Surely it was a visit long overdue, but as I walked up to my old buddy Pat sitting there at the restaurant table with his daughters and he stood for a big ole man hug, all feelings of lost time and missed opportunities were put at ease. It was only “like yesterday,” we both said at one point, despite four or five some years having passed since we last saw one another.

That’s the way it is in life! How she goes I guess!? Some friends it wouldn’t take half the time to grow enough apart, while others it could be double and some yet never feel more than a day. Sarah with us, Parker and Hunter too, I was amazed most by how much the girls had grown. That’s where parents see time fly by fastest, in our children, in their growth and maturing personalities. Pat and I were still basically just the same-old-same-old punk-rockers we’ve always been..

I ordered the shrimp tacos and was glad for it!! Scrumptious. Flying Ottawa to Toronto to Minneapolis then into International Falls the flights took most of the day. Back into Canada via Sarah in her new, big truck, a little fishing adventure would begin with Pat at home before others would arrive and we embark to somewhere else.

At Pat and Sarah’s Rancho Relaxo we had a little whiskey, I met his pack of wolves, we howled a little with one another when finally it was time to call it a day.
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Day 1. TOP SECRET

It’s top secret so I can’t say anymore about it!!!
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Okay, okay!

Woke to an incredible northwestern Ontario March morning. Think they were calling for some awesome daytime high comfortably into the pluseses. After Patty kindly whipped us up a hearty B&E breakfast we set off with his two snowmobiles in tow and trailered some half hour away to yes, a top secret lake access point.

It was around 10:30am by the time we throttled on the sleds. Pat had said the ride would be about an hour but he outright lied, it was two, and I honestly couldn’t have given a single fuck about it. Riding through the trails, skipping across these amazing lakes, some uninhabited, some not, the rolling shield landscapes, the comfortable weather and honestly just being able to enjoy a tour on a skidoo that isn’t my Bravo, it was heavenly. Pat’s big Venture rides so smooth it was like getting a massage.

Crossing Top Secret Lake, though a trail to then pass by Top Secret Lake, over a hill and across Top Secret Lake, through a narrows and into and beyond Top Secret Lake our whereabouts just seemed to get more and more well, Top Secret as we went. But there’s a reason for this… because where Pat was taking us was totally Top Secret. Why, because it has huge lake trout there. He and some buddy’s proved that a time or two before. Lucky fellas!

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When we arrived there wasn’t a breath of wind, the sun was beaming and the lake looked like paradise to me. From the truck it did take about two hours to get that first line down but once we did Pat had an immediate hit and fish. Just minutes later I did too. Despite them not being any bigger than a pound at best, the bite was hot… so we thought..?

But hours passed quickly and the afternoon flew by. A couple more cigar lakers and a couple pepperettes since breakfast to tie me over, I was hungry, then not, then oddly not at all again for the day. Weird, cause Patty and anyone who knows me, knows I’m a bottomless pit. Maybe a little sunburnt and burnt out from the travel too, the last moments on the lake before deciding to head back I was feeling it! Thank goodness the return ride was faster, into the sunset and a great pick-me-up. Told Pat upon reaching the truck and trailer that I was nostalgic, in awe and somewhat jealous. Pat’s lucky to live in this part of Ontario, the lakes are endless, incredible and relatively untouched. And the snowmobiling, well it had been over a decade since doing any real riding like I once did on Big Red back in Moose Factory. That part of the day in my opinion was the unexpected reward.
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Day 2. SNOWMYGOD

Pat once lived down the road from me a short ways. Despite my incessant bitchin’ back then about assholes and injustices, he was always good to let me bend his ear before offering up an all too honest opinion. That’s what I like about him truly, there’s nothing fake! He’ll gut-punch my feelings if it’s necessary, but a friend he’s stood beside me too. We both share in some mood swings often enough as well, and I swear we’ll sometimes look at each other and probably think, this guy is just so fucked! But hey, we’re fucked together, and when it comes to fishing I have always been in awe at how we both so often will do and even think the total opposite, yet both get’er done catching fish. It’s awesome!! Have told Pat many times before that he’s just a natural angler with great instincts.

