“If ever stranded on a deserted island you’ll need three things, food, shelter and a grip.”
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A ROAD TO RECOVERY.

Hey hey, my my, leaving the driveway 5:35am. A soggy and grey morning, the bed made up in the back of the truck, set out alone and surely some mixed feelings about that. What was supposed to be our annual couples trip, Bren, Amelie, StevieZ and me, postponed for Emma, postponed to another time, I was merely salvaging the dates and a trip.

A course was set for destination exhaustion, some thirteen days planned with several goals in mind. Hadn’t set out on a full solo trip since 2021. A part of me felt unsettled for going without the others, since learning of Stevie and Am’s troubles amongst some other things going on in life. The spring had honestly been a roller coaster of trivial ups and downs, certainly nothing compared to what my friends were now dealing with. How could I enjoy myself on this trip? But how can I just continue to sit at home and dwell on shit, idling and numb? Though what if this looming funk did grow heavier within the Bunk? Being alone, in monk mode, something I’m used to, something sometimes actually needed.

So, as said I made plans, came up with some goals. Number #1 – Explore! A light load in the boat, no others to worry and schedule for and extra fuel I figured this could be a great opportunity for new adventure. Find some new fishing spots, see some new places on the lake and take on any big challenges, a YOLO kinda mind man! Number #2 – Visit! Some friends I hadn’t seen and spent much time with in recent years, some I wonder about often, now was this good chance to reconnect. Finally number #3 – Grand slam it! With so many days to fish I sure as shit oughtta strive for a win. Big brookie, laker, pike and walleye in whatever order they wanna come and, like in Solo Roady’s past. Push myself, test the mettle and as said, to destination exhaustion!

The boat balanced precise on the trailer, tires equal pressure, coffee hot, diesel topped up and two full coolers packed with frozen meals, when pulling out of Antrim onto the highway north Ram Jam’s Black Betty came on CHEZ. That tune alone cleared some darker clouds, my truck being Black Betty and boat Bambalam, it was sort of like fate eh..?

The long drive up a Locomotive Breath, “no it wouldn’t slow down.” Made great time, the roads real light for traffic. I always admire northern homes along the 11 too, mostly little houses, big garages, just the way it should be. Reaching Hearst around supper I scarfed a quick McDicks burg before hitting the Esso for the big fuel fill. Eleven 5 gallon gericans for the boat, the boat itself, a diesel geri reserve and the truck. The boat and boat geris alone hit $650…

Next stop was Hearst Air Service base and a visit with the always lovely Melanie Veilleux. How it’d been six years I dunno, pass by there often enough. For close to two hours we sat in her office early evening and caught up on fishing, the Sutton and Attawapiskat Rivers, business and family life. She’s an exceptional person in a tough industry, one which our current Government is Hell bent and determined to destroy. Kindly she took a dozen copies of my Sutton River Guide Book which she had wisely planned on how best to sell.

About 7:30pm by the time I left Mel, turning back onto the highway west the truck was just getting to warp speed when the first rains hit the windshield but, thing of that was, it wasn’t rain at all. Suddenly, after driving twelve hours the bugs were found. Fuck the black spruce lowlands are terrible for ‘em, I mean, it was gross how thick the gut splatter got before actual rains started falling beyond Longlac. So happy those skies fell to clean the truck up some.

The final stretch with Road 801 into Onaman River Resort can be a bit of a bumpy one, and it was. The route hadn’t seen a grater in awhile but best practice on a logging road is to take your time anyways. Forty-five kilometers to cover, Black Betty with Bambalam crawled along averaging 25km/hr and so slow that two black bears barely bothered to get out the way when passing by. Spitting rain was good to keep the dust down, now and again I stopped to stretch and shift cargo into different spots so that once arriving at the Resort there’d be no opening and closing of truck doors to wake campers and cottagers in the late hours. About 12:30am I finally made it, 19 hours on the road. Eyes bloodshot and half closed already, it was easy to just roll into the cab bed, pull the sleeping bag over and die.
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DORE

“But did you die?” Naaah, just eight hours in a deep coma and woken by a most urgent need to rock a piss. Turned on the In Reach to see what my Bubbaloo back home had to say about the day.

