THE DRIVE.
.
Halpenny, Clayton, Cobden, Rolphton, Mackey, Stonecliffe, Bissett Creek, Deux Rivieres, Mattawa, Rutherglen, Tilden Lake, Latchford, Dymond, Earlton, Kenogami, Matheson, Monteith, Nellie Lake, and finally Tunis. I wouldn’t imagine there have been too many stories begin with the names of the these small settlements, all of which line my direction taken on route north.
Before reaching the 17, I had prepared mind for the long haul by already counting eight roadkill from my place to Pakenham; a practice of preoccupation in boredom avoidance. My morning started with warm goodbye hugs from my three guardian angels, then a B-line to Timmies in Arnprior for the caffeine kick-in-the-face.
Freezing rain fell light to Muskrat but beyond there the clouds gave way to sunny blue skies. For the first time since last may really, feelings of immense inspiration came flooding, and once the coffee cup was empty my pad of paper hit the wheel, then the pen scribbled onto that… “Fishing is the vehicle, my spirit the drive.”
Canadas found parking along the melted shorelines of lake and pond only as far as North Bay, and it was not for another 300 kilometers before any late season huts would be observed from the bridge at Kenogami. By that point I was thinking prospective titles for this upcoming fishing report, to mind came fun ones such as, “K-lakes Retro Pike Dance Party” or, “Jive Walleye Pimpin’ Pike Fresh.” Snoop Dogg, Kool & The Gang, Primus, Donna Summers, Easy-E and Naughty By Nature were just a few artists fueling my thoughts from the radio.
.
ON TRACK.
An overnight in Cochrane allowed for little sleep, in fact, five nights of tossing and turning preceeded this trip. Turned out I was ill before departure as well.
Aboard the Polar Bear tracking north the forest floors thickened with blanketing snow, yet open rivers foretold of an early spring arrival. Sitting quietly on the train I enjoyed reading Jake MacDonald’s heart felt ODC article about his great friend and Canadian writer, the late Paul Quarrington. Starring from the window, the passing shadows in the black spruce reflected the faces of friends and family whom cancer now haunts or once haunted. A terrible fright for anyone.
Stomach growling I chose to walk on back to the dining car while during passage I bumped into an old neighbour, friend, and past Chief of Attawapiskat, Mike C and his wife Lucy. Both were returning home in order to enjoy the few spring months at their new camp on a rare “speckled” gem called Washagami. Mike now looks to a future of entertaining adventure seekers within a vast, undeveloped wilderness west of the fabled Sutton. Always a gentleman, it was Mike whom years ago first referred to me by full title as “Andano The Fisherman,” upon witnessing one of my many float tubing drifts down the Attawapiskat’s Monument Channel.
Before I knew it 187 railed muskeg miles were behind me and I arrived in Moosonee. Agent Stevie Zebco (of “Misson Fishin’ Impossible” and “I’ll Drill Your Thrill” fame) wasn’t far away in Moose Factory. That night at his place, finally back breathing sea levels rich clean air, I was provided with a good settling nights sleep.
.
TAKING FLIGHT.
Offerring a lift, our pilot Johnny picked us up in the morning at StevieZ’s. Bushland’s Dale T met us on the strip. A 10:15am take-off, the 206 whisked us up and away to our fishing destination at K-lake. Totally pumped I was humming my usual…
StevieZ and I had planned to camp three nights. Neither of us had actual winter camping experience but both of us have certainly spent time in the cold camped out. The K-lake weather forecasted was interesting enough and we were aware that night one would be our biggest test for the trip.
Day 1. Today.
Afternoon – Sunny, High +4C, wind W5K.
Evening – Clouding over, -17C, wind NW20K gusting 40K, windchill -22C.
Overnight – Flurries 2-4cm, -22C, wind NW20K gusting 40K, windchill -27C.
Day 2.
Morning – Clearing, wind NW10K.
Daytime – Variable Cloud, flurries 1-3cm, High -12C, wind NW10K, windchill -16.
Overnight – Low -18C.
Day 3.
Daytime – Sun & Cloud, High -8C, wind W10K.
Overnight – Low -12C
Day 4.
