Nothing there between them but long periods of silence. She’s quite pretty, and he’s a grub. A young couple they didn’t much match and I guess hadn’t figured that out yet. When the waitress came to take their order she was about to speak until he cut her off and ordered for himself first. She stared aimlessly thereafter, he went to his phone and the two just continued on within a space apart. I wasn’t staring, just simply “noticing.” You see, that’s how it always is when you’re on your own right? You tend to see, sense and take in more, and that’s maybe why I like and look forward to my times alone, solo and on the road..? “Bunker,” the waitress giggled, “and here you are,” as she placed the plate of fish and chips on the table. Walking away, “I like that name” she giggled again.

Eleven hours my door to Stevie Z’s place in Mattice. Nobody on the highways for 1100 kilometers it was smooth sailing over asphalt, hauling the boat, the only stop being at this said restaurant, O’Briens. This trip I wouldn’t be entirely alone, the on route yes, but for a week of two planned the first half Stevie would join me out of Onaman River Resort. Yeah, that’s right, my favorite place Lake Nipigon was of course the destination.

We got on the road early next morning. Stevie would follow me in his truck while we made our way the final five hours to Onaman. Timing took a little longer than usual for I snapped the carriage bolt holding the bracket which attaches the transom saver post to the trailer. Fortunately the hardware store in Longlac was open and had plenty of replacements.

The rough road into Onaman, the 801 was a slow drive for 48 kilometers at an average of 30km/hr. Stevie ripped on ahead to eventually stop, have a nap and wait for me to catch up. Arriving at the resort our friend Rob was out front of his place with his own big boat in the driveway, it was obvious he was working on it.

What a terrible shit show of a year it has been for operators within our tourist industry. Rob, who’s cabins and campsites are booked entirely through late May, June and July with 90% American anglers, was standing before us this day in a nearly empty resort. One cabin rented out, two or three campsites too, the place seemed so empty… And although our initial greeting was a happy hello, I could certainly sense some deeper troubles in Rob. I’d come quick to learn that it wasn’t just the lost business, but Loki his dog was ill and the Boston Whaler had partially sunk late last season and was now plagued with engine troubles. They say bad things come in the threes right?

StevieZ and I would learn that a 15 knot northwind out on the lake would hinder us from venturing out to camp with a fully loaded boat. Saying so, Rob was quick to offer up space in a cabin for the night. Unfortunately he couldn’t stay and visit though, for he and the dog were off to Thunder Bay.

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After some drinks and dinner we settled right in cozy-like eh! Tired enough, we slept through each other’s snoring.
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Day 1. AT THE BEGINNING.

Woke up in the starry darkness to the dead calm of early, early, too friggin’ early morning. A mist would rise while we prepared breakfast in the cabin kitchen, afterwards we were quick to pile in the remaining totes, coolers and other camp gear into the boat, and then launch. A very low water year on Nipigon, admittedly there was some wonder and worry too that much of our day could be spent searching for campsites still accessible. We set off to find out!

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At worst the waves maybe reached two foot rolling across some of the bigger fetches, otherwise it was smooth sailing. When finding a camp, the water was at a good enough level to allow our boat safe passage to shore, Stevie and I were set up by 11am and ready to get fishing.

We started with pike to loosen up and Stevie popped some cherries. Wouldn’t say a banner beginning but that’s usually the way with anywhere new, ya purdy well gotta sort yourself and the conditions for a time until the mojo comes back.

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We moved along to search some shocky rorelines. Again, bit discombobulated, the specks wouldn’t co-operate and so by 2:00pm we were scratching our heads to a plan, and that’s when Stevie suggested that with the glass calm conditions and plenty daylight left, we take on a big tour, burn some gas, and try a whole new area… for walleye! Huh? Yeah, walleye, OK! And on the way there we’d certainly have lots of time to fish some different islands and shorelines for speckies too. Away we went to try our luck.

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Scenic area, felt fishy, fawked if I know why the specks didn’t bite. Well… I can guess here as to why they didn’t bite, but should I share that?.. OK I’ll share then.

The water was too warm in the entire area we were fishing. There might be specks around sure, maybe a bit deeper, maybe hiding, but that warm, calm water tends to get overrun with pike and they push the specks away. Best chances summer season for specks in my experience on calm, warm days is along coolest deeper shores, rockier shores with less chance of veg and, off islands a long way from pike-like habitat. However, if there’s a good wind blowing that’s mixing surface water and beating up a shore some place, that can create a space of discomfort for the pike and permit specks some security to feed there. Odd thing is, I know of one fella who catches more specks in the high heat of summer, bluebird skies, doing well in mid afternoons too. Can’t share how he does it though, not my style, but he’s certainly figured it out.

After our troll and discovery of a couple new campsites, the dinner hour coming on we cruised deeper into a back bay towards an incoming river. Arriving at some rapids we found quite a site waiting. The largest flock of Ontario pelicans we had ever seen.