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Wind.
Morning: 20 knot north gusting to 30 knots / Afternoon: 15 knots north gusting to 36 knots / Evening: 10 knots north gusting to 35 knots diminishing to 27, and rain.

For those unfamiliar with knots… those are knot overly nice winds. Those are knot cross the lake with a fully loaded boat kinda winds cause those out of the north across the big fetches are potentially six to eight foot waves. Those may as well be small craft advisory winds for the mornings sustained 20, and it was probably advised but my wife was just getting used to the “code” system and left that part out. Knowing it was coming beforehand, the day had already been scheduled for visiting with Rob and his dad Wilf while taking sweet time readying the boat.

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Ole Wilf was right where I’d left him last winter, in his cabin on the couch chillin’ like Bob Dylan. Morning coffee he expresso’d that the entire resort was full. All cabins rented, almost all campsites taken, he and Rob were keeping themselves busy running the show. Good crowd in for the week too… but ya wouldn’t expect anything less. Needy, greedy wiener types don’t usually get second trips back to Onaman, unless booked well out of prime time. June is a month Rob could sell three times over, plenty meat hunters just can’t get enough of all the easy pickin’ eyes and pike.

Found Rob in the garage assembling a new wood splitter, Wilf too came in for some work on his quad. It was pleasing seeing my old friend looking back to his former self. The Covid years, life, relationships, the passing of his best companion Loki, a lot had seemingly taken its toll last we’d met. The Rob I know and admire is tough as nails, and can seem awfully hard at times, both often grow into a man through similar experiences. At the core of Rob though, a genuine, generous heart and a driven soul, we find good peace and comfort sharing stories.

The blackflies were beyond belief. $@!(#%*)((*$%@_*%@_(*@#)&$@#$ BAD!!! Skitters I can take unless I’m trying to sleep and they’re on my face, blackflies are a breed of life born right out of Satan’s bowels. Hate them! HATE’M!!! An exceptionally bad year some were saying too.

So I lathered on deet dope balls and alls and puttered away in some shade attending to this and that with the boat. Got it all primped and pretty for a maiden voyage just out on the river. Needed to test the 6HP Suzuki kicker and make sure she’d run, it hadn’t seen any action since year before.

A narrow river running east west the Onaman this day was conveniently settled from the big north blows. Launching the river temps were a cooler 59.2C. Parked at an empty dock, most boats were out walleye fishing further downstream or the anglers just spending afternoon hours sucking Budweisers.

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The kicker puts Bambalam on tilt a bit, pulls the tiller handle left and strains the shoulder if the the rest of the payload doesn’t balance it out right. Once that was sorted I sped downriver awhile to the Yamaha’s quiet purr of purrfection!

Stopped to fish nearing the lake. A half dozen other boats in the area it seemed like a no-brainer. Mounted the LiveScope, pegged the passenger seat up on the deck, it was time to play video games with the walleyes. Gotta say, it’s fun! Other boats were catching the odd fish, trolling, blind casting, jigging, and some actually looking rather miserably bored. Not me! On the screen were blobs and those blobs equaled happiness should I cast right onto their heads. First fish of the trip, a snotter pike. After that, the walleye started playing. Some dickheads twice trolled forty feet off the bow right in the obvious casting lane; staring me down hard with their retoided faces but, other than that all was good in the world. Stayed for a couple hours caught near a dozen and the nice ones were quite nice. A 28.5-inch beauty, another 25-26ish inch fish and some more down into the eater ranges.

