tanks that run a gas range and refrigerator. There are also two solar panels, one to charge batteries for the lights and another to power the pump which brings water up from the lake.
It wasn’t long before Kevin had bacon and eggs frying in the skillet. Following that fine meal, we loaded the canoes and stood nearby the island’s small dock and watched as the waves lapped over its wooden planks.
We’d planned on going to an area we’d named “the straits to the narrows” which, from the map, appeared to be a perfect spot for catching fish. Unfortunately, the wind was coming straight in from that direction. Rather than paddle against it, we chose a different area which allowed us to paddle across the wind.
Once we’d crossed the kilometer and a half of open water, we reached a shore where the wind wasn’t nearly as bad.
The fishing was slow, and we only caught three smallmouth bass throughout the morning, and all were well over 16 inches. The Quetico regulations allow an angler to keep only one bass and it must be 14 inches or smaller. Those three bass came from the only two shallow coves that we found. Unfortunately, most the shoreline on that side of the lake drops quickly into deep water. Kevin and Zach did manage to land two keeper-sized smallmouth bass, under 14 inches, and a nice lake trout, so we did have fish to eat that evening. Hoping for smaller fish was quite a change for us.
We stopped for lunch on a large outcropping of granite along the shore of a wide bay that was somewhat protected from the wind. We sat eating summer sausage and crackers while planning our afternoon. From the map, we could see that the bay was just over a kilometer across. Just around the point on the opposite side was the strait where we’d wanted to start out the morning. We decided to paddle over and start the afternoon there.
Kevin and Zach were in the lead. However, once they reached the point, rather than move to the other side, they changed direction and headed to a nearby island. Jeff and I decided that they must be making a stop to fish the small bay that could easily be seen on the leeward side. We called them on the two-way radios, and they warned us that the winds were quite strong. We decided to paddle on, just to have a look for ourselves.
The relative calm of the bay ended abruptly as we rounded the point. The waves grew with the wind until we finally gave up, turned toward our own island and began a long hard paddle. We could see Kevin and Zach. They had gotten out of their canoe and were standing on the nearest point of the island and watching us.
We didn’t set any records, but we were making headway and steadily closing on the island. We finally slipped into an area where the wind was blocked by our island. We’d almost made it. Taking advantage of the situation, we cast out heavy spoons and began jigging for lake trout.
We’d fished for nearly an hour before Jeff’s rod was suddenly pulled down hard and swung the canoe to one side. I worked to maneuver the boat into position while Jeff reeled. It was a short but fierce fight, and just as quickly as it started it was over and the line went slack. After some expression of regret, Jeff and I resumed fishing. After covering the small wind-free area thoroughly, we decided to move around to the dock, park the boat and fish from shore.
Using the radios, we kept tabs on Kevin and Zach. They were on shore, counting the number of white caps that passed a certain point each second. When that number dropped below five, they would go. Meanwhile they’d seen the ugly storm clouds that were moving in and had begun to gather wood in case they were stuck there for the night.
A hurriedly shouted “five - we’re coming” came from the radio. It was some time before their 18-foot canoe came into view. The two were pushing hard, and their plan worked - the waves had diminished and they were making good time. Soon we were all safe and sound, back on our own island. We had the fish cleaned and the canoes safely stored high onshore just minutes before the storm hit.
The bad weather continued on and on. I set up my tying equipment and tied several stacks of eight-inch dyed rabbit fur pike flies along with the smaller cone-head versions that we were using for the smallmouth bass. Eventually, with my hands stained chartreuse and orange from all the dye, I stopped and joined the others in staring out and watching the storm.
It was after we’d prepared and eaten a fine dinner of fresh lake trout with freeze-dried soup and vegetables that one of us finally admitted what we all were thinking - we might not be fishing any more that day.
The rain continued on through the night, and the air grew much colder. Unfortunately, we’d learned from the mistake we’d made the night before and had built no fire. It was well after midnight when I realized that the zipper on my sleeping bag was broken and that my idea of leaving that spare blanket at the bunkhouse to save weight wasn’t such a good idea. At least waking up in a sweat wouldn’t be an issue in the morning.
Address correspondence to Silas Gray at ifish@silasgray.com.
Copyright © 1999-2008 cnhi, inc.