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Why were all these birds here? Well for the fishing of course!

My sonar was lit up with arcs below. The bottom was endless with walleye. First drop with a jig directly under the boat and I popped a little cigar. Stevie got excited, me too. Ohhh man, this place is full of walleye and we had it to ourselves, just the two of us with a hundred pelicans. From the current below the rapids we’d witness the odd feeding fish hit on surface too. Walleye or maybe trout? We began casting various things and caught some fish but it certainly wasn’t gang busters. It was really just OK… but at four hours ti’ll sunset still, you kinda just expect that for summertime eyes the afternoon bite is slower.

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Stevie and I set out towards camp. When you’re back deep in the bays for hours with no way of checking on the big expanses of lake you’ll later have to return to, it’s a good idea to keep your head up. Inland it appeared the tree tops were swaying more and we took a sprinkle of rain but, outside and viewing the big lake it was still flat. We booked it for an offshore island that stood out like a sore thumb. With straight vertical cliffs and a good distance from anything pikey-like, we guessed it might give up our first speck. Cruising the orange lichen covered shores there, it was deep enough in places that I could have scratched the inside rod tip along the rocks while trolling by. Peregrines must nest above but we didn’t spot any this day.

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Rounding a corner Stevie Z’s rod buckled and he was fast into our first speck. A good fight that you can watch a little of on video, it was sweet getting the skunk off. A first day on Nipigon that you can catch pike, eyes and specks through an afternoon into evening, is a good day!

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Stevie’s speck as a respecktable 23 inches and fat. We collected some drinking water from where the lake was cold and deep, snacked on a couple oranges, skirted around some shoals while joyriding about, then for our evening stopped by some pikey looking shoreline to cast our day away.

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It was about 2005 I caught my first 40-inch pike. By 2010-ish through the ice and from a boat I’d lost track how many more “trophy” class pike were tricked to a bait or lure. When I see low 40’s today it’s funny now how they’re all just runts… like I’ll even go so far to say, snot rockets. It’s rare Stevie and I even take pictures of 40’s and low 40’s anymore on Nipigon because we’ve become so spoiled with common 44’s, 45’s and usually several 46’ers a trip. A 47 inch pike is exciting but we still see those commonly enough. During the spring Bren got her best at 48 and I caught one of those too, at four feet long for a pike now you’re talking. On Nipigon I’ve twice caught 49+’ers… but no 50! If you read the spring report you’ll catch more notes on what I think of that. When it comes to pike I’ll gag and choke a little when I see claims of 50’s, which is surely more often than viewing a fish which may actually be.

So with all these pike and the chances at giants I’ll admit to being much more complacent than I once was. You’ve seen a low 40 you’ve seen them all… and on this evening the initial fishing started fast and furious so we really didn’t stop pegging toothies to take time for average shots. The Agent popped a 43, 43, 43, 42, 41 and 40, while I snagged a 43, 42, 41, 40, 40 and 40. A dozen trophy pike in about two hours. After the initial pocket of 40’s had been destroyed we ventured around looking for more while the camera did some filming. Stevie remained cool on video, I had fun acting like an ass and hamming it up!

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You get sick of dealing with pike though, because we’re getting old. One-after-another is that bite sometimes and just handling and cleaning up after them is a chore made worse come end of the day when you’ve been up since 4:00am traveling, making camp and fishing all over a giant lake for 16 hours. Hot and tired we retreated back to camp. By the time we arrived it was dark, the boat needed securing, refueling, some walleye needed cleaning, dinner needed cooking and I wanted a gin and 7 followed by a scotch chaser in that order. How guys do all that we did in a day AND shoot crazy You-Tube videos while doing it, do it diddly do it till done, has me right unraveled..? Just had to sniff and sip the booze while warming five minutes by the crackling fire before the head spun right into bed… AND OUT!
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Day 2. SURFIN’ SHANIA.

After visiting Browntown, Stevie came back from the makeshift shitter to offer a stability report. “One year left,” he figured, “ti’ll it craps out.” When parking my ass on it a half hour later I thought, no fawking way, this thing is awesome, it’s going the distance.

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Glorious morning for now, while crushing a couple deluxe egg and tomato breakfast sandos we mulled over our options. By noon the wind was to really pick up so we didn’t want to venture too far from camp.

The morning we stuck around different islands hugging lee shorelines trolling for specks but oddly only caught walleye..? This had never happened to me before, not in a couple dozen week long visits to the lake. When walleye hit and fight, you know it’s a walleye, and when they’re on I often hear a little earworm by Twain that goes, “man it feels like a walleye.” Planning a fish fry for this day it was perfect to harvest some more meat.

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The ProGuide is a comfortable, capable and highly controllable tiller but it is a tiller, you’re going to get wet moving through chop. For a few hours we were able to hop our way here and there and the last island we cruised had several kilometers of calm until approaching it’s southern most point. It was there that the waves were noticeably bigger, cresting and white-capping as they smashed into the shore. The other side of this island was naaaashhty.