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Back at the dock I was just tying the boat when a couple Quebecers in a green Lund pulled up. They gawked my way a minute or two before one found his noix to say, “yer going to have to move yer boat.” The dock; both docks, were entirely taken, there had to be ten boats tied up, two of them actually doubled-up. French horns again quick, “my rope is der.” I turned to them, “NOBODY CAN CLAIM THE FUCKING DOCK!” “That’s not what we were told,” Kermit Lund replies. So I says, “no one told you any different. Putting ropes here doesn’t mean shit. I’m taking out anyways and you’re gonna have to wait.” A half dozen other people hanging around said nothing, they just watched, although one Wisconsonian gave an approving nod. Part of me just wanted to leave the boat there to show ‘em but it was needed on the trailer to load it for next morning departure. Walking up the hill to the parking area Wilf bumped into me but seemingly made a quick exit given the mood he found. Rob too, let him know and all he said was, nobody can claim parking on the dock. First come first serve and tie double to another boat if you’re buddy’d up. Quebecers are annoying enough all muskie fishing season back home near the border, it’d be nice if they were banned from Ontario like they seemingly try to exclude Anglos from their stinky curd-fart turf. A calm mind is the ultimate weapon against my challenges, I must relax.

Absolutely obliterated two big rancho chicken wraps come supper and spent the evening chatting it up with Rob and his sidekick Jason. We did speak a short while about some past guests that were real hard to deal with. One charter he told me about was so terrible, how he didn’t throw the guy overboard is beyond me. And this other time, Rob just happened upon a guest in the parking lot carrying a pail of his 10W 30 synthetic oil he’d saved and stashed away deep in the garage. The guest, well he snooped in there, helped himself, to take and steal 3/4’s of the oil in that pail and dump it into whatever it was he had. Rob told me, he took the pail from the thief’s hand, told him in future he’d be the wiser to ask and, asked how’d he appreciate it if someone showed up at his home, walked into his garage and took his things? Rob went further to let him know there’d be $750 added to his bill come end of the week. The guest barked right away, “$750! Back home (in the U.S.) that pail would be worth $250, 300 tops! I ain’t paying that!” Rob explained this isn’t the U.S., it cost him $800, special order, and he had to pick it up in Thunder Bay a five hour round trip drive to get it. Not only that, if the dude didn’t pay cash for what he stole, Rob was calling the police. The guy made threats, paid in the end, but of course swore up and down to give shitty reviews of Rob and the resort and never come back. Rob was fine with the never coming back part.

Don’t know if I could do it. Hell, at work the good foot always goes forward and the things I see and deal with can certainly amaze, it’s just that, in places like Onaman, a drive-to fishing paradise that is so reasonably priced, off grid and exceptional for its fishing, one would never think that people going there would be so fucking incredibly stupid! Arseholes really. It’s no wonder Rob over the years has become more and more careful of the clientele he brings into the resort. Again, overall the group in this week he was happy with, but I still don’t like the green Lund guys. Haha!

There are spots out on that lake I will never know. We talked long about the lake and life. Rob started fishing Nipigon when he was nine years old, he and Wilf have spent their lives exploring it. Never have I expected a thing from him in that regard though. Sure, there are spots and tactics he has shared of his own free will yet Nipigon is the kind of special place that even if some great fishing exists on this spot or that, I’m always drawn to keep searching for something new anyways. I’d almost rather catch a fish or two off every mystery shoreline, hump, point or whatever, than just sit in one place and pound the same fish over-and-over. Different strokes right!?! The thermometer dipping to 2C overnight the search was going to start cold and early with calm seas expected all day. That’s where I need to be… “calm.”
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ADVENTURE OVER LOAD.

It was a frigid morning, rather nice! Packing the boat with a touque and gloves on but no sweat and flies, that was just the right start. Leaving the dock another group of anglers of was up and at it early too. Recognized one fella but couldn’t remember the name. In-Depth Outdoors. Beautiful big Warrior boat with a little 400 Merc to push it along. I waved them ahead of me and one of ‘em calls back, “looks like you’re in for an adventure.” He wasn’t kidding, the Lund was fully loaded to the tits and the sun just coming up.

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Nipigon glass I rode out free and easy. Up on plane I crossed the lake heading for camp, slowed down here and there for some pics and intel. No breakfast yet, not until reaching destination and getting setting up. Felt like I had the world to myself even though a couple other boats were passed by along the way.

Took a short break just to check in the In Reach. Didn’t need to on this day but did it anyway.

M10N21G / A21->17G / E10S14->8G. So what does that tell ya?

Beautiful area to boat and fish I’d glide on by one of the lakes natural monuments. Deep water, deeper walls and no one around.

