The fire on, a warm scotch, and the kids playing upstairs, it’s while alone in the basement on some snowy winter night when trips like this one begin…
.
Nipigon’s rocky shorelines have been calling me back since first traveling there some short years ago. It has become an annual obsession to return, and a future goal to live out my summer days on it’s waters; once eligible for any sort of semi-retired life that is.
This spring the hope was to forge something new with the lake and my youngest love, Leah. At nearly ten years old now, my daughter and I have never had any sort of trip together just the two of us. This was to change, and with that I would introduce her to the experience of fishing travel and the passion her father has for just that.
Onaman’s River Resort on Lake Nipigon would be the destination. Very little information seemingly exists for this outfitter, and what bit that could be scrounged was found primarily through U.S. based websites. Humboldt Bay, Ombabika and even East Bay represent an inspiringly vast section of Lake Nipigon that accesses more remote east and northern compass settings. Some older reading material here have at home notes, this end of Nipigon is richest for its walleye and pike fishing, but after further investigation it became apparent that Humboldt itself is also home to good populations of the lake’s biggest laketrout. Any of those three species of fish regularly get my stomach growling, then add world class speckled trout into the recipe and what’s left is the perfect feast. And truly Nipigon is just that to me, a favorite delectable four species, available in jumbo sizes, and ready to order from one of the classiest natural establishments.
Preparing through the spring during spare time I would hit the vise to tie up jigs and spinners. Using mapping software, different hard map sources, Google Earth and any online information, the hand scribbled away drawing out possible fishing locations, marking shoals and pinpointing safe harbors and campsites. No hydrographic charts for the lake, no cell service in this area, no radio station weather forecasts, and limited human contact once out there fishing, it’s your life and preparation is paramount, and especially important when your little one is along.
My Lund would be doable but somewhat small for this kind of trip. Big runs into bigger water are required and comfort for Leah was a priority. When thinking about someone with a larger boat to invite I looked no further than my friend Len. An 18 foot Crestliner, 150 Merc, 9.9 kicker, Terrova, quality electronics, bimini top and plenty of room for the three of us, I was quite happy when he accepted to come. In fact, I knew he wouldn’t say no. He’s a man who loves his speckled trout above most else, so this was right up his alley. Len made it quite clear that specks were the big draw for him, and understanding that he is an organized and meticulous man, there was relief for me knowing that the boat would be in prime shape heading into the big chase.
In the late winter my buddy Kevin suddenly lost his lifelong best friend Trevor to a heart attack at age 37. Trevor and Kevin visited Nipion a couple years back and for the two of them it was the greatest fishing trip of their lives. Talking with Kevin during his time of loss I realized he must come with us, so a plan was set in motion to ensure just this. Kevin (Floaty) was over-the-moon excited about returning to Nipigon. A hope to release some of Trevor’s ashes to forever flow within the lake, there was certainly an importance and a finality to his personal journey as well. So…
… on the morning of June 28th the boys arrived in front of my place at 6:30am.
.
THE DROOL.
Floaty was passed out in the back of the truck and drooling on my pillow before we even reached the end of my driveway. Len and I began chirping up front about all things fishy, while Leah quietly stared in awe at the many different ways Floaty could contort his body during sleep. In Arnprior for coffee we woke Float abruptly and glancing at the Wendy’s he bellowed out, “that’s a huge slushie” just before konkin’ out again within mere seconds. Leah laughed about this for hours. She was in good spirits the entire haul. She’s never really been a complainer, and lives a life in the happiest of childhood worlds.
.
A Saturday driving we were expecting some slow traffic north and we were stuck with just that. It amazes and always pizzes me off to the inth degree, the people who drive 80-90km/hr then reach the passing lane and floor it to 130 so no one can pass them, then they slow’er back down to 90 to hold everyone up again. It’s much, much worse south of North Bay too, where more urban hippocrates populate. Dodge Caravans and any Subaru’s seem to be the worst for it. Seriously.
Six hours into the tour and above New Liskeard traffic fizzled out quite a bit, then later west of Cochrane the road was void of any life, as per usual. Mattice at twelve hours into the drive would provide an overnight rest stop at my good friends Steve and Amelie’s. Getting in at dinnertime Amelie had homemade lasagna, caesar salad, desert and beer waiting. God I love them.
