North Woods Journal
September, 2011
1
The Great Exploration & Fishing Trip of 2011
Having just returned in one piece from our 2011
camping/fishing/exploration venture in the
North Woods, it is time for me to unleash my
pen while you settle back for an account of the
rigors and adventure of a true tale in the true
north.
We prepared for our adventure some weeks
ago as we sorted through our old survival gear.
We felt we needed to be fully prepared for
exposure to black flies, wild animals, and long
periods with inadequate food and drink, not to
mention chance encounters with half-crazed
humans. And those risks would be just with the
drive to the woods.
Our destination was Algonquin Provincial Park
in northeast Ontario: 5 hours north of Toronto,
2 hours east of the Georgian Bay and just south
of the river used by the voyagers in their quest
for North American furs. Our itinerary was to
paddle from west to east on two rivers and
three lakes for a distance of some 40 miles.
Embarkation Point: Little Tea Lake.
This route was suggested by our outfitter. He
sealed the choice of routes when he offered me
the use of his fishing pole since I had forgotten
mine. “Good fishing,” he opined as he counted
my money for the fishing license. It turned out
that he was something of a sadist; giving me a
fishing pole with two exposed treble hooks and
then delivering us to the starting point an hour
and a half distant by car He chuckled as he
dropped off the canoes and hurried away
before we had a chance to discuss the option of
returning home and lying to our friends about
completing the trip.
Consigned to our fate, we drug our heavy gear
to the canoe, loaded it without sinking the boat,
and began our epic adventure on the first of
several lakes. It was pleasant the first hour and
as I paddled I imagined myself a voyager loaded
with furs headed toward Mackinaw and a cash
reward. The second hour was a little less
pleasant; the first lake seemed unending and
the canoe was moving awfully slowly. Finally,
we reached the far shore to discover that the
route to the next lake was via a river and the
river had several impassable rapids.
The solution was to unload the canoe, shoulder
the gear and hike around the rapids and then
back to the river. Simple, eh? Not so simple if
the path around the rapids is up a hill, through
the forest and over a rock-strewn path that no
self-respecting voyager would ever use more
than once, or so it seemed to me. Nevertheless,
there was no cure for it and so I proceeded to
carry the gear including the awkward fishing
North Woods Journal
September, 2011
2
pole with the treble hooks dangling close to my
face. When I arrived at the river after the first of
three rapids I discovered that there was no
ferrying service for our canoe. I retraced my
steps…
and carried the canoe over the hill, through the
forest and around the rocks to the river,
entirely forgetting the part about the voyagers
and how much fun I was having.
The next paddle down the river was entirely too
short as we came to another of those #
^&!%d
rapids and the big rocks that impeded our
progress. So it was back to the unloading,
carrying, etc.
Stopped by the rocks and rapids
After three portages on the river and a weed
filled channel that grabbed my paddle on every
stroke, we finally made it to Big Tea Lake. Our
aim was to camp on one of the many islands
that dotted the lake. Mercifully, we found one
without too much difficulty and so one more
time I unloaded the boat, carried the gear and
lifted, eerrr… dragged the canoe ashore for a
much needed rest and evening cocktails. I was
too tired to fish so I dropped the fishing pole
along with the gear and suddenly noticed that
the treble hooks had ensnared the fabric of the
straps of my pack.
The air all around turned blue for a moment
while I considered the impact of spending a
night in the tent with a fishing pole thrust
through the door while it was firmly connected
to some of my equipment. I might have left that
situation till morning if I had been able to get to
my food. Since the prospect of an evening
without suste
nance wasn’t appealing, I
searched through my gear to discover my trusty
knife with 14 special blades and began to
extricate my pack from the clutches of the
fishing pole. Ultimately, I was successful so that
the evening passed without further frustration
and I was able to nurse my sore muscles.
The next day came early and so we broke camp,
loaded gear and began the paddle toward the
next lake. After an hour of paddling, we came to
the end of Big Tea Lake and found the portage
that led to the next lake, Manitou. This
thousand foot portage carried us up the
obligatory hill and then down to the lake where
we spread our eatables on a large grey rock and
had our lunch of tuna, cold lake water, and a
few cookies that were only partially crushed by
the weight of the pack.
North Woods Journal
September, 2011
3
We found another island in Manitou Lake
where we stopped to set up camp. After dinner
I snapped the fishing pole together for an
expected pleasant evening spent in reeling in a
few lunkers for the following day’s meal. After
less than a dozen casts I felt a tug on the line.
Surely I had a big one. I tugged the line and it
seemed to tug back. I waited a moment but the
line went quiet. I tugged again and the line
seemed firm so I waited once more.
After several minutes of this back and forth
tugging, it finally dawned on me that the treble
hooks had once again become ensnared. This
time the offending ensnarement was either a
large rock or a log at the bottom of the lake.
“Ah ha!” I chortled, as I determined that no
simple log or rock would destroy my fishing and
my chance for immortality in capturing the
largest fish of season. I was wrong. In the event,
I walked down the beach, stumbled on some
rocks and broke the fishing line with my one
and only borrowed lure still firmly engaged in
holding fast to a sunken obstacle put there by
the devil.
I spent the evening by the fire, calculating the
cost of the lost lure and the excuse that I would
generate for having lost it. The aggravation was
lost when the sun went down to reveal a
greater pleasure:
The next day was like the previous: more
paddling and carrying of gear. In early afternoon
the weather had changed for the worse and we
decided to camp early.
Clouds come to earth with rain
The rain brought storms and wind making us
wind-bound to our island. It wasn
’t at all
unpleasant as we played games, read books,
and relaxed our sore muscles. The wind lifted
the next day to reveal a perfectly calm lake,
ideal for continuing our journey.
Calm water for rest of the journey
North Woods Journal
September, 2011
4
We paddled to the end of Manitou Lake for
another river and another series of portages.
One was the longest of our trip, nearly 1200
meters or ¾ of a mile. By this time our muscles
had grown accustomed to the insults of
portaging and so the up and downhill trips were
manageable. However, at one of the portages, I
noticed that my pack had fallen over.
Unfortunately, the unlucky fishing pole now
minus the lure with the nasty treble hooks, was
lying beside the pack when it fell.
I noticed something different when I reached to
pick up my pack and the rest of the gear
including the fishing pole - the spinning reel
came apart in my hand. That
&-$33@d heavy
pack had broken the reel clean into two pieces!
Now I had to face the sadist again and pay for
his broken reel. No doubt he would claim that it
was an expensive reel; probably not suitable for
use by an inexperienced camping tenderfoot
and it was too bad that the broken reel and lost
lure had spoiled my fishing. Then he would
assume a troubled look as he collected my
money and mentally catalogued a funny story
for his fellow outfitters during the winter
’s
drinking. The shame of it all!
Instantly, it all came together for me. When we
finished our trip in two more days I strode
confidently to the outfitter with my wallet in
hand to pay for the damaged reel and lost lure.
“
You were right,” I said. “The fishing was great. I
would
’a landed him but he was so big he plum
broke this old reel of yours. What do I owe?
”
Grandpa BIll