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Late morning camp and breakfast had come together easy peezy. Doing this work alone, quietly and carrying the entire load and set-up on myself, I missed the gang. Bren is always a great help with the tent and sleeping arrangements while I usually tend to the kitchen and boat. Hadn’t thought that much about them all since before Hearst on the drive up, just too much going on to get to this point. Now that I was way out there and solo I did wish for their company. The little camp I had though, well it seemed just right and cozy for me and my things. Loneliness being a sign you are in desperate need of yourself, I had to get fishing.

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Some fifty miles from the launch I started out specking. This spring a friend had gifted me a rather large strip of polar bear hair scraps and before running out of tying thread I’d managed to make up only three with that special fur.

May 11th on my Facebook I’d post… “Saturday Nite Nerdin’ Out! Garage tying, cool air, the odd shower and mozzie… Was excited to work with a new material. Thanks Amon for the polar bear hair. It’s so translucent white it’s actually clear, and in the sunlight reflects a pearl iridescence. The guard hairs are a bit coarse, hollow, tubular and trap air, making them buoyant. A light coating of odourless oil repels water, this hair is hydrophobic, waterproof. With such interesting qualities as these, I’m just left geekemplating if the fish will see the attraction?? Surely let the FB world know if I catch any big bangers with me polar hairjigs!”

And so letting the world now know, fishing some all new waters my polar hairjigs caught five nice specks that early afternoon. They do work fantastic for fish.

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Mid afternoon, having cooked a hearty bowl of seafood chowder under calm blue skies and catching a short nap, I spent some hours poking around different fishy spots in search of pike. By evening I was finally rolling into some good stuff but at first the fish didn’t seem home.

Finally I’d spot this one pike about maybe 44-inches or so slowly cruising on the warm surface waters. It was coming towards me and ended up so close I had to only half pitch the lure out. My offering coming up beside it, I watched the head turn and smash the bait, but it came off. Not swimming away that pike hovered nearby the boat, almost looking for what it’d just bit. Sure enough, another short pitch not ten feet and this time the pike followed it right to boatside where I turned the lure into a slow figure-8 like one would do when muskie fishing. The pike creamed it again!

While the fish was fighting I was awkwardly trying to set up some cameras I didn’t already have positioned for pictures. Hope was to get a shot of this first pike of the day, it was a good one, looked a bit skinny and beat up from the spawn but had decent length. Sadly, during the multi-task the fish managed to spit the lure and made an escape. Not the end of the world at all.

No more fish to be found for another 15-20 minutes or so, moving along, eventually a couple smaller mid 30-inch fish rushed the lure but I pulled away before any could take it. Just don’t care for dealing with pike that size if I don’t have to, not what I’m after either. But as the boat approached closer to this shallow, protected really fishy looking pocket finally my cast was met with a real UMPH! A train came loose off the tracks smashing and crashing its way to the boat. Natural disasters all over the place I had to go full papparazzi once this wreck was finally on scene. Big momma actually shit a full cow-pattie onto the mats too… (pike tip – always lay mats rubber side up over the carpet of your boat when fishing poopy or slimey fish)

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Over the next hour and half I’d first briefly chill out and enjoy a snack of cheese and crackers with some fine summer sausage, then get busy pounding out five more pike over 40-inches plus a couple dozen unders.

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Had purchased some rather expensive 4.5″ Doctor Spoons made by Yellowbird Fishing Products last fall. Over $20, closer to $25, some dudes online rave about these things for pike. Well, I was the least impressed I have ever been with any spoon I’ve ever bought. Yes, a very first time ever using one I caught three fish, the first of those fish 46+ inches but, after that by the third fish and within 20 minutes the lures paint was half gone. Gimmicky, hyped and over-priced garbage I feel like they should give me my money back!

After just one fish.

After only thee fish, 15-20 minutes or so, and done!

After the trip I would contact Yellow Bird Fishing Products through Facebook. I sent these two pictures and mentioned my disappointment. The owner Rick responded, “How would you like to handle this issue? You are the first one to bring this to our attention, we apologize for the inconvenience and can either send you a replacement in any color/finish or your money back? Good fishing” Eventually answered that a replacement would be fine, I’d give ’em another chance. No lure ever arrived.