Taking a minute we stowed everything away in the boat, donned our heaviest raingear, threw on the life jackets and prepared to pound back to camp. The shortest direction wasn’t the safest, islands and shoals would need careful navigation so, I started us out awhile boating across the waves, riding in the troughs, until feeling we were far enough to cut 90 degrees and begin surfin’ Shania Twain home. Stevie clutched his InReach awhile, I’d remark later that the waves were probably 5 to 6 feet but he’d disagree and say 6 to 7. Whatever they were they weren’t always uniform and nice to play in, some were rather criss-crossy-pissy with us. The odd big roller to hop over I was forced to angle up the backside for any straight climb would push the RPM’s and bow to stand pretty high. In all honesty it’s time like this that again a tiller may soak ya a little more, but having the instant ability to make quick maneuvers that can smooth out the ride is so sweet. Having bounced through chop in equal sized consoled boats, other than a windshield for wind and spray I almost don’t like it, there’s far less zig-zagging that can be done to avoid the worst of the waves so your ass end forward in the boat takes the thumping. Best advice in big water though, never be 100% comfortable with any of it, NEVER! Anywhere!

We rode into camp safe and soaked. A pouring rain had begun and it was now 2:00pm. Under our gazebo the Agent and I waited and waited for the weather to let up but after four hours we gave in to the spirits and one feast of a fish fry. Near dark the rain turned off, we uncovered the wood and Stevie got a fire going. More booze the talk turned to boobies… the perfect boobies in fact. What makes? What is? Nipple size, areola size, breast size, shape, colors and textures, it was a very deep and philosophical conversation while saturated with gin, rum, beer and scotch. And by the end of these musings the one thing we’d rightly figured out is that there isn’t a “perfect,” but only a preferred, and if we could both surf Shania and her curves just then, in our semi-drunken states we most certainly would!
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Day 3. THE COIN TOSS.

Damp but dry come morn the winds overnight switched 180 and laid down. Drifting outside of camp I didn’t notice the boat slide into shallow rocks before it was too late, the skeg took a little bump. We decided to start on lakers and when I found a dime on the floor I said to Stevie, “first fish, call it.” He won the toss and kindly offered me the first.

We’d pop a couple solid lakers by noon and capture some video of that too. Nice to get some grease in the Lund.

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Once the arcs we were seeing on the Lowrance marked more to the bottom we tried jigging for an hour with maybe two of ten fish showing slight interest. No greys caught on the drops we switched to specks for the earlier hours of the afternoon. Breeze dying right off and the sun peeking out it got quite hot, we agreed to spend the evening exploring some different pike waters.

The fish we did find biting were smaller than the norm. Maybe we got a forty or two but there’s no record here in my notes of it. Roaming into one area a caribou was spotted walking the shoreline. It would be the first one Stevie’s ever seen, so that’s cool eh!?!

Seafood chowder for supper which only needs a touch of heat to serve, we kept at the pike ti’ll late and enjoyed a setting sun. A toasty fire later with a refreshing gin and 7, there was little disappointment considering the slower than average day we’d just shared.

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Day 4. A PLACE TO POOP, GRASSHOPPER!

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The days events were long, fishless but interesting. An early fog burned off giving way to sun and warmth. A gentle southwest blow less than 10 knots would be the forecast, chance of a little shower. Over 10 1/2 hours we caught two measly pike, it was incredibly slow for morning lakers, midday specks, afternoon pike, and early eve specks. Threatening thunderstorms and a shit bite sent us back to camp around 7:00pm, defeated. Well, Stevie did master the baitcaster this day so there was that great victory.

Trying a tonne of old haunts and a little new water for pike, we did spot a moose crossing the lake which we put to video. Being that it was pretty far off any shore I got to thinking that maybe it was having the same problem we’d been having all day, finding a good place to poop? The shorelines on Nipigon can be near impossible to land a boat. Hours in the clench I was reaching a critical state of weakness, we had to find suitable services or otherwise Stevie would certainly be stuck in a nuclear situation with me and Vlademir Pootin! Finally a soft sandy shore at bottom of a high veg bank was seen and I stormed its beach like Normandy. Guerilla through the jungle, urgently loading TP grenades on route I accidentally stepped on a landmine of bear shit, fell into a safe bunker and unloaded my cannon. The war was over.

Clothes cleaned and pressed, a total hair and body wash under a double rainbow sunset I felt fresh and cute as a My Little Pony by firelight. Warm flame, juniper and lemon, journal entry, cozy sleep… in that order!

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Day 5. EVERY WHICH DIRECTION.