Kev and Len couldn’t help themselves and from infront of Steve and Amelie’s home on the shoreline of the Missinaibe River, the boys wet a line for smallies and fallfish. It’s a quiet life in little Mattice I suspect, yet there’s always been something appealing about that.
.
.
.
Sleep was a rather difficult arrangement for Leah and I. Sharing a bed I learned she’s somewhat of a Circus act all night long. She flips, cart-wheels, stands on her head, sings, dances, quotes Shakespeare and even cries. When I finally drifted off around 2:00am I was promptly flicked in the face by a tiny finger and told, “stop snoring, I can’t sleep.” Sunrise came too quick.
.
MOOSE ON THE LOOSE.
On the road around 7:30am with about six hours to destination we hit the local Timmies in Hearst before starting off on that 200 kilometer straight shot through to Longlac. For anyone that has not driven the stretch of road understand this… you could chuck a tennis ball west from the townline at Hearst and as long your aim is true, that ball will roll those 200 klicks to Longlac. Poor Len was beginning to stress that the two hours might just kill him because there’d be absolutely no Timmies on route, he’s is utterly addicted. Truth was, no Timmies coffee for a week. Somewhere nearing Geraldton our extra-large double-doubles bursted every seal and we pulled over for a break at some scenic little rest-stop. While waiting, that tennis ball rolled on by.
.
.
.
.
The brilliance of the north route 11 rather than southerly 17 is that it’s flat, straight and sees little traffic. To reach Onaman’s you’d be silly to go any other way. The west side of Jellicoe there’s a road to the right. There’s no signage on the 11 for Pasha Lake Camp or Onaman’s Resort, just a semi-rough dirt road that veers off into the middle of nowhere for 50 kilometers. We were wondering about it a minute, but Leah says to me, “sometimes dad you gotta get lost to find yourself.”
Some of the Lindner’s TV crew was leaving as we were heading in, we arrived about 1:00pm and spent a couple hours settling into the cabin, having lunch, and preparing the boat. Boys on board, the idea was to take in some late afternoon pike and an evening of walleye. Looking down the Onaman River from the dock Len put the Cresty on plane for the ten klicks to the lake. An eagle followed us out for a ways.
.
Here’s a sped up video of the run…
.
A shallow area with the possibility of some hazards I urged Len to keep a heading into a specific back bay. Stopping short it didn’t take my lack of patience long before I had a remote in hand for the Terrova. A small cut of pencils reaching out from a calm back corner I was certain there’d be a pike just in behind it. Cast… and SMACK… and as I began to play the fish I hear over my shoulder from Len and Floaty… “AHEM!” “AhhhHEM… Leah!?!?” “Ohhh yes, thanks boys,” I answered before calling Leah to the bow and passing her the rod. A moment of forgetfulness, that would be the only reminder needed for the rest of the week. All my fish afterwards were hers to reel in if she wanted, and proudly she took pretty much every one of them.
.
Water temps behind the point deeper into the bay increased about seven degrees to low 70’s. Forage was abundant everywhere and the odd pike kept pulling us in deeper. Had a feeling about this spot on the map. Over the tall grasses and just around a bend we spotted the first of nine moose sighted during the week, and the only bull. It was awesome but it didn’t stick around long, and I barely caught this pic.
.
We turned the boat around to make our exit and it was like we hit a different fishery on the way out. Len first of all pops a surprise tank walleye from about two feet of water. It’s a long fish we guess around 9-10 pounds and it sure as heck gave him the business.
.
Lenny wasn’t done with just some exceptional walleye though, on a following cast he smoked a best pike. Dood was on fire and it we’d only been sparking the fish for an hour. On a double header that had a couple pike running Floaty and I under the boat, Leah wanted a photograph of us. The pike were really cooking.
.
.
.
Rubber hook for Kev he had a big fish blow up and be on and off in a sudden heartbreaker. My hook drove solid into something large too, and it held. When Leah grabbed the rod and the pike took a hard run, she slammed and bent two rod guides over the gunnel before finding her balance, leaning back and lifting the tip high.
.
With some help at boatside my girl had reeled in her first trophy pike. Proud Papa to say the least. This will be one of my favorite pics for life.
.
