With Quetico in the rear view mirror, I spent some time processing all the video I collected and invited the gang to our house for a screening. It consisted of the video segments linked below as well as a slide show of Gary and Chuck's photos. It was great having us all together again to rehash memories of the trip, especially considering it might be awhile before we can coordinate another outing. Thanks to the Bandits for a fantastic week of high adventure fun, and I look forward to putting something together again for 2017! I'd especially like to thank Chuck and Lori for putting together and packing up the menu for the entire week (minus the fish fillets of course). That was a pretty incredible treat for us all!
Photos from Gary and Chuck - The lighting on some of these are fantastic! (BTW, I cheated and snuck in a couple of Gary's Quetico/BWCA photos from a previous trip.)
Loon Video (2 min) I linked to this same video previously in the blog.
Canoe Video (3 min) I've always wanted to capture this type of video, and I have my trusty sternmen Jeff and Gary to thank for this.
Fishing Video (3 min) Anyone care to fish and get fat? Music by Gaelic Storm!
Tequila Beach - (3 min) A quick segment that validated the Sandy Beach as a tropical paradise. Kudos to Chuck for guiding the canoe on the video fly-by!
Quetico Trip Highlights (30 min) If you got a half hour to spare, follow our adventure from Crane Lake into Quetico and back. Start at the 7 minute mark if you care to skip the packing and boat ride to get into Quetico. As you can tell, I'm into maps and Google Earth, but you'll go blind trying to read the little text boxes via YouTube, so don't bother.
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
Sunday, June 7, 2015
Ely to Tettegouche
In the morning we said farewell to Gary, then Chuck and I packed up and headed out of town. Chuck and Gary knew of a major Boy Scout facility a few miles outside of Ely, called Northern Tier. Its purpose was to provide guided BWCA wilderness experiences to Boy Scout troops from all over the U.S. Chuck and I pulled in, not really knowing where to park or where to go to sign in. We knew enough to know that you don't just walk around a Boy Scout facility without an escort, but there didn't seem to be anyone out and about at 9 am on a Sunday morning.
We finally ran into someone who escorted us to the main office to be signed in, and given an escort. They radioed someone from the guide barracks who happily came down and walked us all over the camp, explaining everything as he went. This young man was near the top of leadership at the camp, but he was very relaxed and in no hurry for us - very pleasant guy! John was from Tennessee, and had spent a few summers here. He explained that it was so quiet because a) every BSA group here was out in the wilderness, and b) the summer rush hadn't really started yet. Schools were just getting out, and some troops had many miles to travel to get here. He explained that in the height of the season, the place was a zoo of activity, as we could well imagine! Groups would arrive one day, being assigned gear, training and packing, and the next morning they were sent out on their route with their BSA wilderness guide. When they returned, they would turn in all their gear, be treated to a big dinner and a classic evening campfire program, spend the night, and be sent on their way the next morning. They had it all down to a science! Chuck and I were really impressed with the facilities there.
After this it was time to head down to the North Shore via Highway 1 out of Ely to Tettegouche State Park, where I had a 12:30 pm rendezvous with Claudia. Both parties arrived at the new visitor's center right on time. I greeted my beautiful bride with a clean shaven face (me, not her), pulled out my gear from Chuck's vehicle, bid him farewell, and sent him on his way up the shore and back into Canada. Meanwhile, Claudia and I took time to enjoy the new visitor's center and all the beauty that Tettegouche has to offer.
Over the next 4 days Claudia and I explored up and down the North Shore, from Naniboujou to Duluth, and all points (and breweries!) in between. But that, my friends, is a story for another day...
We finally ran into someone who escorted us to the main office to be signed in, and given an escort. They radioed someone from the guide barracks who happily came down and walked us all over the camp, explaining everything as he went. This young man was near the top of leadership at the camp, but he was very relaxed and in no hurry for us - very pleasant guy! John was from Tennessee, and had spent a few summers here. He explained that it was so quiet because a) every BSA group here was out in the wilderness, and b) the summer rush hadn't really started yet. Schools were just getting out, and some troops had many miles to travel to get here. He explained that in the height of the season, the place was a zoo of activity, as we could well imagine! Groups would arrive one day, being assigned gear, training and packing, and the next morning they were sent out on their route with their BSA wilderness guide. When they returned, they would turn in all their gear, be treated to a big dinner and a classic evening campfire program, spend the night, and be sent on their way the next morning. They had it all down to a science! Chuck and I were really impressed with the facilities there.
After this it was time to head down to the North Shore via Highway 1 out of Ely to Tettegouche State Park, where I had a 12:30 pm rendezvous with Claudia. Both parties arrived at the new visitor's center right on time. I greeted my beautiful bride with a clean shaven face (me, not her), pulled out my gear from Chuck's vehicle, bid him farewell, and sent him on his way up the shore and back into Canada. Meanwhile, Claudia and I took time to enjoy the new visitor's center and all the beauty that Tettegouche has to offer.
Over the next 4 days Claudia and I explored up and down the North Shore, from Naniboujou to Duluth, and all points (and breweries!) in between. But that, my friends, is a story for another day...
Saturday, June 6, 2015
Back to Civilization
This was the day that we would leave Quetico and await our Zup's pickup at 9:30. We did have to execute the Bottle portage, and I was remembering how difficult that portage could be if it was wet. Well, we had some rain during the week, so it might be a bit more interesting than when we were first there.
We agreed to a 6:30 wakeup call, but Joe and Chuck started conversing in their tent at 6:15, Chuck's low bass rumble even permeating my ear plugs and denying me my last 15 minutes of blissful sleep. (Don't ever doubt that I am a light sleeper!) After breakfast we loaded up and headed out at 8 to begin the last 2.5 mile paddle to the portage site. I had absolutely no recollection of traversing these particular waters, and I kept looking over my shoulder to see what it would have looked like 7 days ago, trying to trigger a memory. Nope, it all looked foreign to me, except for the buoys in the water marking the U.S./Canadian border. It was all so new and fresh those many days ago, and now I was returning here with a boat load of memories to accompany me home.