You’d think with age there’d come simplicity, like, having experience and time would have chiseled you into something nearing perfection. Each morning on Nipigon the routine would be effortless, the days choices completely dialed in and without any need for guessing. But yet this doesn’t happen. Surely you might have some things figured out and easier but now the time has changed. You’ve gotten older, a bit slower, and the seasons about you are never felt quite the same. So if you’re anything like me you push back at those hands on the clock, you don’t accept that you’re not quite as fast, or strong or even as fearless as you once were. You would be giving in, maybe giving up if you didn’t try!.. What I love about Nipigon and it’s fishing are it’s challenges and rewards, which seem so much bigger to that particular place. To rise with the sun, face an entire day with a goal of catching fish, executing as best possible while having fun and keeping safe, then rest and repeat, through every waking Nipigon moment I want to stop aging, explore things new while attempting to prove to myself that anything and everything I have done there before, is still possible to do again. I want it to stay the same forever.

Stevie started with a laker that popped on a Half Wave. That was something new, and certainly not impossible.

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We were preparing for a ten hour day fishing and both excited for it. The lake glass, the day maybe throwing a T-storm, we’d cover miles and miles of new ground to explore mostly for specks and also investigate for a few different camp locations never seen before. Finding new turf this trip was actually quite high on our priority list. With Nipigon becoming more popular each season, having a beat on different spots to park and pitch a tent is wise. For every decent place we’d wondered and wandered about, a dozen wouldn’t turn out. Water levels low this year too, some camps just could not be reached, the boat would glide into shallow sand long before hitting land. This here wasn’t really one of those spots though.

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Many killer lake shoals were up and well exposed, a few of them not at all marked in my map book yet certainly worth noting. Shorelines weren’t quite as fishable as usual either. The standard depths trolling wouldn’t always exist, more shallows and hazards coming into play it often seemed for safety I’d have to roam too far outside of the strike zone. This day in particular we’d find a good dozen shoals, some way offshore in the middle of nowhere, with the odd one worth casting rather than troll.

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Without the American’s up visiting this year traffic on the lake seemed less. Some trips we rarely see a soul but over this five days we’d only caught two different boats one afternoon way well off in the distance. The lake to ourselves the rest of our time, we never once had to fish sloppy seconds or worry about traveling to some spot and finding company.

Oddly the day remained a tough fish. Water temps no matter where we boated were high 60’s and just not overly speck friendly. Lakers rather down and slower too, we settled on fishing Stevie’s last hours for pike. A real good choice.

An area that had often caught my eye outside of a typical pikey back bay would often be skipped over in spring. Inspecting it now in a later season, sparse cabbage growing in 3 to 9 foot depths over a soft bottom with scattered rocks piles, it’s visibility appeared darker and a smidge murky. The weed in shallowest was withering brown but the deeper fields still yielded some crops of green. After peering at the shores for a possible place to carve out a future camp, uninviting brush Stevie and I turned to casting. Didn’t take but a few before hooking up.

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Smaller but feisty fish, a short while later we moved on elsewhere to a spot we’ve both caught some solid pike before. Things began heating up!

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Over a couple hours we’d strike blows with plenty mid to high 30 inch pike but more importantly, pick up some numbers of trophy class fish as well. Can’t remember who got their big one first but Stevie set the hook into a pike that had him screaming with excitement. Seeing his fish I was stoked for him too. A real railroad tie of a pike that came to boat side much faster than expected, it was then we noticed very little hook holding on to it. A quick scoop in the net the pike went ballistic for what seemed far too long a time, thrashing and rolling in the mesh. Unfortunate but fortunate really, some fins split but Stevie had his new PB pike, a thick 46-incher. The fish swam away strong and like spawning wounds suffered each spring, it will mend up in time.

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I’d catch a 46 incher too. Maybe not as thick as Stevie’s but close, I clipped on a musky lure and tossed something entirely new. Big lure for big fish, why not? Well, it was after fourth cast but before the sixth that I felt some good weight hit it and run. No setting the hook, this pike wanted this lure dead. For both mine and Stevie’s 46’ers, you’ll have to watch the video.

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The best times always go by so fast. Stevie’s last night I got the sense come morning he was just wanting to get off the lake ASAP… I kinda felt the same way knowing some wind would pick up come tomorrows afternoon. We enjoyed fajitas back at camp, some fire and the drink. Two 46’ers, a 43, 42.5 and 40 would add nicely to the big pike total for our five days together. I love this guy, the Agent of Mission Fishin’ Impossible fame, Stevie Zebco!
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Day 6. ONAMAN.

We broke camp in no time. In fact, we broke camp after having breakfast and loaded the boat in no time, before 9:00am we were shoving off shore heading back to the resort. An ENE wind would make for choppy travel, Stevie had to hold onto some things in the Lund from bouncing out, but in a couple hours we’d arrive safe. Saying our goodbyes, the Agent left for home and I settled to rest into a cabin.

Alone and quiet awhile, the early afternoon gave chance to re-organize my boat and things. Later I’d meet up with Rob to shoot the breeze, then by 4:00pm I launched the boat and drove down to the river mouth to try for some walleye around the islands there. Not at all prepared with much of anything for trolling eyes, I had but one blue/silver Husky Jerk in the box for lakers that I figured on a slow troll with lots of line out might just get down to some fish.

