The second round of Mojitos, Brenda and I settled into a game of Rummy with our friends from the north country. The Agent Stevie Zebco and I would once again be reunited for another Mission Fishin’ Impossible but this time, like last time, and the time before that, our wives would join us in the “adventure.” Something all look quite forward too, our annual couples trip to Nipigon was just beginning…

But 2020 has had so many downers man! Covid threatening everything for everyone, the endless new adaptations to daily life, more questions and shaky plans than ever before, so why would that just suddenly let up now? It would certainly not! Tomorrows forecast, June 11, high winds gusting 60 kilometers, rain, frigid temperatures and yeah 5 to 10cm of snow too. Not kidding!! Snow in mid June.

There would be no way in Hell we’d move through and into that. Even if we braved the discomfort of such irritable elements the Lake would surely be raging and dangerous. Best plan we could come up with, drink and be merry with our hosts in their home for a full day then just roll out a day later. So, more mojitos, more cards, more of Amelie’s amazing home cooking… and as we watched the forecast continue to evolve, more questions and shaky plans too.

Brenda and I had sailed up to our friends in Mattice with a heavy tailwind, boat in tow we landed in 10 ½ hours. Pouring rains on route washed the Lund awhile, then a sandstorm in Kapuskasing glazed it dirty gross, and for a good part of the drive finding an open pisser was a chore. Some usual road rest-stops were locked up and any Timmies south of North Bay would have you in to buy but not squat. It wasn’t until passing that “Gateway to the North” would you find the old world, that great earth we loved and maybe took for granted, a place Covid conscious yet free enough to pass your gas, water and soil in any usual environmentally friendly ways. Ohhh how I prefer much of the northern life.
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SAFETY FIRST.

And so after that first long travel day and mojitos, the second full rest day and mojitos, did the early morning arrive to depart to the lake. At this time I still had no final destination in mind. Our morning hovering a measly degree or two above freezing, the daytime high to be cool, the northwest wind heavy early but tapering to light come evening, I guessed many lake access points, reachable camps and any long lake travel with full boats to be a riskier task. Time was of the essence really. And although white snow and black bears lined some of the ditches during our convoy west, Saturday and much of Sunday looked like amazing and calm weather days. Following that, a steady blow from the south would pick up late Sunday and continue the week ever long. Plans A, B & C were in question due to either the start, the finish, the inbetween or all of it. Driving onward from Hearst, to Longlac, to Geraldton again I still hadn’t committed to any final decision. I think this time more than any other time going, the choices weighed quite heavily too, and Bren sensed the anxiety. Amelie and Stevie seemed to have certain wants; the same as what I had initially, up until questions of safety throughout the entire week took precedent over those desires. A choice that should have been simple felt complicated and uncomfortable, like I might let others down..? Once our road reached Beardmore there was no time left for flip-flopping, and it was there the choice for our trip was made.
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“We’re well oiled machines,” was a common remark that any one of us might say. It’s true, after other trips together everyone seems to know by now how everything tends to flow. So it didn’t take but a minute for all to fill the two Lunds and launch.

The campsite hadn’t been lived in this season. Grass overgrown, trees down, branches and debris lying about, paths into the woods cob-webbed, the place needed a dusting and polish. Interesting too, in this 13th year of visiting I had never seen the water levels so low. The boat stopped many feet shy of dry land attempting to park. Later in the week I’d take time picking out exposed rocks that would normally be found under the hull when waters be high.

While all set up camp we noticed the total absence of bugs. Back at Mattice the blackflies and skitters were thick Stevie had said, but the passing cold likely knocked ’em down good round these parts. It was closing in on 4:00pm once things was homey, and after a quick meal we hopped in our boats and set sail for fish.