At Bottle Portage we met a man and his father as they portaged in the same direction we were. The young man said he was from Mounds View, and we immediately began talk of our neighborhoods and how we Bandits originally met as cub scout dads in the area. The portage was muddy, and a bit slick as we took the high road that represented the longer, but more manageable route to the other end. The young fella took one trip on the low route, and reported that it was indeed flooded and full of mud! At the other end we encountered two more groups who were also waiting for their pickup (not all from Zup's). but their pickup times were later than ours. After we portaged, we gathered our gear to position ourselves away from the crowd. We paddled to the rock outcropping about 500 feet out to make sure that nobody would take our Zup's boats!
It was really strange when two Zup boats arrived. Pickup for Johnson, we asked? No answer. Two boats - both for us? No answer. How should we load between the two? No answer. The two boat drivers just grunted and started loading our gear on to one of the boats (the other was just for passengers). One of course was Gary's old friend Wes, who is generally lacking for words anyway! In the end we just followed their lead, and were away on the water in a jiffy.
The return trip to Zup's - and on to Crane Lake - was faster, and much more interesting than our trip out. The two boats returned us to Zup's where we settled up with the resort, and enjoyed their hospitality of cookies and lemonade - and a real life porcelain commode. After that, we hopped aboard a bigger boat that could house both us and our gear. This driver was named Greg, and we headed towards the end of the big lake to where the narrow Loon River began its flowing for miles, opening up to Loon Lake in the middle. It was this Loon River that was too shallow when we were through here 7 days ago, but the water had risen enough to make the passage safe. No overland route in a beat up van on crappy roads this time!
On each end of Loon Lake was a portage, which was only about 50-60 rods (less than 1/4 mile). The two portages (Beatty Portage to the north, Loon Falls Portage to the south) were serviced by a boat cradle mounted on a rail car that ran on tracks up and over the portage to docks on either end! At the top of each portage was a big engine that would pull the rail car (with the boat mounted on top) up the hill with cables, then gently lower the car down the rail to the other side. We just walked along side. Very cool! Even some with canoes were waiting their turn so they wouldn't have to unload and portage their gear.
After the 2nd rail portage we were on the twists and turns of Loon River, snaking left and right around corners, obstacles, etc. It was a bit difficult to see ahead with the boat tilted slightly up, but looking out the stern was a treat as the boat continually fishtailed to port and starboard! Only once did Greg need to slow to no wake speed to cross some shallow location. The total distance from Zup's to our Crane Lake destination was 25 miles, and it took us around 1.5 hours.
At Scott's Resort on Crane Lake we unloaded to a warm, sunny afternoon, quickly settled with U.S. Customs, got our vehicles out of hock and started loading up. It took a while to fully separate our gear because we were going separate ways in different vehicles. But before Jeff could load his van, he transacted some business with the resort owner for some framed art in his van to adorn her bar/restaurant. Joe, his passenger home, patiently waited while Jeff unloaded some samples, finally selling enough art to actually pay his parking fee.
With the gear segregated and loaded, we thought it would be good to have some lunch and a beer as a group. The local joint at Scott's looked OK, but the tap list was lacking, so we headed over to Voyagaire Lodge where we spent the night a week ago, knowing the tap list was quite adequate. It was nice enough to sit outside, unlike last week when we ate breakfast while watching a blizzard! It was probably best for everyone else there that we sat outside anyway - we likely all wreaked with that fresh off the trail smell.
I always experience a bit of claustrophobia being indoors after spending time in the wilderness. The little bit of time spent inside at Scott's, then again at Voyagaire, had me running to the exits for some fresh air and a breeze. It's downright stifling at first. Even in a vehicle I have to roll down the window and do like Rover with my head out the window. It takes me a good day to make the adjustment.
We enjoyed pizza and beers, toasted to our friendship, health and success, then returned to our vehicles for our final goodbyes (well looky here, if it ain't a big sack of garlic mashed potatoes...). Jeff and Joe were heading straight home, Gary, Chuck and I were headed to Ely for the night. It had been an incredible week with the bandits, and it was sad to see it end.
As for me, I had another few days to look forward to because I was meeting my wife Claudia on the North Shore for exploring, sight-seeing and generally just more time away. I'm fortunate to have a group of guys that make excellent travel companions, and the same can be said for the Mrs, although the itinerary is not quite so rugged with Claudia! The way this worked out, Chuck had to head to the North Shore to catch Highway 61 into Canada for a fishing expedition with the Venture Crew, so tomorrow he could drop me off at Tettegouche State Park where Claudia would be waiting for me. As for Gary, he would spend the night with Chuck and I in Ely, then head in some other direction to hang out with another friend at his remote cabin.
After our goodbyes, we 3 (in two vehicles) headed out across the remote stretch of northern Minnesota along the Echo Trail/Ely-Buyck Road for 60 miles. Along the way we stopped at various places that served as trailheads for the BWCA, stretching our legs and sightseeing whenever the urge hit us. Gary regaled us with tales of past trips he had taken through this area. We finally arrived in Ely some 3 hours later, and we piled into our room at a local motel, once again sorting our gear as each of us prepped for the next leg in our disparate journeys. Oh, and take a nice, hot shower of course! At one point the skies opened up and it rained for the rest of the day. As official bandit weather shaman, I allowed this of course. I had been holding off the heavy rains long enough, and Mother Nature was fussing over her inflated bladder.
It was getting to be dinnertime, and we knew of a place with good food and a great tap list, so we headed to Boathouse Brewing for some eats and beers. After this, both Gary and Chuck wanted to do more packing, but I decided to stay for another beer and to watch the Stanley Cup playoffs. Since I had my rain jacket, I told them I'd just walk back. I lasted the rest of the game, then started back to the motel, stopping at some rowdy local dive that was alight with massively drunk people singing really bad karaoke at the top of their lungs. It was a sight to see I tell ya, especially after a whole week in the serene wilderness. Ah yes, it was Saturday night, the reality of what that meant to the outside world hit me.