A scorching evening the winds had lied, it was dead calm. Another boat was nearby, the guys hootin’ and hollerin’ and maybe catching some fish. On the graph it was loaded on bottom with fish. Later I’d ask Rob if what I was seeing were walleye and he’d answer that most surely are. For now though, they were lock-jawed, and I only got me a pike. Fishing being slow I was able to set auto-pilot on the troll and manage having a wash in the boat. Time seemed to fly by fast, and in a blink the sun was setting.

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An owl in the trees questioned who? A chili supper, tired out I lay watching some of the videos we’d taken over
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Day 7. LEAH, LOKI & TATTOO.

Cooking hot overnight in the cabin, groggy while preparing breakfast, through half opened eyes and the window I spied Wilf already out and about. Through the morning he and I would visit awhile then Rob would rise and we’d spend ti’ll 11:00am shooting the shit. Their company quite well enjoyed, we didn’t talk much about the big downers in todays life. I can’t begin to explain how many times I’ve offered to help Rob with things online and website related, and although he nods yes, it never comes to be, Rob is a one man show and that’s his way.

A big and gusty onshore wind had the mill spinning. A no-go for the big lake, I decided to walk and whack the bush along the Onaman River. A trail leads down to the water just off Rob’s driveway in to the resort, once picking it up I began to skip happy like an adventurous kid again.

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I would catch a few walleye as you’d see in the video, and spend plenty time capturing different little clips from the river. The day reached 25C and the water was warm for a bath after some sweat, breaking through forest the spruce and cobwebs had lathered me. I’d think about my girls plenty this day, especially Leah who had once joined me here. The day so far was turning out to be a great reset before more travels to come.

Rob had slipped away to Geraldton and when returning to the cabin the only other soul around was a seasonal renter who had hauled his trailer up to the campsite for a few weeks. Didn’t catch his name but came to learn that walleye are really his thing, and that while out on Nipigon he prefers to target them over the specks, lakers and pike. This would be interesting to me, as many, many lakes and rivers across northern Ontario are teeming with walleye; parts of Lake Nipigon no exception, but with all the other choices elsewhere and, bigger and stronger species to fry on the lake here, why… why walleye?

After he explained his style, sharing openly some of his tactics and success for BIG eyes on the lake, I found his insights more inspiring. He feels that all over the lake walleye can be found, but some places of course have more. Structure is key and the fish don’t mind being near or even roaming in the deep, but they still tend never to stray too far from structure. Some key depths of water to fish and, some preferred depths for lures, lure choices, speed of troll or casting techniques, it was evident he had a program that I could only believe had to work. Again, he wasn’t into much else other than walleye, and in places where I’d maybe try specks or even lakers, he was admitting to catch eyes.

A late lunch knocked me out awhile on the couch. Early evening approaching, skies were ominous for a time, a shower passed through but no big storm. Down by the docks and around the riverbend there I’d throw some casts for eyes, and hook a few too!

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Decided to pack up the boat and truck and make my way down the road next morning. More onshore winds in the forecast, there had been hope to take Rob out in the Lund for some specks but the marine radio seemed to be warning of gusty days ahead. When Rob arrived home from Geraldton we spent a good five hours by the campfire. The only group renting a cabin came in from the lake and complained they had Merc troubles and had to limp back in on their trolling motor. I’d seen them out there day before, had fished close by during that real tough bite, and I honestly wondered if they were telling a fib just to leave camp early and try saving a buck? Walleye fishing for the moment was hard… well, not for the fella I had been speaking to earlier, but for some of us dummies it was slow. After their three days of struggling and the tricky winds expected tomorrow, when they had hoped to pull out of camp late evening and not pay the cabin rate for the day that made me suspicious. After discussion with Rob I guess they decided to stay the night and leave early next morning.

Half a bottle of red and a couple four-finger scotchy scotches it was no wonder I under-cooked the pork chops. Loki was happy to get part of Rob’s butterfly. A bad year for mice we got talking about cats and that turned into barn cats more specifically, which became a funny story about a bunny and Rob’s last cat he had named Tattoo. Cole’s notes version was, they were raising a bunny named Fluffy. Tattoo and Fluffy were friends, Tattoo looked out for Fluffy while the bunny grew up. One day when Fluffy was big enough, as sinister cats will do, Tattoo ended Fluffy’s life, just like that! All Rob found outside was a Fluffy hairball and nothing else… Always found cats to make weird pets.
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Day 7. WASHBOARD.

Woke rather heavy headed in a hazy grey world.

A depressing thing to leave, it’s never known when I might see or hear from Rob again, he can be very difficult to get ahold of in the off season. There was little question I felt bad to be moving on a day earlier than planned, but again the winds were not going to make the lake kind so it was better to use time for traveling on.