The bite faded out around 6:00pm and after a little more weedbed exploring we giver’d back up the river towards O.R.R. and played around an hour or two with the walleye. With these fish you can’t go wrong, even if just casting from shore. If a boatload of guys were to spend a day fishing just walleye they would probably average about two to four dozen a piece. It was a little surprising that the presentations needed to be tweaked with a little more finesse than normal, but it could have been due to the fact that many boats fish near the camp daily. The walleye fishing quickly became Leah’s favorite because she could cast her own lighter rod and even catch the odd fish for herself. Whenever my line got tapped she was right there to reel those in as well. By the end of the week she had me grinning a few times when I’d look over and see her mimicking everything I was doing with the rod when jigging. She sure pounded some gold bars all week and was a natural at posing with her catch. Again, when in her glory and so very happy fishing, I couldn’t have been more pleased myself.
End of day one at O.R.R. we all retired exhausted and happy.
.
SUN SPECK.
Just a wee bit sluggish on the 6:00am rooster call. Floaty was always first up to greet me soon as he heard any sort of stirring. Usually I begin quiet with the kettle boiling, but it doesn’t take long before pots and pans start clanking and the breakfast bell rings. This has somehow become the routine of every fishing trip. I’m camp beyotch, first up, last to bed and constantly pushing the others to hurry up… though it’s probably because I eat more than anyone else, am most fish obsessed and unbelievably driven to be out exploring.
Leah started off her days kinda wonky. First few mornings she’d complain her stomach was upset and not want to eat, yet I could tell it was only stress. She confessed teary eyed at times she missed her sister and mom, and the fact her meal times were off and she lost a good chunk of sleep on route, she was tired. At one point while crying she says to me, “sorry to ruin your vacation dad,” and that kinda shot right through ya know. She was down in the dumps and had no need for that sort of wrongful and guilty thinking. It would be a little while yet, but once she caught up on her rest, we talked some things through and she began eating better, these occassional short sad spells ceased as I’ll note later on, and it was all smiles for the remainder.
There’s a tonne of shoreline to cover and the speck fishing is rather far out there on the lake. Once bellies and boat were fully fueled we set out to begin eliminating as much of that speckled trout water as we could. Thing was, by the time we got moving and out there on the lake, I’d normally be finishing up my morning speck fishing and switching gears.
.
.
.
We toured for about six hours total, following a few islands but otherwise sticking to a long expanse of shore and even trolling it opposite ways. Specks in this area we learned later on from Wilf (father of O.R.R. owner Rob) is that as the spring waters warm the pike migrate out from the shallows along the shore and actually push the bulk of the specks out of bays, and onto rocky offshore islands. As we trolled along for specks catching pike certainly wasn’t a problem.
.
Days out on the water are often long and tiring yet somehow on previous 7-day visits we’d manage to find the energy to put in 10-14 hours a day fishing. This trip things slowed down a little; more like eight hours, and I’ll confess it took some getting used to at my end. Although, no matter what’s going on in a day, it’s always nice to step out and stretch the legs, especially in a place like Nipigon. It is afterall a vacation of sorts.
.
.
Spinners, spoons, jigs and small cranks we ran it all. Along the way we saw some excellent looking speck water and spotted many roaming whitefish and even pike, but the trout remained elusive to the hook. Well… again, poor Floaty actually had a hit and loss we suspected was a good speck.
I was running a spoon and a jig on an inside line when the spoon took a knock. Quick hookset and the rod was passed to Leah. This fish on lighter gear gave her every bit as much play as her big pike the previous day, but she managed to get it boatside after being taught a little about pumping the rod, slowly reeling down on the fish, and letting it run when need be. There was no measurement on her first speck, only this picture.
.
After six hours on the trout the gang opted to head back for a time of walleye slaying, before I threw a big rosemary leg of lamb on the BBQ later at the cabin.
.
SPINNER.
There’s no rhyme or reason to when and why specks bite and when they don’t. Kind of the same as lakers, yet probably worse. On any day in any condition it is my belief though, that your best shots are of course sunrise and set, and the journal would actually record the same. That said, if I was to want an “all day long” speck weather condition I’d probably hope for overcast and a little choppy before choosing bluebird. Funny thing was, when speaking with the owner of O.R.R. Rob briefly about our first day fishing specks, he disagreed. Rob would rather glass calm and sunny as can be, and his favorite hours were in the afternoon. Boggled me a little this did, until he explained his tactics for catching specks. Want to know his secrets you’ll have to ask Rob yourself one day. Understanding that when he guides it’s more often than not during normal daylight hours on nicer days, it makes sense his style would adapt. There’s always something to be learned from others.
