Resigning from my job and working the last day on June 11th, I boarded the train south come the 13th and began the undertaking of finding a new home and beginning our family’s relocation. Within two short months, Bren and I found that perfect house, moved from the north, furnished and settled into our new place, established employment and or course, I caught some great fish with some buddies along the way.
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By mid August I was feeling pretty burnt out. Totally stoked but burnt. When she said she had no quams about me headin’ out with a couple ole local yokels to the Nip for some R&R, it was then this fishing vacation began.
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Day 1. MARLON JENKINS & THE INITIATION.
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The overnight 17 to 11 with Big-O (Phil) and WIG (Rob) started with a 19:00 kiss goodbye to the wifey and kids, a large Renfrew MacDonalds vanilla shake, a couple Deep River sizzle-fried trailer light fuses and a late night OPP ride program in Rutherglen. The two in the front had been ramblin’ non-stop for a few hours about ancient time commercials, shows and comics, until eventually stumping themselves on an answer much later to be revealed with a belly-laugh at the cash of a greasy spoon in Longlac. “Marlon Jenkins.” The question might have been who was the host of some Wild Outdoor show? I wouldn’t even begin to try and be a part of their redeye express fun so I just tossed and turned upright in the backseat to the tunes of one John Fogerty and miss Lady Gaga. P-P-P-Poker Face – P-P-Poker Face.
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Hitting North Bay I’m sure there had been a snore or two from my end, but wide-eyed and bushy tailed we all took a midnight rummage through the 50% off trailer “SALL” (not SALE ) at the top of the hill PetroCan. Before long we were off and blazing gas’d up through to Liskeard, Earlton, Cockring, Moonbeam, Sunrise Kap, Hearst2BU and the Great Beyond. By the time we rounded Geraldton past the burns, WIG had been going on about an hours sleep, Big-O Phil a half hour sleep, and me… maybe a combo of four winks or so.
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Skirting into the Nip the landscape sure turned awakening pretty with its views along the way, yet CHUK from CHUK’S Bait Shop in Red Rock wasn’t one of them glorious sights. Happy to be there though and with the drive nearly over, I gladly tipped him $2 extra for his worms and we three made off hooked and baited for the big beauty waters and camp.
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I left the launch with my pessimistic mindset but fingers crossed, praying we get a good campsite. BIG and WIG were both newbies to this place, twisting my rubber arm to join them on what was referred to as their “once in a lifetime Nipigon trip which they’ll probably never do again.” I wanted to show these fellas a good time, and when the camp destination came in view appearing vacant of any life, I knew our fun was about to begin.
It was late afternoon and we were sluggin’ Coronas beside three erect tents and a functional camp kitchen. Time to fish we figured. So, into the warm stained waters we set out in Big-O’s Legend and began our troll. WIG had just gotten comfortable within his first two minutes when… DOINK!!!
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A quatre pounde truite avec de speckle mange’d onto le lure and de fight of dis ones was… how do you say… epic.
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Upon boating the trout,
WIG let out an earthshaking shout,
of which Tears For Fears
would quite likely sing about.
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A great start to our week. A fat fish which he admitted instantly made his trip. Couldn’t have been scripted any better.
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A campfire celebration and preparation for a cold night ahead, one angler for the day was as happy as a WIG in shit.
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After lights out and from within our tents, WIG and I heard a pot fall outside from off the tree shortly after I had heard the sounds of something walk by my door. This was followed by the cocking of WIG’s rifle, to which no noise was made from there on after.
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Day 2. THE DIRT.
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An 07:30 wake-up we were an hour and forty-five getting the long-haul-road-lagged lead from our asses before starting into the fishing upon the glorious day. The waters lay calm in wait but man were they muck. I pointed the boys as far out into the known as I guessed might escape us the turbid murk and away we sped. Seconds on plane I hear a clanking sound off the transom and we slow down to investigate. Upon inspection Big-O’s transducer is flailing about behind the boat. Despite best efforts to repair, the rest of the week we would be without a sonar and therefor not fishing lakers and knowing true depths and temps. We were going “Old School.”