Having the cabin meant all my food and ice blocks were frozen solid again. Best meals on the go for these camping trips, I like hearty and nutritious. Used to be that lunches would be choices like sandwiches and wraps, snacks included were often candy and jerky. Over the years I’ve added a small, single burner, propane stove, a pot, cutlery, wash cloths and soap. Nowadays I’ll eat more hot meals, especially fond of chowder, chili and soup. It’s not as heavy and tiring as meat and bread and not as fattening either. Instead of excessive salt and artificial sugars in snacks like candies and chocolate, I’ll opt out for slightly lesser evils like granola bars, trail mix and oranges. Jerky is hard to give up.

On the road there was a rest stop to pull over for soup.

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A slow roll off the 801 washboard I met up with highway 11 and steered a right. Once the phone had reception I dialed through to my wife, it had been a week although we’d sent some smoke signals through the InReach. Rob had been surprised with me back at Onaman, he always figured I had a second small motor for safety, in case of losing the main. That was never the case. The InReach of Stevie’s plus generator does add a little bit of security but he is right, a kicker would be wise.

Covid precautions in town, being a stranger in the local grocery store some folks awkwardly gazed at me like I was an alien. Grabbing a pack of bagels didn’t take too long there. At the truck stop up the road the cute girl behind the counter was friendly, paying gas for the truck, boat and some geri-cans I asked for a shower and was surprised they hadn’t closed those due to the plague. Boat baths and river soaks are no substitute to hot water pouring over from head to toe.

The remaining drive had me into launch and then finally setting up camp around 4:00pm.

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Being alone I wasn’t entirely sure the best choice for a site, there are bears out there which always seem more bold with solo campers. Had to act quick too, the rain was coming. After finally having all things homey the specks called me to the water for a fish. The lake here was calm, more protected in places, and roaming around to take casts and troll was comfortable but it wouldn’t give up any fish this evening.

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After playing with Stevie’s tempramental generator needing to charge various batteries, a glass of wine with a quiet sit would be it.
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Day 9. SUPER-CHARGED!

7:38am yesterday, 6:38am today, rose an hour earlier ready to rip if not for the drip. Rain overnight it seemed to still be spitting a little outside the tent but when peering beyond the door it was only wet trees releasing water from their leaves.

Specks would go 3 for 5, a couple getting the better of me. Best for the morning was a nice 24 x 14-incher. I’d packed a 10 1/2-foot noodle rod for something different to try on the troll, and it failed. Just not quick enough for a set in the holder. Oddly, I didn’t bother with it again for casting..?

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Before long other anglers would show up. This end of the lake rather busy at times, a midweek day my friend Al was out already with his friend Mark. Gord Ellis made an appearance with clients in his new Lund and I was pretty darned sure I spotted Chad from Pasha (maybe not?) out guiding as well.

A storm was brewing, coming in from the west. The morning was a bit windy, which built up-and-upwards, then suddenly died. A dead calm and a wall of darkness approached. Chad’s boat was nearby. Things felt eerie. Raising my rod tip I heard a buzz. I did it again and same thing, the hair on my arm stood up. I raised it again and again three or four more times, the buzz growing louder. It was so audible that I thought my camera could get it on video so I stepped off the deck to retrieve it. From the corner of my eye Chad and his guests were quickly stowing gear, and in a flash he’s racing off. Nerves getting the better of me, fast to follow, both boats began racing to safety.

Full throttle back to the launch I’m well enough behind Chad and between his wake. The skies have opened up, dumping a wall of rain. Gord Ellis is flying in on my right with Al and Mark behind him. A tight corner approaches before entering the bay where the dock awaits. Skipping over Chad’s portside wake I take the outside to make room for Gord and Al to corner. All boats are beginning to make the turn in and carving right my boat begins to cavitate at high speed. Chad’s wake is pushing me out not allowing me to corner, and steering into it harder for a split second only makes the motor cavitate more. No control to turn it’s too late!!!

On plane at 35mph I kill the motor, begin trimming and am still gliding into a rocky point with no way of stopping. No choice, springing from my seat I ran and jumped midway off the portside, luckily landing with two feet on slippery wet boulders. Turning around I grabbed the gunnel, blocked and pushed the bow of my boat away from the shore. Right through the midsection I had to lean hard against the Lund and when the transom began to pivot into the rocks I felt the boat strike something. Having redirected the bow outward the boat then angled to drive away from shore but the wakes from others tried to push it back in, the transom kept swinging in towards the rocks and in heavy danger. Motor remaining down, somehow unscathed but still in an idle drive forward, the boat began to pull away from shore and I couldn’t stop it. A split decision I leapt toward the boat, clinging to the gunnel and pulling myself over and in. Frantically scrambling on hands and knees I crawled to the bow, popped the lever to deploy the Minnkota and instantly hit 10 on the pedal forward. Had a fucking heart attack for a second, caught a breath then drove over to the dock like nothing happened. Al asks later, “I wondered why you were getting out of your boat over there?”

