All together and all at once, the brook trout, pike and lakers of Northern Ontario summoned me from the couch at home. Some last minute boat, gear and meal prep plus a call to the Agent, quick plans were set in motion to hit the highway north. Our destination… fish

Quite pleasantly once on the water, this was pretty much how it got started.
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Day 1. FIRECRACKERS.
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So rewinding just a little, I had made the straight shot 1400 kilometer run half tired and dead asleep. Along the road, stopped in Mattice briefly enough to recruit my partner in adventure the Agent Stevie Zebco. Yes, he is the same Stevie Z and Agent from Mission Fishin’ Impossible fame and, who certainly does have numerous cameos amidst the ongoing and drawn out saga which is my angling life. Here’s just a quick look back to our first successful assignment in 2007.
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Ya see, few are as highly trained to spend a week in close quarters chasing giant, quality fish of many species. But Stevie Z has seen, done and conquered much. He has WarCanoe experience upon the far reaches of remote, wild rivers. Endured The Bomber crashing through waves for miles and miles out in the deepest of blues. He has camped, trekked and survived through snowy dangers in a remote subarctic winter wilderness and, skillfully while drunkenly taken my poker money at many a table. The Agent has even once spoiled himself in women and luxury while taming Canada’s largest freshwater mountain river beasts. He’s not just any Agent, he’s a friggin’ super agent eh He’s my Agent, and pretty well anytime we head out on a fishin’ mission together, we’re bound to find our way in and out of some near impossibility while always requiring two separate motel rooms or keeping our tents really far apart… He would visit this part of Ontario with me once again. The Agent has never had any trouble completing any task.
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The remainder of the ride was spent wondering about gas mileage with my unevenly inflated tires, and catching up with my buddy. Stevie had just bought a new Lund boat, got a new house, was buying new stuff for both, and obviously working his bum off for love and money. After a hearty breakfast served by a waitress who said many times over she’s not a waitress, we pulled up to the launch and counted seven Ontario plates and three Michigan before hitting the lake.
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Humidity rising and sweaty we made camp. Before we had the tents up, old friends Dan and Crabby Joe Colin along with newcomer Larry, arrived in their boat and we officially had a party. Reconnecting with Dan and the boys while they tended to their site, a bit of a breeze was picking up and some clouds rolled in. South wisps turned to a steady north blow, so with about four hours before dark Stevie and I hastily fished the lake.
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Guess right quick that specks were either shut down or not around. A few spots coughed up nothing. For this late in the season the water temps were at bubble bath highs and the tree leaves still green. Not at all fall, Nipigon was not going to be it’s usual self. The pike on the other hand were everywhere they should and shouldn’t be. They enjoy the heat and they were chasing down anything that went by… And that’s where the fishing in this trip just kinda began.
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Stevie Z had picked up a sweet 37-incher before we rounded a prominent point to find a deep and flat bottom rise and turn weedy. Working outside in, we popped some feisty mid thirties and a few snots before the boat slipped too much into the thick where it shallowed into a brown-bage, dead zone. The fish stopped biting. Okay, I said to the Agent, we’ve gotta back-track wide and outta this. Action is in the deeper green weed and if we’re gonna find the big fish we should get to the edge.
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Minnkota to anchor off and out, we used the wind to sail our lures to shoreline. BOOM I get sacked by a wound up teenager that burns reel rubber until boat side. MY GAWD STEVIE GET UP HERE Following my fish is an enormous pike. It sulks beneath, slow, moving with my fish on the line and keeping a watchful eye from below it. It has a loonie sized mark on one side. See it there Stevie? See it? Cast in there? But Stevie doesn’t see it, doesn’t see it in good enough time before it heads off into the abyss.
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I know what to do Stevie, this has happened here before. What, he asks? We need to get below these fast mid size fish and slow down, I go on explaining. Switching the spoon for a skirted flipping jig with a 5-inch plastic shad, every cast thereafter went straight back to the same spot where the teenager was hooked. Many a times it’s like clockwork with big pike, for although that fish had followed the hooked pike out from the shallows to the boat then buggered off even further out towards the deep, I’d bet 3 outta 4 the followers will circle back home to their original resting spot. Stevie Z’s mind was blown when about ten casts later I felt my hopping jig get sucked in and I drove the hook into the same marked up fish we’d been hoping for. What a fight And in a sense, what an angler moment too…
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Back at camp the picture got passed about a little with the gang around the campfire. Although early to bed, the bottle of Top Shelf maple moonshine got cracked and we shared a sweet treat to a few hauls for all. Firecrackers echoed under the night sky until a little drizzle fell. The boats snug and secure, the sleeping bag was a welcome anchor from the long road and big pike day.