Quickly evident that Floaty doesn’t eat breakfast, Len doesn’t eat breakfast and Leah doesn’t eat much breakfast… so like six slices of French toast for me and a pound of bacon. We started late to fish but after a 30km. run out onto the lake, we were set-up and fishing specks on glass by 10:00am. First stop was paradise on earth.
.
.
This area looked worthy of some casts. Basketball sized boulders slowly tapering offshore before hitting a sharper drop to 20-40 foot depths, it was awfully fishy. Working a few hundred yards of this shoreline thoroughly, we spotted whites, a couple specks, caught some pike and even had a cow moose coming crashing through the brush onto a small, cornered beach. Camping there someday crossed the mind.
Sun getting high around noon we settled in to deploying Rob’s idea on a troll. Floaty needing to work a little on tanning his other half, he was happily in need to kick back and soak up some necessary rays.
.
We cruised for about two hours until 2:00pm, spotting more whitefish, catching more pike and seeing a school of speckles go by. Problem was, we couldn’t get one trout to bite. So, because we were told 2:00pm and 6:00pm are the better times for lakers, we shot to the deep and dropped riggers and dipsies for a few hours to tempt them. Leah did some coloring and watched a Barbie movie to pass what she feels is “the boring fish” time.
.
Six total hours of speck-laker shiznitting the bed this day was, we were still trout-less by dinnertime. What’s never a waste of time is being out there, seeing what does and doesn’t work, covering, discovering and eliminating water, and actually observing fish on spots. To salvage the afternoon we nailed some evening transition pike on route to camp; with Len pegging another tank, then retired to the river for sunset eyes. Rob invited us for a late walleye snack by the campfire to finish our day.
.
.
.
.
PROVISOR.
A late start to the morning, when we reached the lake it was flat calm and begging to be beaten rough. Thinking pike early for a change we agreed on giving them a short go first. Over some early season emerging cabbage we found a decent pocket of fish and picked up a few, but it wasn’t gang busters this time around. One good mid-forty inch fish that hit after following close to the boat came undone on Leah and I… that was a kick-in-the-head moment.
Noon came and the boys decided on going to town. Tough pill for me to swallow having only two hours fishing in on the day and a glass calm lake inviting us to go exploring anywhere at all. My thinking is to take advantage of good weather and water when you can. Back to camp we went though, and while sitting in the cabin with Leah we both took our time and just had a good talk. This was when we were able to work out much of her homesickness, and it got even happier after lunch when we chose to explore up the river together, and do some shore fishing for walleye. To Leah, this time alone made for her favorite day.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
It was an incredible couple hours with my baby. Re-energizing… smiling. We shot a little video too for fun.
Len and Kev arrived back late that afternoon to meet us. While in town the guys found me a spoon I’ve been looking for now for probably four years or so. The “Provisor.” It was a kind gift and hopefully it nails me a lunker laker one day. We slipped back onto the lake by 6:00pm for a couple hours of fruitless laker trolling, before partaking in our habitual beating of those dusky walleyes.
.
.
The evening fish belonged to all. Kev had a hot stick and was nailing one after another, Len never stops catching fish period, while Leah and I kept to our fun thing.
.
.
Some giant ribeye steaks with all the trimmings capped the day off perfectly.
.
LAID TO REST.
Great start, our first timely start, all rested and digested, we set off for earlier morning specks with the plan to not give up on them until Len caught his first. Blazing down the river with the sun at our backs, warm thoughts at thirty knots we woke the riverbanks until reaching the mouth.
There on the lake she blew and making our way out twelve kilometers along the north shore of Humboldt we tucked in behind Hitchcock Island for a break from building waves. Leah was turning a little green but with her head closest to the motor fumes and cigarette smoke in the air, even I was feeling a little ill effect from just that alone. Poor Floaty was already beyond though, and took to orally chumming the water off the stern. “Take me back,” and “I don’t like this,” were some pleas. “But, but, but…” I tried to rebut, but there was no but. Would have been a five mile beating to the southern leeward side of Humboldt, except with sickies on board that might have been a rather cruel torture. We had to retreat back. This is Nipigon karma.