Daytime – Sunny, High +5C, wind SW5K
The 206 provided us with up to about 450lb’s of gear but we guesstimated our bulk to come in around 300lbs. A new dome tent, three 10X10 tarps, one 15X20 tarp, two propane cook stoves, two Blackcat heaters, two sleeping bags, mattress, four thick wool blankets, four foil thermal blankets, our parkas and extra clothes, pull sleigh, a cooler full of ready to heat and eat frozen meals with rations for an extra day, forty drinking boxes, water, snacks, First Aid and various other necessities and fishing gear; Steve and I felt comfortable with that stock.
Once on the ice we examined the nearest shoreline and quickly found a large suitable clearing inside the trees. Steve dug the trail in while I cleared out a 10X10 pit to the ground. We laid a tarp then set-up the tent on top. Next, we used a second tarp to wrap over and around the tent, attaching it to the ground tarp and tent. Then the third 10X10 tarp was strung up to block the expected assaulting west wind, and finally the 15X20 tarp was put up to provide our tent with a windbreak as well as an entire roof over the dwelling. Basically, the tent was iglood in a tarp and placed underneath an almost complete box of tarping.
Inside the tent two walls are meshed and StevieZ got to work duct taping garbage bags over them. Upon finishing he laid reflective thermal sheets on the floor before placing the mattress. With four blankets, two sleeping bags and two heaters encased by our shelter, we were ready for the cold night to come. While he finished up there I was out on the lake drilling holes.
Bushland had informed me the season was about three weeks ahead of usual, and while sitting in wait for a pike to bite I began wondering… what if they’re at an early spawn? One hour later as StevieZ was just emerging from the nearby trees, a pike answered my question.
The southern quickstrike was obliterated. I had never witnessed that violent an explosion before on this rig. Up and running I shouted at Steve to hurry and to grab my forgotten pike box. My rod tip was straight down the hole and screaming from the peeling reel. Arriving I didn’t really set too hard for the pike’s angry force was evident soon as I gripped the cork.
.
StevieZ Speedy Gonzaled’er to me, but the pike, not so. Some fleeting runs after attempting two turns up the double hole, it was obvious this pike was a goody. No sad loss with this fish, she stayed pegged and when her head finally emerged I was ecstatic… a BIG pike surfaced.
.
She had rolled and wrapped herself about ten times; this was a first for this lake. I guessed she did so because of the extra play room in that extra few inches of water which normally isn’t available below the ice. My cold numb hands working in the icy water she was soon free of the line, then jaws spread one treble was popped easy from the back of her mouth and then the other from her shoulder.
.
.
.
Steve played Paparazzi for this celebrity siting. Man ‘O’ man she dazzled her fans. The afternoon air was none to cold, she released well with a soaking tail splash. I looked at Steve… “DOOD, fiznacking amazing… The way she hammered that.?.?.? I’m on cloud nine man!!! The trip could end now, I got what I came for.” Surely in my jubilation Steve could recall many more celebratory comments made with same affect. What a perfect start.
.
I pulled the north and east pike lines in favor of us jiggin’ eyes and just a very short time later the south rod moved again for Steve. When he got to the tipdown the fish was gone. Afterwards, while picking on walleyes the bite suddenly shut off…….. and… BINGO!!! Steve hooked a prize on a 1/3 Cleo. A pike on the light gear that made the Agent work. Upon arrest the roaming waterwolf was soon enough shackled for mug shots.
.
Two hours, two pike, too awesome. The dinner time lake horizon calm, the sun out, the forest silent, I told StevieZ that we really are the “Kings of the World,” and very lucky S.O.B.’s to be experiencing what so few ever do on the K-Lake.
5:00pm a light breeze drifted by that gave my legs a sudden shiver so I took the short walk back to the tent. Ducking in under the tarp box shelter an alarming scent of something like garbage burning wafted past my nares. OHHHHHHH NO!!!!!! rang through my head.