The lake had really settled by now. Considering no American’s around this season, boater traffic was still pretty high, probably due to the nice weekend forecast ahead. Again for me, this was like a plan D vacation now, I’d never tripped to these waters so early season before but knowing the area well there was enough confidence we’d get into fish. It was Brenda first who proved that right. A sweet 22″ speck!
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Out for an evening troll, the fish was released, we reset the rods in their holders and in minutes hooked up again. This time a weight went deep, stayed down, felt heavy, shook some and took a few darting runs. Thought for a moment it might be a laker while I looked at it on the sonar 18 feet down straight below the boat, but no, it wasn’t. Instead it was a decent 42″ pike.
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The girls were booze heavy for the trip, especially Bren. Nine and half bottles of wine between ’em, Bren’s personal stash of coolers, while Stevie and were kinda lightweight with just 26’ers of gin, rye and whiskey and some beers for him. Once we got back to camp we needed to begin downing some of that freight, and we did.

Some chowder in our bellies, a wet wood fire, regardless of the fresh moose tracks through our site we still fired off a bear banger for peace of mind. We’d heard, “bears are out this year and they’re hungry,” from an angler we’d met at the launch. Sleep tight!
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A HUNDRED MILES FOR GIANTS.

Temperatures touched down near zero overnight but that didn’t stop any sweating in the sleeping bag. A dry change, my lucky Jaws shirt slipped on first under more outdoor layers as hopes were high for some hot fishing this day. The best forecast of the entire trip we all woke early to bagel and ham breakfast sandwiches and a welcome coffee, then the question came… do we make the run? Calling for no wind at all, absolutely we do!!

Bren and Amelie both enjoy lake trout fishing more than anything. Second to that would be the specks and finally pike. For spring trips Stevie and I would likely agree we too like the lakers most, followed closely by pike fishing. With specks we know that come August and September the fish are even bigger and more colorful, so that kind of spoils them a little with us in the spring. Regardless, it’s often the winds and weather that actually dictate day-to-day fishing operations and with Nipigon you’ve got to be prepared to mix it up. Specks can be anytime really, but pike and especially lakers are better when it’s calm.

Our boats hit plane and we set cruise for a straight 1.5 hours waaay far out across the lake. Behind a windshield Stevie and Am were just cozy birds soaring but dammit I was tiller love frozen to the bone by the time we stopped to clip spoons on dropping balls.

Right off the hop Dory (that’s the name of Stevie’s boat) popped a big laker. It happened so fast really I wondered if the fish followed the lure from the surface down to where he set rigger depth. It was a real cracker of a fish too, rewarding them for going the distance.
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The morning slipped by before anyone would catch another. Bren and I had a rip and miss but in all honesty I spent several hours just trying to get the chill out me. Should have listened to my woman when she said to put another jacket on, cause the shakes just kinda turned me tired and a little pukey for awhile. Radioing Steve and Am around 1:00pm, they’d just finished releasing their second mackinaw and would come over to meet us shortly. Afloat in the open sea we tied together and cooked some hot lunches together. Was totally on empty, not really hungry, but ate anyways and it cured.
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After our meals we set our sights on pike. Approaching one of our favorite spots the surface water temps did rise but surprisingly stayed quite cool around mid to high 50’s. At first this didn’t really excite me and neither did the initial few dozen casts. Nothing seemed to be moving on our lures at all. Stevie and Am broke free of us choosing a different route yet we could still watch them from afar. Nothing looked to be happening for them either. It took some patience and examination before eventually noticing some fish moving about us. Mud clouds here and there were erupting as pike took off from their sunning spots. The odd black shadow began appearing in the corners of our eyes. We moved in shallower than what we had fished in previous years and had the first hook-up.
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Several more pike hit the gunnels and before we knew it fish seemed to be surrounding us everywhere. Many were followers, inspired by other fish getting active around them. I quickly went to the fly rod and tried casting to visible fish but struggled. This lasted for about 15 minutes while Bren released several. Me fumbling and increasingly grumbling about things Bren hooks into a good one but as usual calls it, “small.” When I spot it off the bow I see that she’s wrong. Her first pike over 40 hits 43 and nudges my fatter 42-incher into second place because yeah, that’s how quickly what our fishing pike turns into, a competition.
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The fly rod got pushed aside and that’s where it’d remain for the rest of the trip. Sometime I’ll get back to it when alone or, maybe it’s just Bren and I but she’s having a nap or something, a bigger effort will be given then. For now she was calling out numbers of fish and sizes and who’s got the better and such, and so slinging with my favorite guns was a more lethal choice.