That first beauty caught would be the biggest at 47.5-inches, she was a “Brick House,” real mighty mighty and just letting it all hang out. And now I’ve caught a good many longer but that girl surely had the curves I admire. The rest of the fishing got pretty sexy too though, one after another, a chaotic orgy! Sweating up a storm in the evening sun and heat, the fish stacked and smashing every cast had me panting. Some hot action with some pretty ones. I boated away fulfilled and my adventure load spent. Knowing there were a number of ladies which still hadn’t been pricked, figured too there’d be plenty more good fun to return to later.

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Returned to camp to charge the boat, wash up, collect wood, make dinner, make the bed, all before enjoying a gin while cooking then later a scotch by the fire.

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CALCULATING ESCAPE.

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Woke real early and really stiff with a headache and thought for fast-acting relief I should try slowing down. Laid in bed awhile longer…

The morning report read windy AF today and rain coming in this evening. Best thought for that is just head off into it for easier travel back.

Upon reaching camp the evening before the Yamaha bobbled but a second. Acted like it sucked a little air or something, I squeezed the primer once to push fuel through and the boat had no more issues the next 20 minutes or so to reach shore. Admittedly things like this had happened before, a couple years go some hoses were changed out because of it. I’d learned to deal with it. When you’re as far out on Nipigon as I was though, alone, no cell reception, weather coming in, second day on the water of eleven, it does raise some concern. Have had a lot of worries in my life, most of which never happened, but that doesn’t excuse from being better prepared for things. So prior to leaving I stashed an extra tarp in the boat, an extra gerican of fuel, all rain gear and more snacks.

Pointed towards specks I was out about fifteen miles or so and in some building 2 to 3 foot waves when the engine started acting up again. Guess I manifested that shit! This time I was pushing fuel through but the Yamaha was not happy about it, the motor at higher rpms kept gasping and coughing. Closer to the lee side of a fishy shoreline than camp I chose to keep going forward. Figured once there I’d be protected, could fish awhile off the Suzuki and maybe too the Yamaha would have time to sort itself out.

The next couple hours five more specks came aboard. Not as big as the ones day before, it was still nice to have some action, all on the polar hair jig.

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By the time that calm water fishing run was done, I could more easily see that further out in the blue zone the waves were white-capping everywhere. Not quite noon it was only forecasted to get worse. I plotted a route towards camp about twenty-five miles away, that could better keep me out of the open fetches. Up to the Yammy to behave, I was growing nauseated about it all though, just feeling for the worst. Trouble and trouble-shooting had probably been on my mind most of the morning.

A short run of about ten minutes on plane and the main choked and stalled out. Didn’t even give a little warning so I could prime fuel to push the hiccup past. I’d crossed to some safer shores a short while but was now just beginning the biggest of exposed crossings to get back. Rogues were maybe only four feet and not too bad rolling to the transom. They were pushy a little. When the motor was running it certainly didn’t like the chop or climbing the backsides of waves, both those made the problems worse. It took a bit but Bambalam did boat on past the tough stuff and into more settled waters. Problem now was, I still had a long way to go and two motors that would only take me there slow. The next three hours I nursed the Yammy every minute along, until finally it would only start, sputter and stall so, the kicker had to go it the rest of the way. At 4.8mph for the last hour and change, on a lee side and through a cross-wind, the Suzuki did for me exactly what I’d hoped it wouldn’t have to when I bought it, save my ass!

It is said if things go wrong, don’t go with them… much to my own disbelief, I didn’t! Couldn’t be angry, couldn’t curse about it, in truth there was some relief that this trouble was happening to just me and me alone. The morning was spent thinking am I or am I not fucked for this trip? Now there was an answer. Thankfully it would be nobody else’s trips for concern. And it was out in the exposed stuff, under-powered, stalling and shit when I might have been the most collected. Like in the E.R. nursing with my job, will tend to lose my shit over stupid little annoying things but when someone’s life is in peril and it’s my job to act, or maybe an expectant mother is ready to push, I tend to find myself falling into a more collected focus. That’s kinda where I went the first while with this trouble in the bigger waves… to a place of calm, cool and collected. Focused. I’m out there with an important and more emergent job to do and I am prepared. FFS I should be getting paid for it though.