Ripping open the zipper door an escaping cloud of smoke suddenly choked a panicky gasp and I was knocked back onto my arrrse outside the tent. The shot in the chest took a few quick breaths to recover from before I tried again to gain access. Inside our shelter was thick with dark smoke and when trying to enter and actually see within, a flash of fire spontaneously erupted and another choking blow of heat and exhaust crushed me once more, forcefully withdrawing me again to the snow outside. This one strike dazed a little, and a violent cough ensued. “STEVE! STEVE! STEVE! FIRE!” one shouting word per hard inhale before recapturing my breath enough to rush back to the tent. Grey smoke expirating from atop the door I ducked under, grabbed the mattress from within the tent and reefed it, fire, and most all other contents upon it, outside and onto the snow. From that point how the blankets were extinguished I can’t really recall but, I do remember Steve arrived unbelievably fast on scene and once he did was quick inside the tent patting out any burning embers and salvaging our supplies. I was on my knees coughing disgust to near puke about then.
We had left a BlackCat on low to keep our beds warm and some bait thawed while out fishing. The heat in the tent caused the duct tape securing a garbage bag over a vent to let go. When I arrived at the tent a bag must have been smoldering atop the heater until; unable to see through the smoke, I disrupted the hazard, knocking the bag or heater onto the bedding and setting things ablaze.
6:00pm now and only one hour later sitting back at the fishing holes, taste of smoke on my tongue, I sure as sh!te didn’t feel like a King anymore. In truth, I imagined what one, two or five more minutes could have meant had I not at that exact time earlier walked back to the tent. Nobody’s fault but our own.
Because I had consumed the smoke StevieZ kindly stayed behind to reorganize the shelter while I sucked fresh wind to ease a raw throat. When he came out to join me his official report was… not so bad actually. Lost to us was 1 of 2 sleeping bags, 2 of 4 blankets, 1 of 3 pillows, 1 of 2 heaters, 2 of 4 foil thermal sheet thingys and the air mattress. The tent had a small 8-inch diameter hole burned through the ceiling and a similar sized hole through the floor. The zipper on the door also melted away in one small area.
Steve cut away the bad parts from the burnt blankets and did a decent job scavenging bedding to lie upon. Luckily, saved from the fire were all my nearby extra clothes and the food. Structurally were were still in amazing shape. Physically no one was hurt. Supplies were safe and all food and drink accounted for.
Steve and I took to jiggin’ up some eyes while ravens circled our camp, whiskeyjacks snooped for a cooked meal and the sun slowly dove from what was a most remarkably interesting start to our trip. For us some chili, a snipit of scotch and nightfall…
.
WALK THE WALK.
A little tossing and turning two chilled great toes woke me at 2:00am. The tent was cold. Outside the tarps flapped gently. Stevie snored away like a hyperactive bandsaw off its Ritalin… but I temporarily found my kill-switch.
3:00am I roused again. The tarps weren’t flapping gently at all anymore.
Sunrise the tired eyes opened slow. Fully dressed, parka on and tucked tight under the only sleeping bag, an exploratory wiggle for function revealed all lower digits had feeling but were icy. Rolling over a chill shot right up the spine… it was definitely time to get up, get moving and warm.
Steve heard my stirring, “there’s snow on my coat” he says. Looking over, he ain’t fibbin’. The vents on the tent are half clogged with snow too, and cystals fall through there and the ceiling hole, sparkling freely while floating in our aerospace. Popping my head out from the tent door I was awestruck to find us burried in about 6 to 8-inches of snow and pretty drifted in. Stepping out then from under all tarp intact shelter, looking over the lake I could not see a hundred feet in front of me. Winds raging, total whiteout. Sleepy and wondering I stood awhile before crawling back into the tent.
Four hours later, after some debate, Steve and I worked outside and began the digging out process. I fired up my cook stove and threw on our 11:00am chowder brunch. The snowfall was minimal now, yet the wind still howled out of the northwest, pushing drift into camp. This wasn’t the forecasted storm, she was a much meaner beeyotch than that.
I tredged out to the fishing grounds to assess, and when returned I found the food was barely cooking; the cold air affecting the propane. Tank being low too I wanted to switch it out for a new one anyways, but in the process the regulator somehow got stripped. A couple different tanks tried, none would screw on properly and stick, and they all just leaked gas. Useless! So, StevieZ’s stove; stove numero deux, came out. Useless too! His would ignite but wouldn’t stay going. Almost noon, no sign of the winds letting up, all our food frozen and drinks freezing, a tent taking in snow dampening its contents, two fiznackered cook stoves and two empty bellies… it was gut check time. A decision had to be made and in my mind we had two choices…
#1. Dig another pit. Reset a tarp for a windbreak. Collect dry wood and get a fire going. Thaw out Steve’s stove and try to dry out some bedding. Same time, hope the wind and chill dies down so we don’t end up having to repeat this, and, hope Steve’s cook stove works once warmed up.