The intense storm lasted four hours. Gord and Chad left, Al, Mark and myself remained behind under cover. An afternoon spent sharing stories of all things fishing with two fellas as passionate about brook trout, memories on the water and Nipigon, it was my absolute pleasure to be in their company. Having known Al for some years now through fishing forums and his incredibly informative Nipigon brook trout website http://brooktroutheaven.com/ it was nice to finally do more than wave at each other on the lake or only message online. Impressive are his studies about the fish and fishery, and I’d share with him a collection of maps and experiences as well.

On an evening one wouldn’t expect too much a couple lakers did pop the rigger. Two boated, one lost, around 6:30pm I switched to casting specks, catching one, losing one and losing three lures to savage pike. Seemed the snot rockets were as super-charged as I was all day. There was just an electricity in the air, a surplus of energy, it took a heavy jolt of booze to ground that out.

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Day 10. 38 SPECIAL.

Not sure what it meant waking up for a third morning to look at my watch and find it was again 38 minutes after the hour. 7:38, 6:38, 6:38am three times like clockwork. It’s all the little things that make a day right?

Water temps everywhere on the lake were still holding 63 to 68F, averaging 65F. Quite incremental a change really after ten days, main parts of the lake had lost about two degrees on average, many winds spinning the surface but not into a turnover. Overall higher temps had been good for pike but the past few days brought a growing sense they were slowing while the specks were picking up. Pike like 65 to 70F+ a lot I find, specks especially 55 to 60F but good to 65F or down to 50F too. Just my observations really. Lakers on Nipigon seemingly behave however they want, whenever they want, and at 59F is where things can get weird with them.

In a couple places specks of this morning were holding to bottom in 30fow. I don’t even really try for these fish, instead the feeders will still likely rise up into shallower water so I cast and troll to that. First two on the line I dropped before actually landing two more. Notes here say the better fish was a decent one at 24 x 13 inches.

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Bigger winds confined me to lee shorelines and back bays, much of my day was spent going back and forth between specks and pike. At some point I needed to return to camp and grab a forgotten lighter. Lunch in the boat, stove, pot and all that, it fawking sucked to forget the flame. Anyhow, I’d scrape together a decent day of smaller to average sized specks. Like, a couple real small up to say 21 and two at 23-inches, numbers were 8 for 11. Smaller and shhhmedium pike were nibbly during some periods and I did catch a forty-ish on hardware, sadly they wouldn’t play while I tried the fly rod. The camera would shoot plenty of video too, even a melt down after a steel leader would cut a phalange, much of what happened on the 38 Special was filmed and not photographed.

More boats were out but so far for the entire trip I’d seen a Sylvan, two Princecrafts, six Lunds and my own rig. Some new fellas showed up in a big white Lund ProV with a Yamaha and we said hello in passing. I’d quit at 7:30pm after eleven hours fishing, it felt like everything had been done to death, including me. Back at camp I found the ProV boys had set up close by, after a chili dinner and well before spitting rain began to fall, we all enjoyed a campfire together and a few drinks. Good company!
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Day 11. EARLY SQUIRREL GETS THE NUTS.

Not kidding I woke at 5:38am.

A damp and humid morning. Had the opportunity to put some fresh pants on. Unusual I skipped a good breakfast, slipping away with only a coffee and granola bar, the feeling of it was genuinely gross and rushed. While shooting some video this early squirrel did get some nuts. Before any others would be seen or heard I’d already boated five decent specks, some of okay size.

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After returning to camp for a proper breakfast around 1000am, back on the water I’d notice Gord Ellis out and about in his nice new Lund, the fellas I’d met in their white Pro-V were fishing and a couple other boats made it out too. All seemingly after specks, a rigger ball off Bambalam dropped my spoon and soon as it hit depth it got smashed. Marking plenty arcs high up, there was a real good vibe that lakers were on. Boy was that right! I’d go a quick 6 for 8 in a couple hours before even the video catches me retreating to smoother seas before a quick thunderstorm hit. Awhile later in the mid afternoon I’d drop again to pick up two more before rains rolled in around supper time.

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While not on lakers in the afternoon I tried a little for pike and specks. Picked up a speck but both species were slow, especially the pike which had completely shut down. Winds from the east the day was to turn it’s building S.E. to a strong N.E. and by tomorrow a 60 to 80K north to N.W. Big front coming I pulled back to camp to hunker down.

Enjoyed a real tasty sausage and rice supper under the shelter of my pop-up canopy. A bunny would join me, and the white Pro-V guys arrived back to their camp too. All planning to stay and see what tomorrow brings, that evening we had a great fire and plenty to drink, these lads were quite alright!

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Day 12. WOULD RATHER BE BOTHERED THAN BORED.

For the last and quite certainly weird time, I’d wake again at 38 past the hour, although later and after 0700am.