But Pat moved away, and for good reason. First to pursue some management work for a fishing outfit near Fort Frances, but shortly after relocating there the original, the first, the oldest lodge on Lake Of The Woods came up for sale just a few years back now, and he bought it. Patty made a dream come true, buying the lodge and beginning his new life. I’ll plug his business right-here-and-now, it’s Lake Of The Woods Lodge near Nestor Falls. Muskie, walleye, pike, bass, crappie, trout, you name it, Patty has access to it. Choose your plan, American, European, African, Mexican, Canadican, whatever-he-can he’ll do to make your stay there amazing. Here’s the link…

LAKE OF THE WOODS LODGE

Our plan this day was for me to see these new LOTW digs in the flesh, but unfortunately when we woke come morning mother nature had other ideas. Snowing sideways, drifting, getting deeper and deeper on the roads we figured on giving it a couple hours to see what might clear up. But, when it all began to lift around 10:00am we pulled the plug. The hour drive would be just Hell with the continual blowing snow across the highways, this even granted they were plowed.

All was not lost, we had much to do in preparation for phase two of the trip and being so we jumped in the truck and headed into Fort Frances. Groceries, booze, fuel and some odds and ends needed, it took four hours and some to get in, get out and dodge protesting teachers on the roads. In a sense Pat and I were both glad to get this work out of the way because leaving it for tomorrow when expected to head out eastward to Atikokan and meet the guys, well it all would have slowed us down considerably.

Back at Patty’s we had some great homemade turkey vegetable soup while the girls tested themselves online to find which house at Hogwarts they’d likely belong. Was an unexpected and easy kinda day just chilling. Parker Griffendor, Hunter Hufflepuff, Sarah Griffendor, Bunk a Ravenclaw.
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Day 3. NO SHELVES.

The blizzard of the day before was well past. Patty and I departed Fort Frances mid morning, making our way to Atikokan. An enjoyable drive, I got to see a little countryside and tour along what Pat tells me is one of if not the longest causeways on earth.

A stop at the Outdoorsman Restaurant in Atikokan we were treated to two fantastic meals before driving onward and upward on the 622 to Turtle River Provincial Park and more specifically, Brown’s Clearwater West Lodge. Although that cabin find didn’t come easy…

We arrived and everything was shut down at the resort. Yeah, some vehicles and trailers were parked about, a couple snowmobiles too, and the place had been plowed basically to the entrance but inside and on property there wasn’t a cabin shoveled out or a window not boarded up. Scratching our heads we had some slight inclination that our cabin was not here but instead somewhere out on the lake. Being the “west” cabin it stood to reason that was the direction to go. Unsure though, we backed out, drove up the road to double-check for any other entrance points to the lake and upon finding none we sought out cell reception. Once we had a signal and Pat dialed the Brown’s for more direction as to what to do next, the voice on the phone no sooner said hello when I went into a coughing fit. Hacking, choking and crying, the door of the truck opened up, I stumbled out and puked on the side of the road. Picked up that cough February 13th and it was damn near a month later and I still had it. Covid…? No.

Patty was told by Brown’s very little other than park where we had stopped earlier, load up your skidoos, go out on the lake, follow the markers left of the resort shoreline and we’ll find it. Wood should be there, propane too, and “have fun” she said!

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Offloading the sleds was a dirty affair. Everything was coated in filth. Without any cargo, Patty took a quick rip on the lake all the way to the cabin before returning. “Good to go!”

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We took in quite a load of gear and food. Being there first gave us the opportunity to get in a little extra work. Pat was able to pull the sleds up a hill basically to the door, saving us from carrying heavy items like the cooler, generator and food box up the hill and stairs. Inside the cabin was a homey. A red squirrel ducked in through a hole in the roof just before we entered and somewhere in the room something was continuing to chirp every ten to fifteen seconds or so. Pulling the fire alarm off the wall it already had no batteries but somehow in Pat’s hands it still chirped at us. Taking it outside and leaving it on the deck, we still heard the chirp. While Pat was on a final run back to get some more things at the truck I found the CO2 detector… yeah, popping the frozen Energizers fixed that noise.

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Like I said, homey!! Cabin would be just suitable for the five of us, probably a little more open in the summer when some things like all water, food boxes and some fishing gear could be left outside, cooler stuff put in the fridge too. Patty was in awe at how little shelf or cupboard space there was for anything. Bare walls that could be easily made to have more storage room. Around the woodstove and in the rooms too, very few wall pegs for hanging and drying clothes could be found. A few simple things really, but enough to add some extra comfort by getting things out of the way and into better places so you’re not tripping over ‘em. All-in-all though, I liked it! Decent stove as well. Although it could sleep ten it was too small for that crowd. Thought for four guys tops it’d be nice, five or six guys do-able.