As I trudged back to the motel in the rain, the other thing that hit me was that just this morning I was camping in Quetico. Although the memories were fresh, it seemed a million miles away....
We agreed to a 6:30 wakeup call, but Joe and Chuck started conversing in their tent at 6:15, Chuck's low bass rumble even permeating my ear plugs and denying me my last 15 minutes of blissful sleep. (Don't ever doubt that I am a light sleeper!) After breakfast we loaded up and headed out at 8 to begin the last 2.5 mile paddle to the portage site. I had absolutely no recollection of traversing these particular waters, and I kept looking over my shoulder to see what it would have looked like 7 days ago, trying to trigger a memory. Nope, it all looked foreign to me, except for the buoys in the water marking the U.S./Canadian border. It was all so new and fresh those many days ago, and now I was returning here with a boat load of memories to accompany me home.
At Bottle Portage we met a man and his father as they portaged in the same direction we were. The young man said he was from Mounds View, and we immediately began talk of our neighborhoods and how we Bandits originally met as cub scout dads in the area. The portage was muddy, and a bit slick as we took the high road that represented the longer, but more manageable route to the other end. The young fella took one trip on the low route, and reported that it was indeed flooded and full of mud! At the other end we encountered two more groups who were also waiting for their pickup (not all from Zup's). but their pickup times were later than ours. After we portaged, we gathered our gear to position ourselves away from the crowd. We paddled to the rock outcropping about 500 feet out to make sure that nobody would take our Zup's boats!
It was really strange when two Zup boats arrived. Pickup for Johnson, we asked? No answer. Two boats - both for us? No answer. How should we load between the two? No answer. The two boat drivers just grunted and started loading our gear on to one of the boats (the other was just for passengers). One of course was Gary's old friend Wes, who is generally lacking for words anyway! In the end we just followed their lead, and were away on the water in a jiffy.
The return trip to Zup's - and on to Crane Lake - was faster, and much more interesting than our trip out. The two boats returned us to Zup's where we settled up with the resort, and enjoyed their hospitality of cookies and lemonade - and a real life porcelain commode. After that, we hopped aboard a bigger boat that could house both us and our gear. This driver was named Greg, and we headed towards the end of the big lake to where the narrow Loon River began its flowing for miles, opening up to Loon Lake in the middle. It was this Loon River that was too shallow when we were through here 7 days ago, but the water had risen enough to make the passage safe. No overland route in a beat up van on crappy roads this time!
On each end of Loon Lake was a portage, which was only about 50-60 rods (less than 1/4 mile). The two portages (Beatty Portage to the north, Loon Falls Portage to the south) were serviced by a boat cradle mounted on a rail car that ran on tracks up and over the portage to docks on either end! At the top of each portage was a big engine that would pull the rail car (with the boat mounted on top) up the hill with cables, then gently lower the car down the rail to the other side. We just walked along side. Very cool! Even some with canoes were waiting their turn so they wouldn't have to unload and portage their gear.
After the 2nd rail portage we were on the twists and turns of Loon River, snaking left and right around corners, obstacles, etc. It was a bit difficult to see ahead with the boat tilted slightly up, but looking out the stern was a treat as the boat continually fishtailed to port and starboard! Only once did Greg need to slow to no wake speed to cross some shallow location. The total distance from Zup's to our Crane Lake destination was 25 miles, and it took us around 1.5 hours.
At Scott's Resort on Crane Lake we unloaded to a warm, sunny afternoon, quickly settled with U.S. Customs, got our vehicles out of hock and started loading up. It took a while to fully separate our gear because we were going separate ways in different vehicles. But before Jeff could load his van, he transacted some business with the resort owner for some framed art in his van to adorn her bar/restaurant. Joe, his passenger home, patiently waited while Jeff unloaded some samples, finally selling enough art to actually pay his parking fee.
With the gear segregated and loaded, we thought it would be good to have some lunch and a beer as a group. The local joint at Scott's looked OK, but the tap list was lacking, so we headed over to Voyagaire Lodge where we spent the night a week ago, knowing the tap list was quite adequate. It was nice enough to sit outside, unlike last week when we ate breakfast while watching a blizzard! It was probably best for everyone else there that we sat outside anyway - we likely all wreaked with that fresh off the trail smell.
I always experience a bit of claustrophobia being indoors after spending time in the wilderness. The little bit of time spent inside at Scott's, then again at Voyagaire, had me running to the exits for some fresh air and a breeze. It's downright stifling at first. Even in a vehicle I have to roll down the window and do like Rover with my head out the window. It takes me a good day to make the adjustment.
We enjoyed pizza and beers, toasted to our friendship, health and success, then returned to our vehicles for our final goodbyes (well looky here, if it ain't a big sack of garlic mashed potatoes...). Jeff and Joe were heading straight home, Gary, Chuck and I were headed to Ely for the night. It had been an incredible week with the bandits, and it was sad to see it end.
As for me, I had another few days to look forward to because I was meeting my wife Claudia on the North Shore for exploring, sight-seeing and generally just more time away. I'm fortunate to have a group of guys that make excellent travel companions, and the same can be said for the Mrs, although the itinerary is not quite so rugged with Claudia! The way this worked out, Chuck had to head to the North Shore to catch Highway 61 into Canada for a fishing expedition with the Venture Crew, so tomorrow he could drop me off at Tettegouche State Park where Claudia would be waiting for me. As for Gary, he would spend the night with Chuck and I in Ely, then head in some other direction to hang out with another friend at his remote cabin.