Rob told me a few years back, “Bunk, don’t be out there without a back-up motor.” Of course he was right, and I listened. Back at the camp around dinner it wasn’t much for a fishing day, the winds were now howling too. Tired I crawled into the tent awhile and sent out some messages on the In Reach.

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Puttered around…

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Stevie was added to the conversations. Hated to bother him but he was only one of three who kinda knew where I was and it’s his InReach. The Windfinder, Windy.com and Weather Network forecasts are OK but often underestimate winds in kph for this lake, the Environment Canada Marine forecast is historically the best. It used to be broadcasted on radio channel 3 but they stopped this a few years ago. I’d only learn on this trip later on that the channel was back to it again.

I adjusted boat speed down to 3mph as the Suzuki pulls 5.2mph at best without heavy load. Calculating my escape, distance, speed, possibility for headwinds, storms, waves, stops, misery, etc., I wanted to ensure ample time to cross the lake. Optimal safe weather was goal #1. It was Tuesday evening, Stevie felt Friday was the safest bet… Bren then chimed in with the ECAN marine update.

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Parts of the other days didn’t look too bad, although she too felt Friday was best for calm weather. The “road to recovery” starting out on this trip took on a whole new meaning this day. The forecasts from both Steve and Bren seemed a little mixed, my mind was made up to only consider the worst report as the report and if stuck too long then the ECAN marine was the one.

Not all that hungry a late curry dinner wasn’t so satisfying and there’d be no nightcap. Wondering, over-thinking but not worring, and yet in the sleeping bag I tossed and turned, waking up sweat soaked, the winds howling and rain hammering on the tent walls.
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A SLOW BURN DOUBLE RAINBOW DAY.

Woke 515am dry, stiff, burnt out and head still spinning. The crap sleep I was still wanting to be prepared in case a weather forecast came in early that gave hope for quick escape. Part of me hoped not though, a day of rest, best preparation and a chance to try and trouble shoot the main would be better than rushing out. Windows to look at and look through, Bren sent me the gloomy doomy view.

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All that shhhtuff read whatever until the end… MAETS! Morning, afternoon, evening thunderstorms. Stevie followed up with a text that basically said south winds all day gusting to 35kph. No rush to get going, floating in the middle of Nipigon, under-powered, who knows if possibly broke down, with a chance of storms in and out all day and a strong crosswind… concluded to stay stranded in camp.

I stared at the ground and stared at the sky,
wandered about asking why God ohhh why?
Sat down over here then sat over there,
puttered about round the place in just underwear.
Chewed each bite of my breakfast 17 times
not finishing the meal in any record time.
And the trees they would sway to and then fro,
while from my lounge chair I watched some lake water flow.
Plenty of time for inspecting the boat,
checked the motor, its hoses and cleaned some shit out.
And lonely I wished that I could just hit the road
so the Nipigon provided me, some company of toads.

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I could deduce that the primer bulb would not hold pressure. There was either an air leak somewhere or maybe the fuel pump the issue? I took the boat out to see what would happen after I’d wiggled this and that with the fuel lines. Wasn’t up on plane longer than 3 or 4 minutes when it crapped out. Back to camp!

Guts were bad. A chili lunch followed up by a coffee and a bag of black licorice, probably kinda dumb? More ants arrived in the sun and so did some ankle biting flies that Wilf tells me were “introduced” to the area years ago to help try and stop the spread of one thing but, turns out are just a nuisance themselves too. They bite for blood so you gotta dawn extra thick socks to pull up high just to have a chance.

Two bees got in the kitchen. Along with all the ankle biter deer-like-flies in there I burned a PIC but they all seemed to like that poison even more. So bored I cleaned up and shaved then took an hours nap after burning a little garbage fire. Those toads were a nice couple who hopped on by.