For several hours we safely probed new pike waters deep in Humboldt, with only a few lesser pike to show for it. The wind had turned some waters black and I wished we could get a better clarity to investigate for weedbeds. One scene well tucked away was like glass though, and it invited us in to view.
.
.
.
.
.
Given the right time of year this little creek and the others adjacent to it would be loaded with pike, though at our time, no. Just outside and into the bay the water was dirty and the odd bit of cabbage could be found. Few pencils growing, somewhere there would be the fish we were looking for but today we couldn’t find them. We retreated further back to Onaman’s to fish walleye in the rapids at camp.
.
.
.
The afternoon sun cooked us in the shelter of the river. Leah did not want to miss a decent supper or have to settle for picking away at a meal half asleep at an hour near her bedtime. She loves chicken fajitas and so she got her wish.
The boys didn’t put the boat back in the water after dinner. Len and Rob were hitting it off well, and so the two of them spent a few hours visiting and scheming about our return this winter to do some ice fishing for a week. Leah and I grabbed a couple oars, the sticks and some grubs and hiked our way back to the river hole we much enjoyed the day before. While there I sneakily let the camera roll while interviewing my little comical genius during her Jelly Belly beans break. “Talking is my policy,” Leah does say.
Kevin had other endeavors. He had found a home for Trevor and had finally built the strength to see his friend off. It is often the most kind and giving, hearts which love the most and beat strongest, who’s lives are silenced too soon. From where river waters flow west into the sunset, upon a beautiful point at the last rapids on the Onaman, Trevor would flow to the lake and become part of this heaven on earth, for eternity. Ashes to water, his dust flowing to the dusk. RIP in the Nipigon.
.
STORMY CALM.
To be another bumpy day on the lake, after watching the windmill at the resort zip out lightning bolts of energy Float announced he was staying behind. Len needed some persuasion too and as we reached the mouth of the river to face the lake he needed even more. “Pass the first islands and we’ll just have a look Len,” I begged. “Point at that shore into the waves now and we’ll just see what happens Len.” Before we knew it we found flat waters on the lee side of a long shoreline we had yet to fish. Praise Nipigon. Would it prove worth anything remained to be known.
Over a few hours we had perfect trolling conditions and managed to cover 7-8 kilometers of what was found to be a mixture of pikey-like, flat, sandy-weed, back waters with yet some great steeper, rocky, quick-tapered specky zones. I kept on the motor while Len did a lot of quarter-casting, and when any rod in the boat would fire Leah and I gave it to him. Until Len knew if it was his first speck or not, he’d only pass off the rod to Leah if found out to be a pike.
Around 4:00pm and 25km out onto the lake we just kinda noticed the wind had dropped to almost nothing. No specks along what Wilf referred to as “loonshit,” our trio dropped riggers and a dipsy for lakers in what was mentioned to be a decent, deep area. The lake out there is intense over 100-300 feet of water just offshore.
.
.
.
.
.
Having veered off this rock face a half kilometer or less on the laker troll, the boat was out over 214 feet when the dipsy fired. Set back 52 feet down to 20 feet pulling a C90 Whitefish the initial pull was good and hearty as I passed the pole to Leah. Some help time-to-time inbetween correcting the boats direction, Leah kept the rod high, pumped it carefully and slowly winched in the fish. Len quickly cleared the other lines before readying the net.
On the surface behind the dipsy, at first glance I saw the lure wobbling like it had nothing attached and announced the fish came off. Len called out, “no there’s a small laker on,” before correcting himself and excitedly yelling, “NO THAT’S A SPECK,” when scooping it into the net.
It was instantly Leah’s favorite fish of the week and ask her why she’ll tell you what she said to us, “because we all caught it together.” And, if you’re going to boat one while laker fishing, it might as well be a giant that hits a 6-inch spoon over 214 fow. Heckuva P.B. for the kid really.
.
.
The wind had totally died and taking this catch as a sign that specks may be biting now, I wanted desperately to fish a particular island shoreline we had yet to try. A short 15km run further out into the belly of Nipigon we came off plane and started the troll. Again, Len took to quarter-casting quick from the bow while Leah kept an eye open on our back rods. Rounding a point the inside fired, Len put his rod down in a hurry and grabbed this one, and reeling his opposite hand now on a short light-action stick, was in for a gnarly fight with one speck that did not want any part of arriving boat-side.