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An hours sun left Pat and I weren’t sure if we should fish or what? I suggested we go out, check GPS spots of interest, pre-drill some holes, check depths and ultimately help prepare us ahead of time for the following day. Turned out a great idea.

First stop the GPS was spot on and despite there having been the recent snowstorm, there were faint traces of angler evidence before us. First hole drilled put us on top of a shoal that rose out of 70-80 feet and up to about 35. We found 48 off the hop and liked that. Next area was another shoal, this one rising out of 180 feet, stretching loooong and narrow for several hundred yards but topping out at 55 feet. First hole we punched depth was 110 but walking about 30 yards in the right direction we found 60. Good enough!! Next stop was easy, we found fresh tracks, fresh holes and good depths 40-80 feet on the backside of an island. Last stop was a guess, deep water that fingers into a rock garden flat between islands. The area had evidence of previous fishing so we counted that as a usable find too.

There was nothing left to do but head back to the cabin, throw a pizza in the oven, pound some spirits and wait for Adam and Shayne. Come 10:30pm we rode back to the parking lot and there the boys were waiting. Scott would join us in the morrow, for now we received the newcomers and their gear across to the cabin and settled in for a good night.
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Day 4. CLEARWATER.

It started well and right. Everyone spread out on the first spot we had found the evening before. I kept my distance a good ways because the old X67 just doesn’t play nice with other sonars. It’s idea of noise rejection is to decrease sensitivity automatically, all that shit does is leave ya blind when a bunch of units around you are interfering. Sadly, and take note, you cannot travel WestJet with a 120-watt hour lithium battery. Just up to 100 is all. So, my new Helix stayed home because I wasn’t about to bring two standard 12V’s for enough juice to power me through a day. That’d be ten pounds of battery to take on a flight too… when one lithium ion is 2.5 pounds and enough power for nearly twelve hours on a full-lit 7-inch screen. But enough about that!

There was a pause at first with all anglers. No fish came right away. It almost seemed to get guys antsy off the start, it did me. Jigging a Rippin’ Rap in 60 fow I was up high at about 35 when a mark came in lower at 50, turned angry red and shot up at my lure fast. I started the reel up and it inhaled Rap Hookset!!!

Good fighter, nothing too intense. When it got the hole Pat and Shayne were already standing over and commenting it was a fat one. The lure was wrapped up little in the line but there was no mistaking that hook was safely stuck in oral flesh. We made good quick work in landing, pictures, release and like that, we wuz on the board.

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That first laker helped all with their confidence in the spot and everyone returned to jigging away. Shayne switched to a Rap too, Patty held firm with a tube, Adam may have been on a spoon and after ripping that Rap a little more up high I decided to switch to a spoon for a little ground and pound.

Mixing the muck a short while later a big bar suddenly appeared over my lure and I felt a bump. Keeping to the rhythm I changed nothing and just kept hammering the bottom, that fish hovered a minute before bumping it hard a second time. Hookset!!

Having doubled up on line strength, rod, gear, reel size, leader, basically the whole nine, this was the big fish set-up which at first had me wondering if this fish was worthy. Then the fucker woke up I guess? It rained a flurry in a hurry on me, reel peel stealing line and suddenly much heavier on the bend than the first fish. Fighting it for a minute or two I was calling out to the guys that I was into a big fish, and for some stupid reason before any even began to come my way, I was reaching into my right pocket, hand off the reel and trying to dig the camera out before any might arrive. The rod just kept raising and raising until it was well over my head while standing and that’s when the tension got limp enough for the lure to spit out. Caught a lot of good fish on that set-up, big ones into mid 20 pounds too, and that laker lost was probably a low to mid teener. What a shitidiot!!!

Scotty arrived before lunch. Everyone in their places the bite got slow so it didn’t take long before sausages on a bun were served.

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After the meal we all toured to spot two. Patty missed one, the fishing was slow so he, Adam and Scott made haste for the island holes. Myself and Shayne remaining, I set up the Jaw-Jacker with a dead herring to lay on bottom. Took about twenty minutes maybe, and that fired. Nice, looking fish this number two, although it was an unremarkable fighter which entered the ring.

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Shayne and I returned to the first spot where he drilled some new holes. The 60 foot depth I’d been in earlier had fish continuing to pop in and out but none were overly keen on anything I had down. Except one fish, it popped the Jacker but wasn’t on when I got there.