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A mere kerfiffle of a south breeze met us out on the big lake where two waters of brown and blue drew a line in the H2O. We chose the blue, and after I lost three other fish before the early afternoon, a first friendly Sal-something Fontinalis landed in my fingers.
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Other fish of a more toothy kind were available in the area as well. A sparse cabbage bed produced the same fat snot rocket twice for Phil while I was granted a photoshoot with one scar-back’d pike.
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Because of the good weather we took advantage to try some new far off areas. They didn’t produce well yet I believe WIG got one speck at some point. The winds of the day consistently built up and pushed us back towards camp. The evening fish later on was a blank.
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The clouds rolled in, WIG cooked up venison sausages and pork chops, I chopped wood, while Phil took pictures and gave me pointers to better my axe wielding skills. Later in the tent the winds howled and the trees creaked all around, but come 11:40 my light turned out and exhausted I retired for the night.
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Day 3. THE SPECKLED CALM, THE SPECKLED STORM.
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We three doods were quick on the hop come morning of day three. 07:00 the lake was calm and the bowels mobile so tout suite we hopped aboard the Legend and I aimed our happy crew to a new shoreline.
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A short time in the area and Phil gets a hit. He had forgot his lighter back at camp but this first ever speckled trout in the man’s entire life slowed his turnaround. It was the smallest Nipigon speck I had ever seen, but it was a young gem nonetheless. Ju Jubes, orange spots and blue halos, a nearly complete bowl of Lucky Charms became Phil’s temporary breakfast addiction, and so for the remainder of the morning we were all content to just “FISH ON”
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And even I joined in on some of that fun.
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The morning flizew by and anyone who knows my stomach realizes how often it needs the feed. Back to the camp area we went early for a quick lunch and Phil’s light, but on the way we happened upon a brief speckie feeding frenzy. In ten minutes the three of us all caught trout over twenty inches. It started with Big-O on the troll.
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Then the man commonly referred to as WIG instantly played one to the net himself.
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And lastly, while they were tied up playing around with WIG’s fish… I snuck to the bow and cast out to one of my own. HELLOOOOH!!!
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Afternoon rolled in and we were fed and ready. A little blurp with the windsock and prop at onset, that fixed we all decided we’d head out to the deep for a ride.
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In short order the dead calm warmth began to blow a cool and unsettling little breeze upon our arrival near big water, but that didn’t dry Phil’s eagle eye from spotting a lone offshore speck jump in the distance. Boating over while letting out a little extra line on the way, smooth as a cucumber he peeled and pickled it.
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And giving it back to the Nipigon, he relished in the moment.
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Strangely the afternoon ended a little awkward. Phil’s gas gauge was reading low and we couldn’t really play the odds that he was right about it always misreading a little. The winds were becoming mischievous at times and again my stomach was growling.
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When we got back to camp I wanted to eat but wash as well. Rob said; and I’ll try and quote him here… “you wash your balls and I’ll mind your chili,” ummmmm soooo, I went and washed my… yeah!
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After Phil had a nap, Rob had some brews and I ate and bathed, the three of us went back out into the typhoon. Didn’t take long before Phil was tired of trying to maintain boat control with a crosswind hammering us into shore.
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Some places weren’t quite as bad as others but those spaces were tight. In hindsight we should have spent those tough hours anchored and casting over the calmer areas. Right over one such spot I cast off the stern to prepare for the troll and was immediately bumped hard by a fish. I had just switched to the light rod with some skinny braid and really enjoyed the fight… but more so the initial hit. This fish was a beauty and caught on one of my home made lures.
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The photo and release, moments later a few light rain drops began to fall so we called it quits. The weather had notable scattered showers all around us but we had luckily dodged most. Back on shore around 8:00pm the boys were hungry for supper and me my second supper. I was feeling picture happy too.
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No sooner did we all get our last burger bites down when the wind died and the skies came crashing thunder and lightning and we were all forced to dive into the tents. The next two hours it poured outside. Inside I was cozy and dry with the tunes going. It was a great day fishing but man… the freakin’ weather was all over place.
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Day 4. THE LOVE.