After our goodbyes, we 3 (in two vehicles) headed out across the remote stretch of northern Minnesota along the Echo Trail/Ely-Buyck Road for 60 miles. Along the way we stopped at various places that served as trailheads for the BWCA, stretching our legs and sightseeing whenever the urge hit us. Gary regaled us with tales of past trips he had taken through this area. We finally arrived in Ely some 3 hours later, and we piled into our room at a local motel, once again sorting our gear as each of us prepped for the next leg in our disparate journeys. Oh, and take a nice, hot shower of course! At one point the skies opened up and it rained for the rest of the day. As official bandit weather shaman, I allowed this of course. I had been holding off the heavy rains long enough, and Mother Nature was fussing over her inflated bladder.
It was getting to be dinnertime, and we knew of a place with good food and a great tap list, so we headed to Boathouse Brewing for some eats and beers. After this, both Gary and Chuck wanted to do more packing, but I decided to stay for another beer and to watch the Stanley Cup playoffs. Since I had my rain jacket, I told them I'd just walk back. I lasted the rest of the game, then started back to the motel, stopping at some rowdy local dive that was alight with massively drunk people singing really bad karaoke at the top of their lungs. It was a sight to see I tell ya, especially after a whole week in the serene wilderness. Ah yes, it was Saturday night, the reality of what that meant to the outside world hit me.
As I trudged back to the motel in the rain, the other thing that hit me was that just this morning I was camping in Quetico. Although the memories were fresh, it seemed a million miles away....
Friday, June 5, 2015
Rebecca Falls Camp 2
The next day was much like the previous - sunny skies, light winds, warm temps. We found it really difficult to motivate this day, spending the first part of the day prepping breakfast, relaxing in the cabana, then heading back out of the sun for naps. Looking at maps and GPS, Gary noticed a small lake back around the corner which he was just able to fit his canoe through without the need to portage. When he returned, Chuck got the idea that he would head back there for some fishing, while the rest of us acknowledged his enthusiasm by raising our heads from the ground and grunting a farewell.
Just over an hour later Mr. Bass Ass returned with a boat load of fish! He caught many more in that time, but only brought back 20 or so of the best. Once Chuck beached the canoe, he hauled out his stringer for us to ogle. It was so laden with bass that he could hardly lift it! We got to work setting up a workstation for him to clean, and another location for us to fry them up. In the end we only cleaned about half of them and let the rest go.
Once the fish were fried, Gary realized that we were all together and it would be a great time to set up for some group photos in the shade of our camp. We had pretty much eaten our fill except Chuck, who kept on nibbling at the remaining fillets while Gary set up the shot. When the photo shoot was complete, Gary went to finally enjoy his first tastes of our latest catch, but it was all gone. "Where's the fish?" he cried in vain! Chuck, licking his fingers from the last pieces of oily delicacy, looked up from his spot near the plate and replied, "Huh, I was wondering why there was so much left." We had a good laugh at that, while Gary dug through our dwindling rations looking for something to sate his appetite.
The day was getting on, and Joe was getting impatient - we still had Curtain Falls portage to get through, and another campsite to locate. It was hard to leave, but we finally packed up and headed less than a mile to the flat rock outcropping above Curtain Falls to unload and begin the portage. It was shaded and cool, and mostly downhill, which was quite sweet. Also, we chose a different put-in spot that was shorter, but much closer to the falls than when we were through here before. As such, we'd have to be extra careful launching to ensure we didn't capsize in the strong current.
We were closer to the weekend, and so we encountered several people at the falls as well as fishing in boats in the strong current below. These guys were serious fishermen, but as I noticed their general girth, I realized they would only have gotten this far with some serious help, maybe from the U.S. side. Certainly not the portaging, adventuring kind! Being around these types made me miss the solitude of Argo Lake. I mean, the planning and effort it took for us to get "out there" was directly proportional to the remoteness that we experienced.
Once we cleared the falls, it was time to find a camp for our last night in Quetico. Gary paddled strong ahead to determine if our old Rebecca Falls campsite was available, and if not he'd paddle back and we'd have to look into alternatives. As we approached with no sign of Gary on the water, we knew he was already ashore on the island. Great! With tonight's site secured, we could unload, set up camp, then swim and fish in leisure.
For this round I had a pleasure of fishing with Chuck. As we circled the island, I started grabbing the paddle to maneuver, then my pole, then the paddle. After about 2 minutes of that, Chuck said "Put that damn thing away" - my paddle, not my rod & reel. Fishing with Chuck is quite a unique experience. He adeptly handles the canoe while casting about, whispering instructions to me, "There, drop a line there." "Now over there." We circled the island, fished the far shoreline, even a small bay with lots of "structure". We didn't catch much, and decided to just let go what we caught. As we headed out of the bay back to the island, we heard a blood curdling scream from Gary, "Let it go, let it GO, LET OUT THE BALE!!!" Now, what was THAT about? Turns out Jeff was casting from shore and must have snagged Gary as he paddled and fished about the island. Neither wanted to talk about it much when we all arrived back in camp...
Once again we opted for Mountain House backpack dinners instead of fish, and for the 2nd night in a row yet another Bandit was stumped by the basic directions to make the infamous Mountain House Raspberry Crumble. This would be the one essential skill that the crew might need to acquire before our next outing. For the 2nd night we enjoyed a raspberry chocolate mud pie that, while lacking the desired consistency, was still devoured with gusto.
All week long we had been having a conversation about our gear, specifically looking to vote on a "New Gear Award" for the new item that we found useful or novel, and by now all our gear had been trail tested. The nominees included:
Nite Ize Gear ties - REI had been selling these babies for a couple years, and they really came in handy to attach gear to the canoe in case we capsized. On prior trips we were stringing lightweight ropes through the packs and tying them off on the canoe gunnels. We found many great uses for these handy-dandy ties, which combined the staying power of the old Gumby and Pokey toys of my youth with the ability to readily twist and hold.