Shayne on the other hand was doing well. He was admittedly over a school of bait on a sharper drop-off the shoal and he was hooking up now and again. In the span of a couple hours he managed to go 3 for 5 on fish up to four pounds, happy to be on a spot that was at least consistently producing something. Over at the island, the boys would later say they marked fish but none were caught. All things accounted for, a 5 for 9 day between Shayne and I… not really what we were expecting of the famous Clearwater Lake, a bit tough actually.
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Day 5. OTTER CASTLE.

Boys had intel on a hot lake that’d been fishing well this ice season. Spots marked on the map, trail in figured out, it was a bit of a run that was lotsa fun and we all had high hopes after breakfast this morning.

Arriving there the first spot screamed of fish. Patty and Scott seem to prefer steeper stone faces with a sharp drop into deep water, a good choice and they are locals that know. Myself I probably like a moderately sharp drop off a mid lake shoal or, the same drop coming off a flat that has some extra real estate for feeding fish. In these lakes you wouldn’t think it mattered though, so much of it looked fishy.

Pat’s first choice was the only choice that mattered this morning. I managed one small laker for our efforts but otherwise not another fish was caught by anyone. We tried four excellent looking areas, one that had already been fished recently, and I’m not sure if even one laker showed itself on anyone’s graphs at all. It was insanely tough fishing. We’re not dummies, we presented plenty lures and just couldn’t crack the code. So, after a shorelunch we left for White Otter Lake.

White Otter is incredible. Like Clearwater it calls out to you to be fished, but the differences are vast. White Otter is a maze while Clearwater is a bathtub, both lakes pull at you to fish so much of them. On White Otter is a special place as well. A castle can be found there. The fishing bite so slow we all agreed to explore it. Here’s the Wikipedia deets on this guy’s little shack in the woods…

White Otter Castle is an elaborate 3-storey log house built on the shore of White Otter Lake, about 35 kilometres (22 mi) south of Ignace, Ontario, Canada, by James Alexander “Jimmy” McOuat.

The Castle is a sturdy log house which stands 3 storeys tall (29 feet), with a turret extending up an additional floor (41 feet). The main part of the building measures 24 by 28 feet, while an attached kitchen area adds a further 14 by 20 feet to the floorplan.

McOuat built his castle single-handedly, beginning in 1903 when he was 51, and finally completing it in 1915. He felled and cut all of the red pine logs himself, and hoisted the finished, dovetailed beams (some of them weighing as much as 1600 lbs) into place by means of simple block and tackle.

James Alexander McOuat was born in Chatham, Argenteuil County, Lower Canada (Québec), on Jan 17, 1855. He was the youngest son of David McOuat and Christian McGibbon, both of whom were born in Scotland and emigrated to Lower Canada in the early part of the 19th century.

As a young boy, Jimmy threw a turnip at an elderly neighbour who cursed at him and said Ye’’ll amount to nothing and die in a shack. Years later, in his forties and farming near Rainy River, he invested all that he had in a gold mine on the Upper Manitou. He lost everything, including his land.

McOuat turned to trapping to earn a living and found himself on White Otter Lake, living in a rough trapper’s shack. He became obsessed with what the old man said to him. Visitors to the cabin who met McOuat often commented that he would say, What do you think of my home – you’d never call that a shack, would you?

McOuat is assumed to have drowned while netting fish in 1918. His body was discovered by forest rangers, tangled in his net, near a reed bed beside an island on the lake. The Rangers had come looking for him after reports he hadn’t been seen all winter. He likely drowned in late fall of 1918 and was found the following spring.

His grave is next to the Castle.

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Reads: Jimmy McQuat was a friendly, unassuming man that would have welcomed you to his home. He welcomes you still, as you explore his home try to imagine how he, a man of slight build, nearly 60 years old, managed so grand a task. Jimmy McQuat, age 63, drowned in October 1918, while netting fish in White Otter Lake. His grave lies next to his castle.

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Reads: “I put it up without any help whatever ” With skilled hands and simple tools he felled the pine, whipsawed the lumber and guided the huge logs into place. From the intricate detail of each dovetailed joint to the grand rise of the tower, Jimmy built his castle and his dream.

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A warm but windy day. Snowmobilers would pass us by several times. We set up off an island to try our luck on White Otter. The presence of many holes already there helped us eliminate what would otherwise be a big lake with plenty spots to consider. Scott saw a fish on the sonar, as did Shayne and I, but between five of us we still couldn’t catch a thing. Defeated, Adam, Scott and Pat moved off to try elsewhere while Shayne and I made our return to Clearwater.

On route back with Shayne on the big Venture I dipped the left ski just off the hard-pack trail and buried it into some deep snow. Fifteen minutes of digging, lifting and sweating our brows to balls off we finally got it back on track. What a shitidiot move Bunk!