The whole day didn’t seem to have much wind, mostly the morning, but I knew from the skies grumbling a half dozen close storms had passed through by early evening. Stable enough for a time, I launched the boat and using the kicker and electric fiddled around the area checking some pikey looking waters. Low and behold, I actually found one!

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Again at camp I was randomly shooting pics of the beautiful sky when my phone pinged! Reception??? Now??? Old highschool buddy was in my neighborhood back home and was going to stop by, don’t know when, I just got the message now. Work was trying to get a hold of me too… wondering about computer access stuff for an upcoming contract I hadn’t even yet seen an offer for. I tried sending out hellos to Bren and Steve but nothing went.

Made a fire just after an InReach forecast came in from Steve. Weather was to be calm overnight, winds not picking up again ti’ll tomorrow afternoon and even that, they looked to be lighter tail winds. Good chance of showers it didn’t look to really pour down at all. My stuff in camp was pretty dry and had managed to just miss a thunderstorm. Despite the time getting on and being thoroughly entertained by the sky and weather, it was decided to start breaking down some of camp. A quicker the exit come morning, the more time on glassy calm seas for getting back. What an evening to be scrambling about doing those chores though, with such a great fire and forest scene distracting.

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FUEL PUMPING.

After a sound four and a half hours sleep I was up in the earliest light at 415am and packing the rest of camp. It was cool outside and had I not been eager for this the bugs out later on might have torn me to shreds. When the boat was just about fully stuffed, that’s when some rain started. Lots to carry there is no light load when I go camping, and doing it fast to get stowed away dry before the rain, it is work!

The sun did rise quite nice though, calm water with some unsettled nerve. Leaving it how I found it, Bambalam pushed offshore on the main and we were on our way. For exactly 32 minutes and 3.8 miles running the Yammy at 2000rpms there wasn’t a glitch… until, there was the first.

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I was averaging a speed of 6.5 to 7mph with the main. The sweet spot seemed to be 1950 rpms, stepping over that the engine was sure to trouble. The further I went along the more it began to act up, it was reaching a point that every three minutes, then two, then one I had to squeeze the primer bulb to feed fuel to the engine. Again, the primer would never stay filled. Now and again without warning the motor would just quit, happened half a dozen times in the first half of the leg, half a dozen more ti’ll the end. That said, had it not been for the fact I had a tiller, which I could steer, throttle and when need be reach the primer and squeeze it fuel, the motor would have surely just conked out a hundred times or more for those in a consoled boat. Reached the point I was literally saving it from stalling by the minute, and it was a long, long way back at that slow speed.

Hours passed. There was no more 1 & 2 & 3 & squeeze, it was just pump, pump, pump, pump until finally the Yammy just quit taking it anymore. Rain had set in. There was a wind picking up out of the north but the good thing was, on the Yamaha power I had just made it across the Hogs Trough and was north shore protected heading into Humboldt Bay. It was reaching there I dropped the Suzuki down and limped in on it. The speed decreased from 7 to 5mph but I was impressed that the weee 6HP didn’t lose any guts with the full load. Prop on that kicker is pitched more for working, a goody!

More hours went by and so did another bag of black licorice. In Humboldt there were other boats out fishing lakers now, it was only a matter of slow and steady time, safety was no longer an issue. Suppose I could have even trolled for lakers too.

But it was such a haul and I was quite tired of it. Relieved, growing happier but tired. The six mile Onaman River stretch took over an hour with the Yamaha back in the game. In Humboldt a half dozen boats passed me by, most thinking nothing of it, just Jason from Muskoka was good enough to stop and check if things were OK… I was almost back anyways… just keep squeezing, just keep squeezing.

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Later on back at the resort Rob checked the motor and felt 100% I’d just blown the diaphragm in the fuel pump. An extra hose and tank attached direct to the fuel filter, you could hear fuel back-washing out of the pump when squeezing that primer. It wouldn’t hold pressure either. No fuel leaked out around the engine though. Replace that diaphragm or replace the entire thing there’s nothing wrong with the engine, just the pump. Easy fix! Well, not so easy out there without the part, the boat was headed for home but just a question of when.