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Gentleman Anglers were found on the Nipigon River as early as 1865 and from then through the American Civil War, WWI, WWII and to today, anglers continue to flock to it’s shores. It was 1869 that E.F. Witcher recorded in diary the unofficial reporting of a 19 pound speckled trout caught in Nipigon Bay. Nearly 20 years later in 1887, Field and Stream named the Nipigon River the finest trout fishing in the world.
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I picked up this little five dollar book from the FoodMart in Nipigon and found it was full of interesting history on Red Rock and the Nipigon region. I had thought Nipigon meant lake that never sleeps, but in actuality the word derived from Cree origins most likely means deep, clear water lake. Regardless, the Nipigon is surely a place of many deep meanings to those whom visit. To me, it’s mostly about the speckled trout.
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Woke on day four to a beached boat. Big west winds had run it ashore but the three of us were able to muscle it back afloat. Phil let us know then that his bilge wasn’t working so I was kinda thankful it hadn’t taken on any water overnight. Sonar shot, gas gauge busted, bilge broken… three important safety tools for boating on any big lake… a little irresponsible.
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For the morning we got off the lake and went to town for gas and supplies. The Legend had burned 80 liters of fuel during the three previous days and there was still another 50 in the tank, but with the gauge not working and reading low, we didn’t know that until reaching the pump.
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At the local CTC I met up with one helpful FBI who looked over a map of mine and pinpointed an area to launch for a new fishing adventure BIG, WIG and I thought we might just embark upon. After a bit of drive, a good jaunt of a walk and an unsuccessful attempt to see the boat float from the trailer bunks at a very shallow launch, we were left to pack up and head back to camp.
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The lake was kicking big-time when we returned. The west wind was slowly switching and by days end pretty much pounded down out of the north, maybe north-northeast. Although it was gusty and choppy in the main basins, we bobbed around relatively soft in the best protected areas of the lake we had to fish.
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Phil got us started around 2:30pm with a few smaller specimens. He had a hot stick catching three back to back speckles, while I believe somewhere in the mix it was WIG who caught a beautiful sucker.
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While on a short trolling pass around 3:30pm the boat had drifted out a little wide off of a point when my lure got absolutely obliterated by a fish I guessed right away to be substantial.
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The reel peeled as the initial run was straight back, and at first I thought I might have a pike. Once gaining some line and spotting the fish near surface towards the shore, I yelled out to the fellas that it was instead a laker… but… then I saw the fish again and told them it’s tagged. The big fishes tag beside its dorsal fin was momentarily visible.
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I probably began to get a little panicky by this point, especially seeing as how the fish really muscled out a few good rips to test my gears. Then, finally when it came boat-side the true identity of the beast was revealed……..
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It was the largest speckle I had ever, ever, ever, ever fawking seen alive. And it was alive right there in the water on the end of my line. Might have been WIG or Big-O who scooped it up, might have been me. Didn’t matter a lick really, cause it was seconds later that it was in my hands.
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This was the speckle I have always been fishing for.
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The camera rolled on for a good time and the fish was carefully measured and weighed. The tag number 04322 was also seared into my brain.
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Back the fish went to the water to revive, and while Phil snapped some release shots I began to struggle. I could not seem to let this one go. I must have held it there for a good minute or more, all the while asking the guys for advice and trying to talk myself into one decision or another. And yet even though part of me wanted to, I could not open my hands and let go of this speckle.
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It was the fish for me. It ended up becoming the one I will be keeping forever.
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Length – 26 inches. Girth – 14 3/4 inches. Weight – 7.1 pounds.
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Day 5. THE TEETH COME OUT.
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Our fifth day we were up to meet the sunrise.
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The night before we had all hit the sack early. A cranky Phil had thrown a Big-O pout over my catching that best speckle. Talking through me or to me like I was a child much of the week, after dropping his own flashlight in the water he sort of had a mental meltdown. He had ducked into his tent sometime around 6:00pm evening before and thank God got some sleep.
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Dead calm waters appearing from the mist we hurried through breakfast so to take full advantage of the lake.
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A short time into casting, a well rejuvenated Phil plucked the first fish of the day, a snappy 21-inch speckle which was missing much of its gill plate. Checkin’ this pic later on and all others of Phil, I came to the conclusion he’s one photogenic dood. Big grins and great fish, or a perfect serious action pose… every time.