Neoprene socks - these sounded like a good idea, but I think those that had them found issues with boot fit and foot rot.
Froggtogg Hip waders - Chuck and Gary swore by these.
Lightweight collapsible table - seemed superfluous at first, but was used often to stabilize our fish fry stove, pan, and any other cooking appliance that required a level surface.
Bug shelter - not new per se, but new to the Bandits, and doubled as a spacious rain tent and cabana if the winds were reasonable.
Compact weather radio - as I said before, this little piece of electronics was extremely helpful in planning our days. We would turn it on, hone in on a signal, and get a 3 minute forecast for the coming hours and days.
Toilet Paper Tablets - One of our party, who is partial to TP to begin with, brought these along. I never did determine how much they were used, but it sure was a novel idea. I'll stick with my stones and 'cones, thank you very much.
Mini-cot - Gary's lightweight but sturdy sleeping apparatus that raised him only a few inches off the tent floor. This could serve two purposes, 1) to keep him dry should our tent take on water (huh, imagine that), and 2) limit the injuries incurred when falling out of bed in a drunken stupor. That probably happened too.
And last but not least, a compact, shiny, silver umbrella. No explanation is required for this essential piece of survivalist gear.
You may be wondering what we selected, but the debate floor never closed for a final vote.
This would be our last night in the wilderness, so it was important to finish off our stores of hooch, smokes, crude humor and nasty insults. Leave it all on the trail is my moto! After a beautiful day we experienced a glorious sunset, the orange and red sky lingering well into the evening as the stars appeared in abundance. Even the fireflies danced playfully in our midst as we toasted our last evening in Quetico.
Just over an hour later Mr. Bass Ass returned with a boat load of fish! He caught many more in that time, but only brought back 20 or so of the best. Once Chuck beached the canoe, he hauled out his stringer for us to ogle. It was so laden with bass that he could hardly lift it! We got to work setting up a workstation for him to clean, and another location for us to fry them up. In the end we only cleaned about half of them and let the rest go.
Once the fish were fried, Gary realized that we were all together and it would be a great time to set up for some group photos in the shade of our camp. We had pretty much eaten our fill except Chuck, who kept on nibbling at the remaining fillets while Gary set up the shot. When the photo shoot was complete, Gary went to finally enjoy his first tastes of our latest catch, but it was all gone. "Where's the fish?" he cried in vain! Chuck, licking his fingers from the last pieces of oily delicacy, looked up from his spot near the plate and replied, "Huh, I was wondering why there was so much left." We had a good laugh at that, while Gary dug through our dwindling rations looking for something to sate his appetite.
The day was getting on, and Joe was getting impatient - we still had Curtain Falls portage to get through, and another campsite to locate. It was hard to leave, but we finally packed up and headed less than a mile to the flat rock outcropping above Curtain Falls to unload and begin the portage. It was shaded and cool, and mostly downhill, which was quite sweet. Also, we chose a different put-in spot that was shorter, but much closer to the falls than when we were through here before. As such, we'd have to be extra careful launching to ensure we didn't capsize in the strong current.
We were closer to the weekend, and so we encountered several people at the falls as well as fishing in boats in the strong current below. These guys were serious fishermen, but as I noticed their general girth, I realized they would only have gotten this far with some serious help, maybe from the U.S. side. Certainly not the portaging, adventuring kind! Being around these types made me miss the solitude of Argo Lake. I mean, the planning and effort it took for us to get "out there" was directly proportional to the remoteness that we experienced.
Once we cleared the falls, it was time to find a camp for our last night in Quetico. Gary paddled strong ahead to determine if our old Rebecca Falls campsite was available, and if not he'd paddle back and we'd have to look into alternatives. As we approached with no sign of Gary on the water, we knew he was already ashore on the island. Great! With tonight's site secured, we could unload, set up camp, then swim and fish in leisure.
For this round I had a pleasure of fishing with Chuck. As we circled the island, I started grabbing the paddle to maneuver, then my pole, then the paddle. After about 2 minutes of that, Chuck said "Put that damn thing away" - my paddle, not my rod & reel. Fishing with Chuck is quite a unique experience. He adeptly handles the canoe while casting about, whispering instructions to me, "There, drop a line there." "Now over there." We circled the island, fished the far shoreline, even a small bay with lots of "structure". We didn't catch much, and decided to just let go what we caught. As we headed out of the bay back to the island, we heard a blood curdling scream from Gary, "Let it go, let it GO, LET OUT THE BALE!!!" Now, what was THAT about? Turns out Jeff was casting from shore and must have snagged Gary as he paddled and fished about the island. Neither wanted to talk about it much when we all arrived back in camp...
Once again we opted for Mountain House backpack dinners instead of fish, and for the 2nd night in a row yet another Bandit was stumped by the basic directions to make the infamous Mountain House Raspberry Crumble. This would be the one essential skill that the crew might need to acquire before our next outing. For the 2nd night we enjoyed a raspberry chocolate mud pie that, while lacking the desired consistency, was still devoured with gusto.
All week long we had been having a conversation about our gear, specifically looking to vote on a "New Gear Award" for the new item that we found useful or novel, and by now all our gear had been trail tested. The nominees included:
Nite Ize Gear ties - REI had been selling these babies for a couple years, and they really came in handy to attach gear to the canoe in case we capsized. On prior trips we were stringing lightweight ropes through the packs and tying them off on the canoe gunnels. We found many great uses for these handy-dandy ties, which combined the staying power of the old Gumby and Pokey toys of my youth with the ability to readily twist and hold.
Neoprene socks - these sounded like a good idea, but I think those that had them found issues with boot fit and foot rot.
Froggtogg Hip waders - Chuck and Gary swore by these.
Lightweight collapsible table - seemed superfluous at first, but was used often to stabilize our fish fry stove, pan, and any other cooking appliance that required a level surface.