Later that evening Pat made us a feast of chicken wings and pizza. The booze flowed, there was a tonne of talk about tunes and Shayne played a little guitar too. Tough, tough fishing.
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Day 6. CUM SHOT TO CREEK MOUTH.

Full moon day started cooler than the others with a nippy breeze too. Same blue skies, same high pressure we’d been in since the storm day back at Patty’s, with nothing changing weather wise I kinda sensed we were all like, whatever!

Plans to just stay on Clearwater the day and have a warm-up and lunch later at the cabin, Adam and Scott split off from Pat, Shayne and I first thing, and where we set up was on a new kinda hump, kinda big flat, that rose up to 50 feet from out of 220. It held promise for sure, and right off the start Patty and I both caught a couple whitefish that would end up part of a shorelunch later.

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But like that, in less time Pat would first grow tired of waiting and break off to the others, while Shayne and I often had a little more staying power to keep grinding. Neither choices often worked out at all.

So, looking at my GPS with some older hydrographic data and Shayne studying the Navionics on his phone, I was really curious to fish an underwater offshore point that protruded out into the lake like a… well a… like a dick! Like a Dick, really. But better than that Dick, nearby and off the head of the Dick was this perfectly round hump that rose to 30 feet out of 80. So I called that the Cumshot! We took off looking to find and fish that Cumshot.

We didn’t find it. Instead, we found holes in the middle of nowhere though. And when opening one we were in 30 some feet. So we opened the next one close by and it was in 15. Then the next one… and we were in 2.5 feet of water. Holy shit we both thought. Full moon night in March, super shallow shoal, maybe there’d be some ling to fling here later. But in the meantime we backed off to deeper water, me into 50 and Shayne into 70 and got to jigging. Took awhile but I had a screamer follow me up and down the column before committing. Hookset!!! … and off. Wasn’t big but it was the most active fish I’d seen on the trip so far. Sadly, I wouldn’t, Shayne wouldn’t, Adam and Scott wouldn’t ice a single fish all day. But Patty… well, we’ll get to that.

Fishing some other spots before an early afternoon break at the cabin it was proving again impossible. Some turkey wraps for the boys, a tired Patty returned alone later and given some time his spirits lifted. Together we set off looking to entirely new pastures to graze.

Exploring for a trail head we all came up lost. Stopped at a creekmouth Patty basically just said to drill him a few holes right there. Didn’t care the depth, figured it’s a creek and something will come along, maybe walleye, maybe pike, who knows. Well, holes drilled he was left with 13 to 20 feet of water to play in and then the rest of us left. Adam and Scotty went stage left, Shayne and I stage right. We were all within sight of one another and with the wind finally down some we could hear all if we yelled at the top of our lungs. The four of us who had left heard Patty yell out first. Barely audible I made out, “BIG FISH ” I kept the echo going to the others, Adam jumped on his skidoo and rode over quick. Patty did nail a good one, a bit wrapped up and not quite as big as he had initially thought, but it was enough of a motivator that within twenty minutes every one of us was drilling around Patty’s holes. However, I did take a side trip to a point nearby to distance the X67 and explore. Stupid move.

The sun was beginning to set when Pat’s still rod with a live minnow twitched and bowed. Springing off his snowmobile seat he was on it fast. Real solid bender of a fish on the light stick and four-pound test, the man played it to perfection. All watching on, all excited to see what it would be, Patty called out laker long before it ever appeared. And well, he was right! A real nice one too.

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Everyone tired and the evening air beginning to cool, the sun dipped down as the moon would rise. We made haste for the cabin. A giant pork loin and fixings were in the works for dinner and everyone surely wanted a tall drink to wash the skunk off. Another tough, tough, tough fish, except for Pat, this was totally his day.

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Day 7. PLEASE GO AWAY BLUE SKIES

A small part of me felt the boys had been teasing a little the night before. Yes, for years I have kept up with both a fishing journal and trips journals. The fishing journal began in 2002 and religiously it hasn’t missed a day since then. Every day of fishing in nearly 20 years has been noted. In the earlier years the entries were much longer, noting weather details, moon phase, dates, times, total catches, lures, company, specific spots of places and places in general. Today it’s usually just a line or two. In the early going it honestly helped teach me a lot and, it would guide in fishing days to come. An example, wind directions and weather patterns recorded in the past along with fishing results would eventually lead to a better knowledge of when the better times to fish are. Poor results using certain lures during such times would maybe even cause me to rethink what tactics to try the next. There’s no way I lived by rule of this, but as tool it was there if need be. In recent years it’s been with musky fishing that I’ve kept more details than anything else. Over winter last I took the time to examine all weather patterns, times, air pressure and such to see if any patters would emerge. They did! They certainly did!! Biggest ten fish over fifty inches during a certain period, nine were caught under similar circumstances.