#2. Load up our backpacks and the sleigh and head out on the lake several kilometers to a cabin. Once there, fire, warm up, dry out and eat… And… kiss the fishing goodbye for the remainder of our time on K-Lake.
My belief was #2 felt like a sad defeat, both plans were likely a big enough challenge and neither offered absolute resolve. But, my overthinking was settled by a voice of reason. “If it was just the damp in the tent, fine. But our stoves don’t work, you’re cold in the tent, I’m cold outside, the wind’s not dying and we have to eat. At the cabin we’re safe.” Steve was exact with his points, so convincing in fact that is was obviously his decision. We began to sort out and pack up what we would need to take with us.
On the lake gusts snapped over our shoulders as we walked. At first it seemed we needed rest breaks every 200 to 300 meters or so. Inside our coats we thawed out drinking boxes to stay hydrated, for as cool as the air blowing down our necks, Stevie and I were both quickly drenched with sweat. The heavy packs and us taking turns as to who pushed with a stick and who pulled the sleigh, was a tiring exercise we switched up frequently. Unsure of our distance covered (but measured later) we had walked about 2.5 kilometers in the first hour and once we hit around the 3 kilometer mark our overdrive kicked in and with me on the pull we didn’t rest during one push onward of 1.5 klicks. Thank God the snow wasn’t deep on the lake. Many small odd drifts made it tougher trekking but the first 3 kilometers was quite bare with only a suface inch or two. Now unfortunately, the snowy floor had deepened to 3 to 5-inches in a narrows, slowing the sleigh and shortening our steps. Steve’s battery dead he asked to stop, me toasted too I was quick to oblige, we crashed.
Tucked tight and nearly out of any wind along an east facing shore, it took just minutes before we for some reason began speaking of our daughters. A huge hearted friend, Steve will make a great father to his newborn baby girl. I wondered to myself what my girls were doing at school that afternoon, and thinking too how my Lazy-Boy chair at home would feel about now.
Not long sitting though, the rest started to feel wrong. Steve was getting comfortably numb, my sweat sent chills and my leg muscles began tightening up. “Ya sweat ya die eh Stroud!?!?… Sh!te I’m outta shape Stevie, but we gotta get going. C’mon!!” I told him.
Back walking we had stumbled on faint skidoo tracks and later iced over fishing holes as well. This gained us some optimistic momentum. Before we knew it, we had travelled only about a half kilometer more since resting, when we came around a bend and I saw the dock. “We’re here Steve,” I announced. Relieved, Steve acknowledged. Since our morning had begun we never panicked, but at 3:00pm exhausted and hungry our nerves had been rather tested.
The camp was open and had been visited recently. The owner is a man I have known of since moving to the Moose and he and I have been acquainted several times over the past few years at K-Lake. His wife, Bren tells me, is in some way a relative of hers as well. Our pilot had flown us over the camp to show just where a safe haven could be found if needed, and that was this cabin. Inside Steve got a fire ignited, we shed many sweat soaked layers to hang and dry, and then within a thousand degree heat we cooked and ate our breakfast at 4:00pm. Steve’s stove now completely thawed out, ironically it remained tempermental when trying to use both burners, but it did start, stay lit and run on one burner OK… periodically.
Stew, coffee and some sips of scotch followed by a long game of Rummy, Steve and I agreed our choice was for the best.
.
SETTIN’ SUN.
A thirteen hour sleep we woke the next morning toasty warm but pretty damn slow and stiff. After java and some IPod’age we gathered outside for Steve to split and replenish wood while I marked a runway on the lake with spruce boughs. The wind was still up and and air cold but the weather had definitely improved.
.
Circumstances would have it, that morning Steve and I found a way (under gas power) to return to our camp site for our gear and come back to the cabin.
.
By 3:00pm we had gathered all our things, broke camp and packed it in a sled. “I got Bren’s banana bread and juice. We’re here Steve, whatta ya think,” I asked? Steve grinned, “well… the holes only need a quick punch and we have plenty of daylight left.” And so we set up and fished ti’ll sundown enjoying a hot walleye bite.