The other two rejoined us and in close proximity now Stevie shouted out a quick rundown of his fish. He’d picked up a 44 and a 40 and Amelie some high 30’s. Having made a new bump board just days prior to the trip I’m certain that everything got a quick measure for note in their boat. Not forgetting the slower start the pace had definitely quickened. We were a little over an hour into piking with four trophies to the tally.
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We were treading into some overlooked waters when Bren’s lure got hit hard and heavy. A fast rip for a second she felt power before the fish popped off. “Ohhh no,” she cried, “that was a real good one.” She never says that! But recasting on the second or third time she got crushed again, this time making no mistakes.

Her pike wouldn’t let up!! In fact, with early control it first barely gave any effort at all for what seemed far too long, then it finally realized it was hooked and went ballistic. Tense moments waiting to net Bren’s fish, the lure she casts is pretty small for pike this size and we’d already straightened that hook back a number of times. Normally I hand land pike but this one needed a sure thing. She got it!
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Bren was back to her normal self, “ahhhh, it’s not as big as I thought,” she says. “Bren, this is a big fish,” I’d reply, “possibly your biggest.” And if I recall she does have like a 47.5 incher, nearly 48 under her belt. Caught some years back on Kesagami it was one of the best pike we’d both ever seen too, more because of it’s girth than length. But now this one was long, and when put to the tape it actually measured the magical four feet. A big pike.

Well didn’t she just get a little cocky right after that, put the gears to me and I loved it!! We’d blanked on lakers that morning, were having an average Nipigon go with the trophy pike so far, and so hoisting that one beauty over the gunnels really raised the roof. And then suddenly, I hooked up!! Fish was no slouch.

Truth be, can’t remember the last time a pike gave me such a Tilt-A-Whirl, it was a real Scrambler of a ride. All that travel to the big Circus, admission paid, cotton-candy and lemonade, the Ring Master was she but I thought the show belonged to me. All in the span of a few minutes was I entertained with a Crash-Up-Derby, Horse Race, some drunken boxing outside the beer gardens, Bumper Cars and even a little French kissy with a rub-and-tug from a three toothed, fast-food oily lathered Carney-girl behind one of the cow barns. Whole thing was a real redneck affair and I’ll tell yas what, it made me more of a man!

Laid that broad down on the rubber mat and my missus hollers, “48-incher!!!” She was pretty close, had me believing for a second and even I called the story over to Dory, “48!!” But then I noticed a little something. “Now just a wait a minute, get the tape.” The pike, laying on my 48-inch, measured, certified, totally legal, rubber-side up, rubber mat which I place several of in the boat for cleanliness purposes, was resting flat right across the entire span of it with it’s lip hanging just over the edge. “See Bren, bigger still” I says. “You’re right,” she believes. And with that tape, that tail pinched, that beautiful pike happily chill and still, I smashed my wife’s ass with an even better pike than hers!
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She’d give me 49 inches but in reality I could have pinched that tail for another 1/4 inch if given time to really, really stretch it out. Show’s over folks!!
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Certainly didn’t but almost did put a full two hours in for the pike fishing. Worked out to about a 40+ incher every fifteen minutes give-or-take. Something very pike special in this world if you’re into that sort of thing. And now that it was done… we had to book it being that the girls wanted to skip specks and cruise waaay off to another laker area for hopes of an evening bite. The glass calm ride in the warm air was glorious.

Strong sun all day had been heating that lake surface some. Nipigon is a huge body of water, beastly hazardous, beautiful, humbling and much of it truly gives you a sense of remoteness. All that touring about we’d seen two other boats maybe, all day. Once we came off plane and stopped to chat Stevie and Am were like, “we’ll go this way over towards there,” and I was like, “good, cause I’m going that way over towards there.” Well, didn’t take long to know who picked the right direction. Between us two gents I’d have to admit that finding the spots to go fish is what I do better, but Stevie has a real knack past couple years for finding the spot-on-the-spot. He does it often. And over the radio we get, “we’re doubled up over here.” Meanwhile, Bren and I haven’t been able to buy a laker all day. “We just had a rip and a miss Stevie but we’re kinda coming that way now.”