The trip journals are usually just daily entries while along for a ride. When a day ends, either by the fire, at the dinner table, tucked away in the tent or cabin bed, I’ll take the necessary few minutes to jot details. These fishing stories that have been written over the years is basically that effort, combined with a jogged memory and plenty pictures. Looking back into those little note books tends to refresh the moments. Kinesthetic learners I believe need the act of writing, typing, photography or just “doing” something tactile in order to solidify memories. My parents used to say sometimes, “you’re like talking to a brick wall.” They’re right too, auditory learning falls far behind visual and kinesthetic with plenty folks.

On this day the visuals were pure shit when we woke that morning. Clear blue skies, quickly warming air, lots of sunshine, just what we didn’t need, another nice, high pressure day to keep that bite shut down. I wanted to reach up in the sky and block the sun, blow a little moist air into the atmosphere and drop the barometer.

But we fellas were all ready to tackle some place new. Finding a trail head into another lake the previous afternoon, all set off with high hopes of accessing a new big body of water holding lake trout. On the trail we were quick to find that although it had been broken once that winter, it had certainly been awhile since used. Pat lead the way, the lighter weight Tundra with a narrower ski stance is a great machine for blazing the path… but it still can’t go through trees.

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Was a great tour in, we were all sweating by the time we got there. A very discombobulated lake, a labyrinth if you will, lay before us. We all seemed keen to pick our own juice real estate.

Pat, Scott and Shayne set up off the biggest, steepest rock face they could see. Again, they like that. Adam and I went around a corner to another smaller basin and set up off a slower tapering slope and rock face too. Adam marked a fish, I marked, Scott and Shayne marked back at their spot but, only Shayne would coax a single fish to bite. By noon, and only a couple short hours after arriving, Scott had to get back to the cabin and pack up for home. The bite slow the group decided to follow. That lake got me horny, would love to revisit and hammer it!

Adam and Pat saw Scott back to the trucks while Shayne and I whipped up whitefish and lake trout fish tacos for a late lunch. With three or four hours left in the day, Pat and Adam took off to an island site on Clearwater while Shayne and I hopped back to our favorite shoal. The fishing again was extremely slow but I did manage one beautiful, colorful laker. About a half hour after setting up the Jacker with a herring it fired. The fish was really well hooked and topside in no time.

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More wings and some burgers for supper we all talked about next years choices. Brown’s Clearwater was really puttin the beat down on us. Five guys and a two fish day. Fourth day of slow fishing in a row. Lets just say, tough, tough, tough, tough to keep up with the momentum of just “tough” fishing.

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Day 8. CURTAIN CALL.

Shayne and I were drilling on a second spot for the morning when the clouds began to roll in. A long, straight line in the sky that separated blue from grey was rolling in from the south. “Of course,” I’d say to Shayne, “on our last day the weather looks to change.”

A fleet of local anglers pulling pop-up huts behind their skidoos convoyed across Clearwater. “See, they know what time it is!” And after our new holes were cleaned, at an all new spot, we didn’t jig long before a grey bumped on a bottom thumper. Hookset!!!

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And that would be it. One trout for the morning. I had Shayne drop me back at the cabin a little earlier than he and Adam would quit fishing. Patty took some loads of gear back to the vehicles while I packed luggage for my flight then cleaned up the cabin. In several hours Shayne, Adam and I boarded flights home from Thunder Bay.

Although I write the story I believe the general feeling from all, the vibe with this trip, was a mixed one. Our company, our meals, our time together was nothing short of pure fun. I think with places like Brown’s that have a documented history and reputation for great fishing, going in with big expectations then finding the fishing as slow as we did, it only weighed on us for short times during the trip, mostly while we fished. Around the table at nights, whiskey in our cups, delicious meals served and so many great conversations, I think we were all quick to realize that we were still sharing in something great, as friends old and new. These guys are the salt of the earth. Personally, I’d love another crack at Clearwater… and White Otter too. You see it there and you can believe in the potential. But I’ll pray for overcast days and with the same group again.
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Thanks for reading,
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Bunk.
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