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We’d been working a shallow shoal before tucking in around a point to investigate a rather sparse weedbed. The mental GPS from the previous year marked this pikey looking spot, and now that all of us had caught some specks I think the game plan switched up to toothies. However, it was a decision made in the boat because my pike gear remained back at camp. Anyways, this was the first time in the trip the fellas really seemed OK with doing some casting; and why not being that the conditions were perfect.
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It didn’t take too much investigating at all really before my intuition paid off. After a couple follows to the boat it was… FISH ON TIME!!!
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Phil hooked the first. When we saw it come to the surface he knew instantly it was a personal best pike for himself, while I guessed it 40 inches right away. As he was playing the fish though, a much larger pike slowly rose from the depths below and hovered underneath while it struggled on the line. I was blown away to see this. The bigger pike must have had at least six more inches on Phil’s fish, and there it stayed for much of the duration of Phil’s fishes fight, just sulking below it and following it around. Look close in the picture…
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Well I couldn’t stand staring at the second pike any longer, but just before I readied my rod to take a cast, it sank down. With a 1/4oz jig on the trout gear I chucked in its direction anyways… and wouldn’t ya know it… second cast… THUNK!!!
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Double-Header YO YO!
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Phil tired his fish quickly with the right gear and got it boat-side for the landing. My fish surfaced in the meantime and it was evident I had a big pike on the line but not the big pike we had all seen. Unbelievably, it was crazy to think that small area had at least three large fish sitting side-by-side in the shallow waters.
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I had a slow war on my hands with the lighter artillery and a soft and crappy Cabelas jigheadly hook as the main gun, so Phil got right to the news flash with his fish to report on the mission.
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Then afterwards, I landed my pike while Phil was in wait with his; giving it some lake air, and we were able to capture this memorable shot. Phil’s first trophy Northern at 41 inches… and one for me that was no slouch either. Shit were two handsome manly men.
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Well, after the release and our cameraman WIG being relieved of his duty, the dood got to anglinating with some gnarly determination. Within just a few tick-tocks he went and burglarized himself a pike of his own… a cool fish too with a nasty gash on its side. Criminal I tells yas.
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All was right in our boat-fishing world that morning. This little drive-thru pikey bed was full of hungry esox. The remainder of our trip would see us back in there a few times to try again but weather turned as the trip went on and shut us dooown. Pat and his crew who would arrive next day were quick to start beating the bed too, actually having some better luck than us.
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It was a gem of a day and after the wee pike slayin’ we took off to another pike and trout area. The sun was high and the air refreshing.
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WIG and BIG couldn’t help but relax while I did the usual miles from bow to stern running around in the boat. Couldn’t help but break up the monotony by casting awhile then trolling too. I sort of pissed Phil off at times, who preferred I just stay on the middle rod always and forever while on the troll. Although, it was a patience on this late morning which paid off for the big guy when his rod fired and he had a tank of a fish squeal the reel. Unfortunately, troubles clearing lines saw that fish pop off yet WIG had to only wait minutes before another one took its place. Quite a few lost fish for WIG he probably had the most hits of anyone for the week, he made sure this one stayed stuck.
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I cooked up some chowdah while the fellas trolled, and once the belly was full we all left the area to try some new locations. The objective, see rock – fish trout, see weed – fish pike. We found weeds first…
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… and then we beat those weeds for some answers.
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Phil found out the most intel, when he caught his second trophy pike of the day, a 40-inch chunky pike.
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The afternoon went mint and we located some new productive pike areas we could later return to and share. Heading back to camp at days end we couldn’t help but stop at our favorite morning pike spot and try just one more time for that giant fish which had been spotted during Phil’s morning trophy battle. Too bad for us though, the fish was on to our game. The teeth had shut down as abruptly as they’d come out.
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Day 6. THE THREE AMIGOS.
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Woke up to hellish cold and rainy weather. Plan of attack was to head to town, grab a shower at the truck stop, call the families, and grab some more ice to keep my big fish chilled for its long trip home to the freezer. And so away we went.
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Upon arrival at the launch we were quick to find one MuskieMagmet (Pat), Scottydog (Scott) and their buddy Gord waiting to get the boat wet and hit the camp. Quick hellos and see ya laters we got on tour to town and made fast work of the tasks.