By the time we arrive they’ve hit two more fish. Fuck a duck!!! They’re at six lakers for the day, while we’re sucking hind-tit. With my best smile hiding all of my anguish and jealousies, an upbeat performance and the conveyance of a genuine happiness for them, I congratulate the two on their wonderful fishing, their double-header and resulting PB lakers.
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ON FIRE!!!

They nailed the hot spoon, depths and two presentations that the fish really wanted this day. We were close but not there. And how many times in your life, an angler, have you been put in that spot when everything you do is either right or wrong, while the other guy in the boat is experiencing the polar opposite? It happens. Because some days it’s just the finest of details that separates catching or not. So when Stevie hollered over and said, “HEY!!! We got another one of the same spoons still in the package, you want it?” I was like, “ohhhh my GOD yeah”
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Clipped it on the line, sent that lure out and immediately hooked up. Bren gets our first of the day. Eazy-peezy!
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Back at camp Stevie chopped some wood, Amelie heated up some stew, and by the fire with some tunes playing we all got cozy awhile. In our boats we covered over 100 miles of blue sea just to find our giants. Bren a 48-inch pike, myself the 49-incher, Stevie weighs in himself his heaviest lake trout ever and Amelie ties her biggest too. After the chilly start and hard hours, through gin, wine and scotch breath I surely slurred to all that this day would likely be the day of this trip.
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AMELIE SAYS “WINDY BUT PRODUCTIVE.”

Headache come morn. Stiffer than an oak. Dry as a bone. Better with age my ass!

By 8:00am we were all drugged, watered, fed and on the water ready to go. By noon winds would build from nothing to 15 knots, then 20 overnight. Our plan was to ride out fast and far to those hungry lakers again, get at ’em for as long as the winds hold off, then hammer back close to home base and fish whatever specks or pike we could find later. With Stevie and Am’s lucky spoon in our arsenal today, no sooner did Bren send it out that it took a rip. A heavy fish, my turn too, I played it well to near boatside but once it saw our faces at the surface and started rolling it came unpegged. A shame, it was a great laker certainly over 20.

Lines reset quick we got back after ’em. Losing my fish I offered Bren next turn but she’d have none of it. Dory was circling nearby with us, we were on that spot-on-the-spot holding lakers and it took just a few more minutes before another fish bent a rod.
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Didn’t feel like much at first, few soft headshakes as it became obvious it was swimming to us. When I locked up tighter with it after Bren had cleared the other line and we popped Bambalam into neutral, the fish became much more unreasonable. Straight down and dogging it planted firmly into the earth’s crust. Only thing an angler can do against a Hell Devil like this is get down on his knees and pray.
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Fish Gods,
who art in Nipigon,
deep or shallow whatever the game.
This big fish gonna come,
this will be done,
on my Lund,
just as it is in heaven.
So give me the lunker, this big beauty catch.
And forgive all my backlashes,
as I forgive my wife who sometimes backlashes my shit onto me.
And spool me not into frustration,
but deliver this fish from evil.
So fine is your Nipigon,
this fishes power and my glory,
forever and ever, and ever and ever.
And ever,
and ever
Amen.
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Ummmm… prayers answered ya think..?
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Real healthy brute to hold for a hero shot. Fish to the scale hit 28 and I’m pretty sure that’s my biggest for this lake, maybe tying with another, seems I’ll need to check to books to be certain. There’s bigger swimming in the lake but on this day the fish God’s decided 28 it is, and I’ll gladly rejoice for it.

Each new little gust or rippling of the water made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Bren and I have both been in the big kind of water that scares the life outta ya, and it’s for good reason on a temperamental lake like Nipigon that you want to always be keeping an eye out. For the time being though, everything was smooth, and when we looked over to Dory now and again, Stevie and Am were making the best of it.
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We’d pick up one more before calling it after the noon hour. However, the other two still had some hot sticks out there. Amelie would catch a couple and same for Stevie through the morning. Bren and I just finished reeling both lines in and were nearby Dory when spotting Stevie hooked up into something bigger. Zipping over quick with hopes of taking part and getting some good pictures, the man had his newest PB already in the net. A stocky laker topping out at 25 pounds! Way to go dood!!!
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As said, they did great picking up some other lakers too, and Bren got one for the day.
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We could have kept at it but with the winds still playing nice, the heat of the afternoon approaching and our bellies needing food, we toured off into a calm back bay to cook meals and see if any pike were about.