.
.
.
During the last hour out there on the ice the sky finally fell still allowing Steve and I to permanently lower our hoods and face the west setting sun. The lake was so calm and quiet awhile I could have gone all chi-like within its peaceful tranquility, except that stubborn, hunrgy, thrashing walleye interrupting me one after another after another kept me from reaching such enlightment during that space in time. “Ahhhhhh (exhale) walleye or world, which heaven to choose,” (inhale) I wondered???
NEITHER…
DING!!! …
NOT WHILE PIKE STILL ROAM THE EARTH!!!
It was the quickstrike rig with a whole herring. It didn’t slam like it had with the first giant, but arriving to a rod pointing straight down a hole is evidence enough that the party is on. I waited a half second to hear a little peel then drove it!!!
SLAZINNNNGGG!!! ZING!!! ZINGIDY ZING ZING… ZING!!!
Steve was half way to me when I yelled, sending him in reverse to again grab the forgotten pike tool box. When he finally arrived I handed him my camera and announced, “It’s a big feeesh bud!”
.
.
.
And indeed it was.
.
.
.
Perfect way to cap the evening.
.
MAKE HASTE.
Final day woke for 9:00am with a colon full of hot liquid magma and was forced to make haste for the outhouse. Three frickin’ days I had the trots while StevieZ was managing a good clean bum with dung bung.
By 10:30am breakfast was down, all belongings well packed, the cabin cleaned, wood restocked inside, and not expecting the plane until 3:00’ish we had plans to walk a little ways down the lake and drill for fish. I was just getting bundled up though when our plane buzzed over the camp early. Steve and I were left no choice but to boogie…
.
John had no need to apologize for his early arrival. He explained the days forecast appeared as though a front from the south was coming in on us that afternoon, so he wanted to ensure we got home. We weren’t really the least bit disappointed by his decision, demonstrated with joyous approval from a prop huggin’ StevieZ.
.
Steve and I took on a big task in this trip. I didn’t before and don’t feel foolish now having made this attempt. There are some things I’m certain I’ll do differently when I winter camp again some day, and I’m glad this trip taught me that. What time I get in the north now I value so greatly, and the experience was much needed. Mother Nature unleashed a pure nastiness upon us, but there were moments in this when she wasn’t nearly as hard on me as I was on myself. We made some errors and an unforecasted storm wanted to make us pay. There were real lessons learned. Beforehand, I tried real hard to ensure safe passage, Steve too. Understand the obsessive-compulsive calculating I try to imply on all my trips and adventures; in life for that matter. I don’t know how Steve feels overall now about K-Sawg but for me it was a wonderful successful failure. We did OK all things considered, going to the cabin was cheating though. It was a result of not being quite properly prepared with the right gear, biting off a little more than we should chew for a first time experience, almost sufferring from a terrible error and being somewhat blindly ambitious. It was much by luck and having a plan B that we did not end up struggling uncomfortably against 72 hours of cold, and ourselves. Would I do it again though? Yer dammmned right I would. It was exhilirating. It’s really living. We never felt like anything became as drastic as life or death, just hard choices. I will never forget this one, not one bit. One of my favorite fishing outings… even if we only got to actually fish 8 out of the 72 hours we were there. Couldn’t imagine if things had gone as planned how many of them big pike would have graced us with a dance. Man, I love where fishing can take us if we choose to go.
Touching down in the Moose John and Dale were out to greet us home. Ten inches had fallen there and Dale was quick to ask how we’d made out, “nasty storm” he remarked. “Called my brother at Otter Dam that night and he said trees were blowing over. Had to be -35 to -40 with the windchill. Bet you were cold?” Cold… nahh! But thinking if I had of seen a moose that night I might have rear naked choked the funker to death and then crawled up inside its cozy warm belly. We explained ourselves with a smile while unloading the plane, making payment and saying our goodbyes.
Later that afternoon I drove over to the Cabin Owner’s home to pay gratitude and offer $150 Steve and I believed would compensate for the wood burned. Our encounter was interesting…
.
Like I said at the beginning, the North inspires me, has since I arrived. “Fishin’s the vehicle, my spirit the drive.” Well, this ride was obviously more about the drive.
.
Bunk
.