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Day 2. CRABBY JOE.
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A cold morning spat rain. Low water the small V’d plywood boat slip I had made worked perfectly to hold the bow in place overnight. Waves and wind did nothing to push The Bomber to and fro on any rocks. Out from our shelters, Crabby Joe and Larry marveled at the urinal I held in hand by the morning campfire. What a great idea, one said. Yes, a piss bucket in the tent overnight is a wonderful thing, I would agree.
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Setting out just before twelve into wet and bumpy weather we plugged away through the afternoon hours to pick up some specks. It was tough fishing overall, even though the winds died flat and skies dried. The temp gauge on the Lowrance was off and on but the low 60F water made the place polluted with pike. The specks were either way out off the islands still, or hiding. Big chicken wraps fed us while a couple of my specks dined on a Williams RidgeBack. Stevie went straight up standard issue lures and plucked the bigger and prettier fish.
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Lotsa boaters could be seen floating around that evening. Speck fishermen, pikers and still plenty trollers dredging for late season greys. Word at the ramp was the lakers had been shut right down for nearly a week and the speck bite was tricky too. On route to camp I recognized one fella’s boat out searching for specks and pulled over for a short hello, with Al.
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This past summer Al did me a great favor by taking out an old friend. John introduced me to speckled trout or brookies when I was about 18 years old or so. Briefly taught me some fundamentals to fly fishing and put the first fly rod in my hand before tying on a Mickey Finn. John, his son, other friends and I would float tube small lakes together in the Quebec Hills north of Deep River, staying at a beautiful camp. Very fond memories of those times and trout. John has spent an anglers life fly fishing across Canada and parts of the U.S. Many a fine catch I am sure, but he had never been to Nipigon for a coaster. So, when he emailed asking if I knew anyone who could get him out for a fish as he had a day to spare while out in Thunder Bay for a wedding, two fellas came to mind. It worked out that Al could make it happen, and John and I are certainly glad for it.
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Some solid fishing by the Agent on this day. Back at camp I sniffed the maple and bonk, instant GCS of 3.
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Day 3. STARGAZERS.
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Wasting no time on this morning we were awake before sunrise. Day was calling for mint weather and it would probably be the only one in the week to make any kind of real long run. Previous year, Stevie and I found ourselves thinking the same plan one morning, and we flew off about 30 klicks from shore when the impeller went on the Yammy. That sucked, and surely to God that wouldn’t happen again? So, figured we’d first do some safe fishing nearby camp and return around noon to make one big lunch to go. Then, zip away into some far reach for specks and return come sunset.
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Many anglers must have thought the same. Second last day before specks closed on the lake, and the nicest weather, plenty people took the opportunity for one last dance. Every spot we stopped was occupied so it didn’t take long before we were back at camp chomping at the bit to just break free of the crowds.
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Eight years now traveling to Nipigon; this the third trip for 2016 if counting the ice fishing, I could easily admit it’s where I want to be most. Mid to late summer trips usually, now I enjoy the late spring as much or even more. Been and seen plenty of the lake in that relatively short time, there are always plans to seek out and explore new water. In all honesty, it would take a lifetime to see it all. It is such a big playground that can really reward in many ways, and humble in others. Good friends have come along, most stayed and some now gone, it has mostly been quality living and moments happily remembered. There is a hope that will never change.
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Our eight hour tour way out did us some good. Having the hotstick this day, some colorful specks and one nice thick pike to count all graced the gunnels.
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Couple times the skeg got bumped out there on the lake but any major disasters were averted. Again, lowest water levels I have ever seen and, the hottest water for that time of year too. As well, the speck fishing was the toughest ever, so it was nice to arrive back at camp to a hearty bowl of stew, a warm fire and a few yahoos just having a good evening. Conversation lead to family, kids, work and of course more fishing. Colin and Dan wondered about teaming up for a future trip out on another part of the lake too. It all sounded good to me for awhile but, the twelve hours boating on the lake during this warm sunny day ended up winding me down with little need for much liquid loosening. The fire within died…
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Day 4. MOONSHINE MOVING.