But it did… and Len officially had his first Nipigon speck. Excitement, relief and happiness all ensued thereafter.
.
.
And after a quick weight, measurement and photos you can watch as the fish kicked away strong…
.
Heads up now and after just having reset to start the troll, I looked out onto the lake and noticed whitecaps building again. Out of nowhere and in no time Nipigon kicked up and we were racing back towards Humboldt Bay and safer waters. A 50-plus kilometer fetch does expanse the lake between us and it’s southern shores, it was a wet and bumpy ride which showed Len where the odd leak was in his bimini top. Although our window of calm lasted only about three hours on this day, it provided the boat with enough joy to last us a lifetime really. A short laker fish in the waves before Leah became a little unsettled with the rolling, back in a calmed safer harbor near the rivermouth we captured this moment.
.
ROLLIN’ WITH ROB.
The windmill was blowing over on the morning of our final day. Rob had agreed with Len that for the price of gas he would take him fishing for the day, Len graciously invited us along. Had it not been for this arrangement we would have likely been fishing pike and walleye most of the day or, packing up to head home early. The biggest winds of the week were forecasted and Len’s boat wouldn’t have been comfortable to take out, Rob’s 24-foot Boston Whaler on the other hand was ideal for the conditions. An afternoon of laker fishing was on the agenda. On the initial ride to the blue we bounced around a little, and so when Leah came out of the cabin upon stopping she asked, “is Floaty okay?” Kev got a kick out of that.
A couple bags of Costco Jelly Bellies were a hit all week. Certainly Rob doesn’t see too much of this kind of thing living rather remote all year long at the Resort. Tasty treats in a kajillion flavor combos, most are delicious until you accidentally mix a watermelon, coffee and popcorn bean combo by accident.
Three to five foot annoying waves for awhile, turned to smoother rollers in the afternoon. Kev’s rubber-hook-syndrome continued for the first two fish which took on a dipsy and a rigger, both came off. Leah’s belly turned upside-down in the first hour or so until the Gravol and a little nap got her back on keel. She was in and out of sleep all day.
Rob had us covering some prime locations, fish were on sonar but playing hard to get though. His approach to the lakers I have only ever read about once before, by a past Nipigon commercial fisherman and guide who confessed to chasing greys with the same ways. It’s hard to stay on board with, but it does produce, Rob would tell you. Flip through the pages of the Onaman’s photo album back at the office and you’ll see proof, and a couple hardcore doods from Sudbury came in one evening after fishing all day and for three days and they confessed, “do exactly what Rob says.” Big fish for the year so far was a 52 pounder caught about a week before we arrived. A number of low 40’s had graced a few gunnels and good numbers of fish at the average 20 pound mark had been taken. That’s Humboldt laker fishing Rob reports. There are a few days of good numbers sure, but the area is more-or-less a trophy laker fishery, in a truest sense. Concentrations of fish aren’t quite as thick as elsewhere but sizes are the best found anywhere on the lake; in his lifelong experienced opinion. For the zero price of admission, I’d take a day conversing back-and-forth with a seasoned angler any time. Rob only needed to put an exclamation point on his guidance.
Len had just propped himself up on a seat that hangs off the transom when the rod beside him ripped. FISH ON!!! Check that out…
.
Now to recap Len’s poor life here a minute, he shows up at Nipigon and in a week catches a GrandSlam with giants in all four species. Pike, walleye, speck and finally this lake trout. I’d say his initiation couldn’t have gone any better.
Another hour of trolling it was around dinner at this point when we decided to call it a trip. A full 15 hour drive to start early next morning, best laid plans were to get a good supper and all the packing finished, settle up the bill, and retire to bed early. Leah still smiling, she didn’t seem to mind, I was so proud of her happy resilience through the week, and awesome fishing too.
Onaman’s River Resort on Nipigon was a great experience overall. A perfect place for those looking to experience a more remote area of the lake, yet in need of having all the creature comforts of home. Hopefully Floaty and Len took something from it as I know Leah and myself will not soon forget our trip. It won’t be the last time visiting for us.
Leah in the truck on the way out, “are we going through Pakistan on the way home.”
Tightlines,
.
Bunk
.