Hammer handles! Fished there before and it’s never produced much… While tucked away beneath some higher hills we noticed the tree tops were really starting to sway. We finished up and made the call to get back towards camp. Out on the main lake it was just beginning to kick three footers but it was building quick. Straight into it we bounced easy and before too long found ourselves on some leeward shores of which to spend the afternoon safely searching out specks. As that turned out, Amelie had the most luck.
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The wind just kept coming though. Bren and I had found our way closer to camp much sooner than Stevie and Am. Even there it was white-capping not far off shore. We rode back through some four footers comfortably and tiller wet, but wondered if by now it was getting to be 5’s and 6 rogues out there? Dory being a smaller boat, Stevie being less experienced on the water, I admittedly worry.

Bren and I tried casting in some pike and speck spots but both of us wind-knotting at the same time just tangled our energies. Did pick up a small speck, she a medium pike near camp. Believe it was around 4:00pm when we decided enough was enough. An eight hour day on the water is plenty, Bren wanted to wash, I wanted to watch that, but didn’t, and instead picked stones off the beach while fretting for my friends return.

Our camp had taken some abuse in the wind and Bren fixed all that. She’s amazing with two things especially, fire and shelter. As we were settling into our chairs we caught Dory finally surfing in. The winds had dropped some, no more were we seeing the same whitecaps near camp, when they pulled up all was good. Each of the girls having kept a fish for a fry that day, I got to cleaning and bagging them up for our next nights supper. We’d already thawed out some chicken-pot-pie for this evening instead.

After dinner drinks were poured. A change in wind direction gave our site a little more reprieve and it was calm enough in spots that the odd dimple would be seen on the lake surface. Amelie and Bren were both eager to see what fish were about, and amazingly Am hooked up!
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Marine forecast for the coming day wasn’t too spectacular though. “Severe wind warning in effect.” Blah, blah, blah knots building to blah, blah, knots, switching to, etc. Had a game plan for it, didn’t know for sure if it’d work, but we’d all have to make the best of what we were being given.
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EVEN WINDIER, LESS PRODUCTIVE.

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The boat sat pretty at camp but it took awhile, until late morning really, to get all things sorted out and eventually find ourselves on calmer seas. Not going into great detail, as you can read the title for this day, it was a bit more a grind on the water once pushing off shore.

I lead the pack safely through some tricky waters to areas most had never been before. Not another boater to be seen this day, once arriving we had some great stretches of protected shorelines to work for specks, and we had some rough patches to get through too.

Not too many specks would come of our efforts though. Water temps cooling with the winds, it was only the lee sides facing the sun with that bit of extra warmth which seemed to draw fish in. We found some of those such spots, seeing more troots than we actually caught. But the girls each trudged through, Amelie catching a nice tagged 22-incher and Bren a robust 23 on a short twenty-foot cast.
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As the afternoon arrived so did more wind. Gusts of 50+km expected, casting and trolling tight shores for trout was tough enough for me in the tiller, even worse for Dory. A rough beating home we were glad to get out of it. Getting back to camp before a normal dinner time, just sitting back and chillin’ awhile, checking stuff out, cleaning up and having plenty time to prepare the big dinner, it was still going to be a great fish-filled day… frying ’em up!
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Yeah, by time to do dishes with Amelie we were all starting to get a little silly I suppose. Big meals, lots of cheers, and with all that extra camp time on our hands it lead into an awesome evening by the fire. We toasted, did shots of Fireball, took funny face photos, and really quite enjoyed ourselves. Day turned out quite alright after all.
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BOTTOMS UP!!!
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Real easy to fall asleep.
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THE “GAPERS.”

To pessimistically complain about the wind is a waste of time. Optimistically hope for it’s change, we did this but, same waste of time. Only thing to do is set sail when and where you can.