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We returned to camp by midday to grab a quick lunch and hit the lake. The winds were picking up again but that didn’t stop Phil from making this day, his day… again.
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To kick things off he began with a solid broospeckled charout!
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But, only a short time later he finally got what he wanted most… a fish over 22-inches. Yep!! All week the man was on the hunt for not only his first ever speckled trout but also one he could legally take home to find a place on the wall. The fish he caught gave him a wicked tussle on the line and was definitely a colored beaut. 23.5 inches I might add.
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Our new companions back on the site came off the water shortly after we decided to pack it in ourselves. The late afternoon had turned nasty with wind so we figured we’d get to work on our beers. Scott, Pat and Gord thought the same. We all ate well that evening and enjoyed the protection from a big tarp the lads rigged up for a roof.
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It was smart, because with them they brought a forecast of 25 to 35mm of rain, winds gusting to 50km/hr and a low overnight of 2C. The onset of that shartstorm arrived during our time of fun and I was happy to bail into the tent. Everything was good and dry in there… but man… for some reason my feet really really reeked bad.
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Day 7. THE NORTHWINDS HOWL.
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Patty can camp cook like no other. If put to the test I can whip up a good meal on the Coleman… but the master is Pat when he’s around. Our final full day started off with one big feed of grease and a couple pots of coffee… a good thing considering no one gave me the memo that we weren’t coming back for lunch.
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Northeast winds still blowing hard, WIG, BIG and I set out for protected shorelines of any kind, and made a bit of a milk route out of favorite pike spots and new water as well. Some long fish-less trolling runs was how it all seemed to start but eventually I broke the ice with a first fish.
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The lone speck was the only one off the first shoreline. Phil bumped us through some big waves to an area he much preferred; a spot which had already given him a forty, and to show he was still on his game he caught the only fish there while we took a couple of passes.
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It was the kind of day where ya just had to keep moving. There were areas where I spotted fish; such as a new bay I aptly named Croc Bay in which the longest pike of the week followed my lure to boat then sat motionlessly for eons while eyeballin’ my spinnerbait, yet the fish weren’t quite active enough. It was another move later in the day that paid off for us.
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Off a point WIG hooked a speckle just after I had hooked one myself. Then, he hooked another. A second pass and I caught one again. They were all smaller 16-inch range specks until WIG caught his third. Damn good thing too, as he dropped three on the morn as well and he was feeling a little deflated at times.
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The spot was mint. It looked very unlike anything we had felt was trouty all week so it pleasantly surprised us. In the gloomy weather of the day and having sucked back four pounds of Ju-Jubes, the quick action of the fish took us out of our fouled digestive lull and made the afternoon a success for everyone.
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But that’d be it for the day. Again we called it early as Nipigon afternoons are like three year olds. Real tired and tempermental before supper. Borderline scary sometimes.
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The other crew followed us in around 4:00pm and so did the seagulls. Venison salami, Coronas, burgs and chowder filled my belly full, while the boys reported on their day trying for lakers and pike, and Scotty and I schemed about a possible return trip to Pym. Phil fed the birds cheesies, brownies, and even something that made one of ’em nearly choke to death, all this until the cold air settled in and a rain began to fall. Until midnight a few of us stayed up but with our departure to come next day it was an easy fall into a worn out sleep……
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…… Final morn Pat cooked up another big feed to see us off. I congratulated Gord again on a 43-inch Northern he’d caught and gave Scotty one of my productive lures which he went out and had instant success with. After a slow pack-up we loaded two boats full of stuff to see all our belongings back to the launch. We three then wished Pat well and said our goodbyes.
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We had a great week of fishing, and as we drove away it was hard to believe how fast the week passed. Rob was awesome to spend the time with and happy to have had the opportunity to receive a first guided tour on the lake and catch his biggest speckled trout ever. Phil was treated to several personal best pike, his first and best brookies and all I could teach him as well. Nipigon: meaning – deep, clear water lake, is truly a place so grand that time couldn’t really seem to exist within its depth, only just the reflections given to us are real. I’ll be left thinking about it more, until next time.
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Tightlines,
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Bunk.