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Despite a beauty sunrise this one wasn’t going to end well. Big rains coming in for a couple days Stevie and I decided to get out of Dodge. Dan and Colin would be packing up too. Always sucks packing up soaked. Our best idea was to enjoy a morning fish and then head back to pack up a dry camp after lunch. After three days worth of fishing, it looked like we would be done with the lake.
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My neck hair was driving me crazy, chaffing and getting caught in my jacket zipper. Needed a shave and a real big pout about it too. Evil nose hair got turned outward and was itching me like a crazy… Greys in the beard, first one on my head, crowsfeet and achy knees, still young but man I’d like to go back just ten. Didn’t appreciate that we were leaving just after arriving either. Although it would be the last day for speck fishing, figured switching to lakers and more pike for a couple more days afterwards would be perfect… if we could get back?
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Clouds beginning to roll in and the lake eventually kicking up a little, the specks were a no show. As usual though, the pike were simply stupid all morning long.
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Stevie Z is a natural. Considering how little fishing he actually does, the Agent always manages to catch plenty fish. We took less than an hour in the morning to drop balls on some lakers then in the afternoon another couple hours to try again, but the fish were lying low to bottom and evidently not in any feeding mood. We had already packed up camp and before driving off to town there was an hour to work on specks one last time before departure, but that was all for nothing. Pulling out of the parking lot was rough. Again, not ready to say goodbye so soon and, probably looking at about four years before returning for any late season trip.
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In a motel room later that evening, moonshine finished, scotch on the go, I talked with the girls back home. A real silver lining.
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Day 5. POURING PINK.
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After an expensive Husky breakfast I stood admiring Joe’s jigflies in the convenience store while Stevie Z settled up. He was still laughing about the waitress who had said she didn’t have any whole wheat bread for toast, only brown bread. A drenching overnight the rain was now off and on but would stick around all day and into the following, sometimes heavy. Decisions, decisions… we decided on the river to try our luck for chinooks.
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Bald eagles are a dime a dozen there, and apparently baby black bears wander the launch parking lot without any cares in the world. Stevie and I did make it onto the river before noon because we just up and decided to Hell with it, we’d get good and wet today.
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First several hours were impossible although the rain did let up slowly then entirely. We ended up riding down the river all the way to Helen’s Lake and snuck in some pictures while the drips stopped.
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After the ride and rains were all but finished until nightfall, some other anglers were out and working the water. Watching, it appeared as though most were just slow trolling; almost plugging their way up with the current. Al had said, fish the channel. So, with deepest depths ranging about 12-24 feet in that, we threw out a couple deep diving Raps or Yozis and began working water.
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Both chinooks and pinks were in. As the afternoon progressed into evening many were seen jumping and rising. Stevie and I were on them pretty good too. Working in and out deliberately from 17 to 6 to 17 to 6 feet of water, we were regularly hooking up. Found that structure, breaks and seams held the bulk of the fish, and some shoal tops did too. Couple chinooks just crushed us and took off with our lures. Later, we started casting but couldn’t get a single pink or nook this way; although some shore anglers did now and again. Two chinnies hit Rapalas of mine and one I watched the hammer and immediate snap off. The other was a hard take in deeper water and that fish went ballistic and broke me off too. Back to trolling this was costly as well, a number of lures were lost. But, it was all worth in the end as the Agent and I caught nearly two dozen pinks and for us, that was a first. New species for both and some dandy little humpies too. Stevie caught most of them and once we traded in our heavy poles for spinning gear, they were rather fun to play with awhile. It was just too bad to lose four chinooks.
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Back at the motel some Jura before bed and fresh air in the tires come morning, we two Northern Ontario lads hit the road back to Mattice. Huey Lewis, Cult, Foghat, The Band and even a little Air Supply just to make things weird, driving away we felt another fine trip was in the books. The Agent and I are quite a team, always.
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Always interesting, always enjoyed, always Nipigon. Thanks for reading,
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