Wilf and his pet Cinnamon made an appearance to welcome me back. “Stick around here, visit, no rush.” In part he was right, I wasn’t even half way into the vacation days yet. But defeated and just wanting to get the motor home and fixed ASAP, that was the burning desire. Told my old friend and Cinnamon I’d stick around tomorrow then leave early the day after.

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I’d have a late night visiting with Rob and Jason, then in camp with the In-Depth Outdoors guys. James Holst, that was his name! Another angler out there almost as addicted to it as me… but with a much nicer boat. Oilers as it turned out were down three games now too. Just having the company again was energizing for a time, but being it such a long and tough day, Rob and Wilf offered up an empty back lot trailer with some beds and in there I crashed so beautifully hard into one helluva long sleep.
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CHEERS TO GETTING OLD WITH OLD FRIENDS!

It was some incredibly cozy in the dark, quiet. After waking up and stepping out for air I saw James and his posse preparing to head out fishing. Strolling over to offer some advice for this glorious day that was shaping up, the fellas had their entire camp packed up and confessed to plans for heading for home. Maybe next year then? They would all admit they enjoyed their first stay at Onaman Resort, for some years this gang used to stay down the road at Pasha Lake Cabins instead. No question Onaman is better, there’s no driving 40 kilometers on a logging road to the launch here or, 60 down the highway to pay for a launch elsewhere. Did over-hear them asking if Rob had cabins for same week next year but, as he always has, the guests this year get first option to rebook for same week next season. Groups holding a coveted spot anytime in June for a cabin aren’t quick to give that up.

Had coffee with Wilf then a short visit with Rob before heading back to the trailer. Spent much of the morning ti’ll well after the noon hour editing photos on the laptop. Packaged up the remainder of the pre-made stews and chili to offer to my hosts as well. It was a great, sunny, cooler day that was awesome to keep the bugs at bay.

Around 4:00pm I decided to go fish the rapids just down the hill on resort property. Walleye stack up there and around the corner right in front of docks too. It can get real good, a full day of it at the right time, you could maybe catch a hundred fish between those two spots and two other spots upriver. Good option on the days the main lake is a blow or you want only a bit of fishing. I remember this particular spot with StevieZ the first time, he got a banger eye here too.

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Between catching fish, photographing fish, gutting fish, stashing fish and getting back to fishing, under the hot afternoon sun I was on fire. In about an hour probably caught and released a dozen and half fish and limited out for a supper with Rob and Jay in the first six casts. A nice long eye about 25 maybe 26-inches was the big one and, there were some others 20 to 24.

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Finished up fileting everything in the fish station, dropped the meat off in Rob’s fridge, hit the shower then poked over to see Wilf for an early nightcap for him, an appetizer for me. Wilf shared some of his earlier memories, favorite areas on the lake where he used to camp. Places on Nipigon that even if the fishing wasn’t the best, the surroundings for him were. Said goodbye then because I knew come morning Black Betty would be pulling outta here early.

Over to Rob’s the fish and chips were top notch as always. I began to feel lucky in a sense that things happened this trip the way they did. Since arriving back at the resort I’d been quite enjoying visiting with folks and just taking some time to relax. Rob and Wilf to me are good company I’m grateful to see at all. They’re always kind to take care, cheers to them both.
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RED DIRT ROAD.

Morning came way too fast. The trailer was still dark when waking up, the sun nowhere to be found. 430am in lantern light I flipped on the Coleman stove to toast a bagel and boil some water for coffee. While waiting on that, the bedding got packed up and a few bins and bags made it out the door to the truck. An hour later I crept quietly out the drive and onto the 801.

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Java to go, the road damp and recently grated the 45kms to the highway was clocked a little shorter than the way in. Stopped now and again to take pictures of the sun coming up too, another beautiful day it would have sure been nice to be on the lake but, if I pushed the drive hard enough I could make it home in 15 hours, just in time to watch the puck drop for game 4. “Destination exhaustion” once again I rolled in the driveway with ten minutes to spare.

Nipigon is always a test of your best and this one challenging and unplanned Solo Roady will never, ever be forgotten.
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Emma you are loved so very much. Get well soon.
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Thanks for reading if ya did!
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Bunk