Several passing thunderstorms woke us early. Between 4am to 10am a number of cells dropped hydrogen bombs on our tents, but all dry and cozy inside we waited it through, dozing in and out. The extra hours, everyone was well rested.

A little blast from the Buddy Heater every morning creates the perfect sleeping bag to clothing transition. Before rains would totally let up, Bren and I were outside under the tarp shelter preparing coffee and breakfast. We wouldn’t be in the boats until 11:30am.

Winds usually down some in the mornings we had a chance at lakers, losing one and catching one smaller fish. On the water were a few other boaters chasing the same. One fella nearby, fishing alone, was spotted spying me with binoculars. He must have found it strange when I pulled mine out too and peered right back at him. Sniper!!!

A second day of afternoon and evening wind warnings, 20 knots, we stayed close to home, fishing leeward shores for specks. In various spots out of the wind, you wouldn’t think the lake was bouncing at all. We also plied into a few spots where normally later season pike might be lurking, with no cabbage growth of yet, they weren’t home.
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After a wee time trolling and plenty casting, Bren and I had tallied up some pike, seen a whitey or two, and had a couple speck follows. Only fish of note was one better brookie that taped out at 24.5-inches picked off the edge of a rocky shoal. A real spunky fish that didn’t want to quit.
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The day sunny and hot when it was time to take a break Bren and I sought a nearby beach to park the boat. Easier to cook up some chowder out of the wind, I walked the sand curious if any possible campsite might exist here… and one did not. But the island had surely seen a moose at a time or two. A nice quiet spot to stop.
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By 5:00pm Bren and I jumped back onto the laker program for a couple hours. A little bumpy, the direction of the blow made it manageable. It was our turn for the luck, catching four more to add to our two from morning. Nothing at all big though, an eight pounder may have been the best. Steve and Am picked one up as well but even they were having a hard time connecting with any brutes.

That evening I made fajitas… fawking poorly too. Something about them didn’t taste right, and having added some lime it was likely the wrong ingredient. Amelie went straight for dessert after one serving, obviously still hungry but just not for the dinner. Fajita night has forever been on the camping menu, but that may have to change after my feels got hurt.

Drinks around the fire, like geeks we guessed at the elements and their symbols on the periodic table. The girls told us which boys from the movies they liked, Legolas and some Josh Duhamal punk. And at some point I outed Bren for oddly calling the jaw spreaders, the “gapers.” What the heck are “gapers” Bren?
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BEAUTY AND A BEAST.
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Lakers are pretty easy to read on sonar. Time spent on Great Slave Lake guiding in 2015 was honestly the quickest and best lesson I’ve had in their behavior. Most obvious to understand is when you’re hardly picking up any fish on the graph and the ones you are seeing are glued to bottom, that’s because they’re negative, they’re inactive fish. Ohhh sure, you might coax one or two with greater than normal efforts but the reality is, the few you are seeing are telling you that the many you aren’t seeing are likely lying even tighter to the bottom. Where we had picked up fish the evening before was now a dead zone, and not because the fish had left the area. On this morning, despite Bren reeling in one eight pound exception, after a couple of hours assessing the situation I’d had enough and we both agreed to get fishing for specks instead. Steve and Am’s after a one fish morn as well, they felt the same way.
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Nothing to lose we tried trolling a number of secondary… even tertiary spots. Areas I hadn’t bothered with in years, some never at all. Prior to a late lunch, for the most part all efforts didn’t pay off. A few pesky pike but no signs of trout.

Steve and Amelie lost us, heading to where I don’t know? Again, as the afternoon came on we had a third day in a row wind warning that would hold us close to camp. Wondering about Dory, I’d later find out the two had found some calm waters and Stevie did well picking up three specks. The same would happen for us. Along a short stretch of bumpier shoreline Brenda hooked up five times in short order but sadly just caught two. My rod fired only once and it stayed on. The smallest speck of the trip, it would have been OK had that one fallen off.
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After rounding a point the wind and waves off a big fetch suddenly made us realize that was the end of our troll run. Lake really beginning to kick up, where we were was like a bottle neck that the surging lake below had to squeeze through. Taking a minute to bolt everything down and dawn some wet gear, nose high we crashed on through back to camp.