Having been heavy on the Tomatin evening before it was a slower two coffee ignition. Friends of the ProV lads had arrived late too, Anthie and his son Maccus. 25 knots swirling between N.E. to N.W. everyone agreed that out on the lake was no place to be this day, yet with the new company present and a nicer forecast tomorrow, Craig and Keith changed their minds about leaving. A down day when all could simply relax, chat, sort gear and boats, play show-and-tell, eat, snooze and booze, I’ll admit it was one of my favorite moments of the trip.

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Max and I would play with some Cherry Bombs which I’d been carrying around for years as a potential bear deterrent. The young fella was into fly fishing, Anthie told me Max is determined to try catching specks on the fly but didn’t have any flies left at all to try. Stowed away in Bambalam; compliments of my buddy Matty after a day shallow laker fishing one previous spring, were two streamers, one a rainbow smelt pattern and the other a perch, I believed those would be perfect! When giving them to Max I explained to him and his dad exactly where he needed to go stand on shore and swing that fly across some current. Max was excited to make it happen.
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Day 13. LE GRANDE FINALE.

The winds had completely died overnight. Having done little all previous day my motor was rested, primed and ready to go. Fully fed and first boat out of the gate at 0700am I toured out for some specks first thing.

Quiet lake to myself, no other boaters about it didn’t seem to help none. Over fishy waters I’d drop two specks after an hours effort before Anthie and Max would come rolling by. For a time our boats fished side-by-side but then curiosity got the better of me to move on. Besides, Max needed me to get out of his way so he could try his fly rod out.

Beginning a mid morning milk route the speck catches climbed.

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At one point I checked on laker activity only to find for every dozen arcs I’d be lucky to see, maybe one was not glued tight to the bottom. Didn’t try much more than a half hour trolling deeply through them. While out on the water this green Lund and it’s anglers appeared several times very close nearby. The occupants and especially driver would stare and stare to the point of discomfort. However, another boat on the water had been a welcome site a few times over. Keith and Craig in the Pro-V were having a great day on specks too, it was fun fishing alongside once or twice and watching them pop some specks. Thankfully they left a couple for me too.

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Come late afternoon I was expecting more company. Friends Pat, Shayne and Lori were scheduled to arrive and my guess was they’d be setting up camp for the week. Finding the crew I was surprised to see two boats on the lake and another angler with them. Adam had come along, another stand-up guy I’d met over the years. Landing onshore it was apparent this group was preparing for a nuclear war, their campsite and gear quite impressive. That was a good thing to do knowing a week of intermittently heavy winds and showers were ahead. Wished I’d know Adam was coming, he could have left his boat behind and jumped in with me for another week… But it was for the best I guess.

Had hoped to spend a couple days with this crew but after fifteen on the water and road I was feeling it. Had enough food still for about three days, but admittedly the energy was waning. 25 knot winds and 25mms of rain forecasted, I’d ultimately conclude that tomorrow would be a decent time to pack up all things dry in the morning and take to the road home. So, only quick hellos with the boys it’d be, then I stole Lori away for several hours to fish specks.

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The other fellas came up empty handed that evening. Once Lori worked out the initial kinks she was starting to hook-up, she just couldn’t get them to stay on. Funny for her, she had a couple boat side takers hit on a figure 8, that was cool to see. I’d pick up my rod about half the time while with Lori, the hope being she’d catch her first ever speck with me. Turned out the only other fish interested wanted my offering over hers, three would get caught but not to worry, Lori would do quite alright the coming days with Pat and find her first.

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A bowl of soup over fifteen hours the stomach was panging something fierce by the time I got back to camp. A solid day for specks at 12 for 15, the boat was actually 12 for 18 on the day. Lots of action! While digesting before bed, scotch in hand, camera rolling, a huge rush of warmth came over. Happiness is what it was, and a sense of accomplishment and content. This would be the longest trip to Nipigon ever taken, caught were plenty fish and, more importantly I had an amazing time with Stevie, Rob, Wilf, Keith, Craig, Anthie, Maccus and Lori along the way. I’d also greatly appreciate all my time alone simply being out there doing what I love to do… It’s OK to fish and travel on your own, unless you can’t stand your own company. My entire adult life has been a balancing act, a test, to find happiness through all times, with or without others, at home or away. Any moments fishing and in the outdoors tend to widen the path and make going forward easier.
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Next morning back at the truck, a young woman was walking across the parking lot alone, she looked familiar. “Alyssa,” I said on approach. “Andrew,” she replied, “I thought that might be you..?” A big hug for our first meeting, the two of us had followed each others fishing exploits for a number of years on FaceCrack. Quite a pleasant surprise before departing.

All things dry and neatly stowed on a final direction towards home, I’d once again hit the road.
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Thanks for reading… and here are the three links to the videos from this trip.
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SOLO ROADY PART 1. Prime Piggy Pike.
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SOLO ROADY PART 2. Lotta Laker Love.
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SOLO ROADY PART 3. Big Beauty Brookies.
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Bunk.