Bug shelter - not new per se, but new to the Bandits, and doubled as a spacious rain tent and cabana if the winds were reasonable.
Compact weather radio - as I said before, this little piece of electronics was extremely helpful in planning our days. We would turn it on, hone in on a signal, and get a 3 minute forecast for the coming hours and days.
Toilet Paper Tablets - One of our party, who is partial to TP to begin with, brought these along. I never did determine how much they were used, but it sure was a novel idea. I'll stick with my stones and 'cones, thank you very much.
Mini-cot - Gary's lightweight but sturdy sleeping apparatus that raised him only a few inches off the tent floor. This could serve two purposes, 1) to keep him dry should our tent take on water (huh, imagine that), and 2) limit the injuries incurred when falling out of bed in a drunken stupor. That probably happened too.
And last but not least, a compact, shiny, silver umbrella. No explanation is required for this essential piece of survivalist gear.
You may be wondering what we selected, but the debate floor never closed for a final vote.
This would be our last night in the wilderness, so it was important to finish off our stores of hooch, smokes, crude humor and nasty insults. Leave it all on the trail is my moto! After a beautiful day we experienced a glorious sunset, the orange and red sky lingering well into the evening as the stars appeared in abundance. Even the fireflies danced playfully in our midst as we toasted our last evening in Quetico.
Thursday, June 4, 2015
Tequila Beach Camp
Today we would leave Argo and find another campsite on our 3-day/2-night return trip to civilization. The forecast had predicted rain overnight and through the morning, so we were in no hurry to break camp, except to pack up our personal gear inside the tents (which alone can be a major ordeal after 4 days). As a matter of fact, the weather radio allowed us to a) know that the rain was likely to end by late morning, and b) relax and simply wait it out. In my mind, this was invaluable information from a valuable piece of new equipment. Without this information, we would have likely broken camp in the rain. There's nothing worse.
The mood was light, and we continued the bandit banter until, sure enough, about 11 am, the winds picked up slightly and blew the rain out. We knew this was our time, so we got busy packing what was left, loaded the canoes, and headed south to the portage out of Argo back to Crooked Lake. On this reverse portage, the pull out was a steep-ish rock face of about 20 feet to a small ledge. After that, the portage climbed steeply for a good 1/8 mile, which was now muddy from the recent rains. We all carried what we could up to the top where the large Pinnacle Rock awaited us, making sure that nobody carried too much so as to avoid any slips, falls, twists of ankles, or sprains of knees. Once the big stuff was at the top, some started carrying down the long path to the put in spot, which was now even muddier than when we arrived a few days ago. It was getting hard to find places to set things down.
We knew this portage would take awhile, and we patiently lugged everything to the end. But wait - we were missing someone's Duluth pack - the one decked out in green camouflage. (Who's idea was it to create a camouflaged Duluth pack!) We had the portage to ourselves, so we knew it wasn't accidentally taken by another portaging party. It wasn't until 2-3 of us diligently searched the path that we finally found it perched on a rock in the foliage about 1/2 way back. One of us had set it aside as we are apt to do when we are carrying too much. We had all walked by it multiple times, focusing on the trail in front of us rather than to the sides!
With that resolved, it was time to resolve our growling stomachs. There was little space to sit at the end of the portage, so we all pretty much plopped down in the grass, surrounded by mud, water, gear, muddy boots and filthy pant legs. I just had to laugh as I looked around at the sorry state of our happy and contented lunch gang, munching away in our little pig pen. I still smile when I think of that scene, enjoying lunch in the mud, and not really giving a rats ass!
After lunch we loaded up the canoes, each trying different techniques to climb into, and launch, the canoes while rinsing our muddy boots to avoid a mess in the canoe. The day was sunny and warm, almost too warm as we paddled back down Crooked Lake. We all took turns razzing Joe as he liberally applied his sunscreen. His whole face would turn white because his beard would lather up the thick mess, looking very much like he had applied a cold cream mask. (All he lacked were cucumber slices on each eye.) All week we chided Joe with the general comment, "What's that discoloration on your face?", which would send him into paranoid hysterics.
Our destination was a 5-star campsite not far from Curtain Falls, but as we approached we could see people out on the beautiful rocky prominence, and more people farther back where the campsite must have been. Oh what a view it must be from there! Our backup plan was to check out the sandy beach site that Gary explored on our way in. Gary thought it would do, but it seemed too good to be true. We arrived, beached the canoes, then headed back into the woods to check out the camp situation. It wasn't spacious, but for 3 tents and one night, we could easily make it work. I imagined this location would be hot and buggy in the summer, but right now it was pretty ideal. And the beach! A few feet of nice sand gently sloping into the lake.
We set up our tents and broke out our wet gear for drying, then set up the bug shelter right on the sand next to the water. We anchored it down with rocks and the sand anchor method (tie guidelines to a rock or log, and bury it deep in the sand). We rolled up the sides and used it as a cabana for the rest of the time there since the bugs never really showed up to the party. We were too lazy to fish, so we broke out some Mt. House dinners, boiled some water, and made quick work of dinner and cleanup.
Winds were calm, skies were clear, we bathed and swam and watched the setting sun in our little slice of Caribbean paradise in the Quetico wilderness. It wasn't until I returned home and processed the video that I would dub this spot "Tequila Beach".
The mood was light, and we continued the bandit banter until, sure enough, about 11 am, the winds picked up slightly and blew the rain out. We knew this was our time, so we got busy packing what was left, loaded the canoes, and headed south to the portage out of Argo back to Crooked Lake. On this reverse portage, the pull out was a steep-ish rock face of about 20 feet to a small ledge. After that, the portage climbed steeply for a good 1/8 mile, which was now muddy from the recent rains. We all carried what we could up to the top where the large Pinnacle Rock awaited us, making sure that nobody carried too much so as to avoid any slips, falls, twists of ankles, or sprains of knees. Once the big stuff was at the top, some started carrying down the long path to the put in spot, which was now even muddier than when we arrived a few days ago. It was getting hard to find places to set things down.