Once all were together again we listened to the next day forecast and heard much the same as it had been past four days. Same wind direction, same warning, gusts 50+ km and by late evening and overnight some showers. Just the slightest mention a day or two earlier of “possibly” leaving the Thursday instead of our scheduled Friday got the girls grinning, but not me, I had to hold out to actually hear the forecast first. Now with what it was calling for with the wind didn’t bother me, but just to avoid packing up a wet camp or leaving in the rain I do prefer. It’s always hard leaving Nipigon regardless, do tell Bren often enough that I’d live out there if she’d only let us.

Sausages over the fire with Bob Marley, CCR, Pink Floyd, we all talked bits and pieces of childhood experiences. Bren sneaking booze to the hill in North Bay. Stevie letting ‘er rip to save his love Amelie. I talked of rye and tonics at the bar in Perth where sometimes I’d take the stage and sing “Wish You Were Here,” or “Sail Away.” Sneaking around, confessing our love, taking the stage, sailing away, we’re still those same kids I guess, adventurous, happy together and still really letting ‘er rip!!!
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THE BEAR NECESSITIES.

Clink clink!
Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle, crinkle.
Bing bang bing bang!!
Crinkle, crinkle, clink, clink!

A series of sudden loud noises that came from nowhere woke me from a dead sleep. Heart pounding, in the tent I flicked on the overhead light and called out, “HEY GUYS!” No response… “HEY GUYS!!” “What,” Stevie responds? “BEAR!!! There’s a bear out there!”

Half dressed with just a shirt on I mustered up the nerve to peer out from the tent with the flashlight. Naked arse surely aimed back at Bren, behind me she was fidgeting with tight sealed plastic packaging trying to get into some little mini air-horn thingy. Stevie on the other hand came out from his tent, flashlight in hand wearing only hunter orange briefs intending to do what to the bear with just that, I have no fucking idea?

But there was no bear. Nothing under inspection by both our lights appeared out of sorts. I was actually in awe by that, having heard what I heard, but yet was left with no explanation and all that could be done was apologize to everyone for waking their asses up in the middle of the night.

The “clink clink” actually sounded like maybe the coolers or rubbermaid lids opening. The “crinkles” was the tarp shaking violently. The “bing-bangs,” those were pots and pans which I sometimes leave on the coolers and bins so that if anything wants into them, they’re gonna make plenty noise first.

Falling back to sleep afterwards I had to wonder if it had all been a dream..? Poor Bren though, still struggling with the plastic packaging and traumatized by my rear view, she surely suffered through a nightmare.

5:00am came quick and because she hadn’t slept she was first to stir. Inside the tent we started to pack things quietly and before 9:00am the entire camp was broken and we were all loaded up in the boat. Together and ready to depart we snapped one last shot of the crew.
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Stevie and Am planned to head straight home. Bren up for whatever and me not in a hurry, I decided for a half day fish we’d try some different waters where figuring it’d be calm.

Exhausted, just after a ride and taking a few casts, Bren laid out across the back deck, borrowed my sweater for a pillow and took one helluva long nap. Other boats out fishing, it was nice to take notes, explore around some new corners never seen before and find fish, everywhere

Specks boiled here and there in eddies, off the back-sides of island, and sometimes right in the main currents. Drifting into one particular spot, I peered into the clear water and watched as dozens of specks scattered in all directions. But the one thing I didn’t see for the three plus hours out there on the water, was a fish caught. Two guides and two other boats pass or fish nearby awhile, nobody pulled out a net. Guess it was just one of those days… and Bren woke up eventually to witness some of it too.
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Snow, cold, strong winds, thunderstorms, low waters, the chance of bears… that’s all just the usual with camping really, and we did well with these things considered. Not having any American’s around this year was surely sweet too. Nothing against them, especially my friends, it was just rather nice having greater space in some places and less pressure on the fish. Plan is, get back there soon as possible and enjoy it all again.
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Thanks for reading.
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Bunk.
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