We knew this portage would take awhile, and we patiently lugged everything to the end. But wait - we were missing someone's Duluth pack - the one decked out in green camouflage. (Who's idea was it to create a camouflaged Duluth pack!) We had the portage to ourselves, so we knew it wasn't accidentally taken by another portaging party. It wasn't until 2-3 of us diligently searched the path that we finally found it perched on a rock in the foliage about 1/2 way back. One of us had set it aside as we are apt to do when we are carrying too much. We had all walked by it multiple times, focusing on the trail in front of us rather than to the sides!
With that resolved, it was time to resolve our growling stomachs. There was little space to sit at the end of the portage, so we all pretty much plopped down in the grass, surrounded by mud, water, gear, muddy boots and filthy pant legs. I just had to laugh as I looked around at the sorry state of our happy and contented lunch gang, munching away in our little pig pen. I still smile when I think of that scene, enjoying lunch in the mud, and not really giving a rats ass!
After lunch we loaded up the canoes, each trying different techniques to climb into, and launch, the canoes while rinsing our muddy boots to avoid a mess in the canoe. The day was sunny and warm, almost too warm as we paddled back down Crooked Lake. We all took turns razzing Joe as he liberally applied his sunscreen. His whole face would turn white because his beard would lather up the thick mess, looking very much like he had applied a cold cream mask. (All he lacked were cucumber slices on each eye.) All week we chided Joe with the general comment, "What's that discoloration on your face?", which would send him into paranoid hysterics.
Our destination was a 5-star campsite not far from Curtain Falls, but as we approached we could see people out on the beautiful rocky prominence, and more people farther back where the campsite must have been. Oh what a view it must be from there! Our backup plan was to check out the sandy beach site that Gary explored on our way in. Gary thought it would do, but it seemed too good to be true. We arrived, beached the canoes, then headed back into the woods to check out the camp situation. It wasn't spacious, but for 3 tents and one night, we could easily make it work. I imagined this location would be hot and buggy in the summer, but right now it was pretty ideal. And the beach! A few feet of nice sand gently sloping into the lake.
We set up our tents and broke out our wet gear for drying, then set up the bug shelter right on the sand next to the water. We anchored it down with rocks and the sand anchor method (tie guidelines to a rock or log, and bury it deep in the sand). We rolled up the sides and used it as a cabana for the rest of the time there since the bugs never really showed up to the party. We were too lazy to fish, so we broke out some Mt. House dinners, boiled some water, and made quick work of dinner and cleanup.
Winds were calm, skies were clear, we bathed and swam and watched the setting sun in our little slice of Caribbean paradise in the Quetico wilderness. It wasn't until I returned home and processed the video that I would dub this spot "Tequila Beach".
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Fishing Darky Lake
Early in the morning the winds picked up a little and blew the rain out, which allowed us to exit our tents to a cool, dry morning, have some breakfast, and prepare ourselves for another major day trip, this time across a 134-rod portage into Darkwater (aka "Darky") Lake to the north.
Gary and I also used this time to clean out our tent and hang all our wet gear to dry on clothes lines strung around every tree in the vicinity. The breeze really helped dry our stuff in 2-3 hours - modern fabrics are great for this quality alone!
We thanked Jeff profusely for the use of his spare rainfly, but he was having none of this faux obsequiousness. He wanted, no he demanded recourse: some form of repayment. It started as a demand for money, but what good is that out here?? He quickly realized his error, and cut to the chase - the one thing that means more to Jeff than anything - FOOD! He wanted our rations, and I promised to catch an extra big bass for him today. (As it turned out, he caught himself a huge northern, so he pretty much fed himself with that.)
As we readied for the day, we listened to the forecast - more rain expected later today and overnight. No problem. When we were ready to head out, Gary and I stuffed everything back in the tent, and we teamed up to paddle across Argo to the portage into Darky. The portage itself was not too bad even given last night's rain, especially since we were only hauling what we needed for the day.
Gary lent his solo canoe to Jeff, and Gary became my stern man for the day's fishing. Our first order of business however was to find two different sets of pictographs located on the sheer granite walls on the south end of the lake. Gary had been through here a couple years ago, and remembered them being not far from the portage. We found the first set quite quickly, but the 2nd set was difficult to locate - there were granite walls for a good mile or so along the eastern shoreline. Gary and I took the lead, but with each unsuccessful foray into a bay or cliff, the gang started spreading out and searching themselves. It turns out we were searching much too close to the portage. The pictographs were right at water level, and continued up the rock for another 30 feet or so. We floated right in front of them, and speculated what they might mean. Along with moose, snakes and mules, there was a person shooting a gun, and even handprints.
We photo'd and video'd to our hearts content, then got busy searching for some honey holes where the fish were congregating. Gary and I pushed on to the NE corner of the lake where a small river flowed into Darky, and at this inlet was lots of structure that should support a good deal of bass. We spent a couple hours paddling up, then floating down the narrows, at first having very little luck. But as with most every day this week, right around 3:00 pm the fish started biting, and today was no different. Once we got going, we quickly caught several nice ones, having to throw some big ones back (as was also typical each day!) that exceeded the size limit of our permits.
While fishing, I realized I had been hearing a distinct sound all week and never knew what it was, or even bothered to ask. And here it was again, a distinct beating sound emanating from the woods that would hasten to a rapid pulsing climax, go quiet, then repeat again a minute or so later. It was the sound of ruffled grouse flapping their wings, which was simply amazing when you consider how fast the beating was when it reached a crescendo!
My butt was getting sore, so we pulled up to an exposed rock landing to stretch our backs, have some lunch, and explore what looked like a potential campsite (for future reference). It served as a great break spot, but as campsites go it left a lot to be desired. The weather was overcast, winds were calm and the lake was covered in a haze similar to yesterday. As we stood there, it started to sprinkle, and being it was about 5pm we thought the boys might be looking for us to start portaging out and back to camp. So we donned our raingear and started paddling back the way we came. We encountered the other canoes fishing not far from the portage site. Jeff got off a cast and couldn't believe how far his lure was sailing through the air - a cast for the ages really - until he realized that it was no longer attached to his line. Poor Jeff, he probably has the same reaction with his beloved Dodge Duster: a thing of beauty, until he puts the key in the ignition.
We agreed we had all caught plenty of fish to satisfy our dinner, and so we pulled up and began our portage. This time though, we thought it would be a good idea to clean the fish right at the entrance and portage the fillets, so we upended a canoe on some wood and rocks, and Gary and Chuck did most of the cleaning while the rest of us portaged all our gear across in a couple trips. This took some time, and with calm winds, heavy forest, and fish guts everywhere the no-see-ums (infinitely small biting insects) started attacking. Gary's exposed hands and face were especially susceptible while he carved, and he didn't want to use bug spray around the fish fillets.
Once that was complete, we walked the final portage with the single canoe, paired up again and headed across Argo back to our campsite. This time I was paired with Chuck for the short trip back. About mid-lake there was a loud thunderclap, which was the signal for us all to get the hell off the water and back to camp. All was well until we reached our campsite. I stepped out of the canoe awkwardly, leaving Chuck to flail in the back while he tried to balance himself and the canoe - to no avail. The canoe tipped, and Chuck ended up falling in the shallow water near shore. I felt bad, since it was mostly my fault (mostly?). Chuck was wearing his high wader boots to keep his legs dry, and these filled with water as he and the canoe tipped into the drink. He found it difficult to stand with two vertical pools of lake water caressing his legs from toes to crotch!
The rain that had threatened all afternoon never developed to more than a constant sprinkle, and we retreated into our bug shelter for happy hour and a fish fry. Jeff elected to fry up the fish this night, and it was quite a sight to see! Jeff had liberally applied some of Chuck's brandy to the lining of his empty stomach, so we all watched in fascination as Jeff straddled the small stove and large pan balanced on our little fry table. We were praying that he wouldn't slop hot oil on himself, and the pan did tip a couple times. We also pondered how Jeff was going to deal with the immense northern pike fillets that his fish produced. One technique that someone might have considered would be to cut the fillet into 4 smaller pieces. Jeff thought this too....inefficient. When it came time to flip the first fillet, Jeff pulled this off with a gigantic flip, swoosh and splash of hot oil. Thank the gods none of us were in the line of fire! At our urging, Jeff did cut the 2nd fillet into more manageable sections, perplexed as to why we felt this was necessary.
The evening continued as most nights did: delicious fresh fish, brandy, bourbon, Fireball whiskey, Backwoods smokes, no mashed potatoes, and raucous bandit banter. Joe was enjoying his usual spot at the "bar" when he reached for a container of booze, brought it to his lips, and realized he was drinking cooking oil. We got a good laugh out of that, plus I'm guessing Joe's BM the next morning was smoother than normal.
This would be our last night on Argo, so with the rain holding off we were able to have a nice bonfire for ourselves, after which it was time for bed. Tomorrow we would begin retracing our route, with the goal of one (and only one!) portage each day.
Gary and I also used this time to clean out our tent and hang all our wet gear to dry on clothes lines strung around every tree in the vicinity. The breeze really helped dry our stuff in 2-3 hours - modern fabrics are great for this quality alone!
We thanked Jeff profusely for the use of his spare rainfly, but he was having none of this faux obsequiousness. He wanted, no he demanded recourse: some form of repayment. It started as a demand for money, but what good is that out here?? He quickly realized his error, and cut to the chase - the one thing that means more to Jeff than anything - FOOD! He wanted our rations, and I promised to catch an extra big bass for him today. (As it turned out, he caught himself a huge northern, so he pretty much fed himself with that.)
As we readied for the day, we listened to the forecast - more rain expected later today and overnight. No problem. When we were ready to head out, Gary and I stuffed everything back in the tent, and we teamed up to paddle across Argo to the portage into Darky. The portage itself was not too bad even given last night's rain, especially since we were only hauling what we needed for the day.
Gary lent his solo canoe to Jeff, and Gary became my stern man for the day's fishing. Our first order of business however was to find two different sets of pictographs located on the sheer granite walls on the south end of the lake. Gary had been through here a couple years ago, and remembered them being not far from the portage. We found the first set quite quickly, but the 2nd set was difficult to locate - there were granite walls for a good mile or so along the eastern shoreline. Gary and I took the lead, but with each unsuccessful foray into a bay or cliff, the gang started spreading out and searching themselves. It turns out we were searching much too close to the portage. The pictographs were right at water level, and continued up the rock for another 30 feet or so. We floated right in front of them, and speculated what they might mean. Along with moose, snakes and mules, there was a person shooting a gun, and even handprints.
We photo'd and video'd to our hearts content, then got busy searching for some honey holes where the fish were congregating. Gary and I pushed on to the NE corner of the lake where a small river flowed into Darky, and at this inlet was lots of structure that should support a good deal of bass. We spent a couple hours paddling up, then floating down the narrows, at first having very little luck. But as with most every day this week, right around 3:00 pm the fish started biting, and today was no different. Once we got going, we quickly caught several nice ones, having to throw some big ones back (as was also typical each day!) that exceeded the size limit of our permits.
While fishing, I realized I had been hearing a distinct sound all week and never knew what it was, or even bothered to ask. And here it was again, a distinct beating sound emanating from the woods that would hasten to a rapid pulsing climax, go quiet, then repeat again a minute or so later. It was the sound of ruffled grouse flapping their wings, which was simply amazing when you consider how fast the beating was when it reached a crescendo!
My butt was getting sore, so we pulled up to an exposed rock landing to stretch our backs, have some lunch, and explore what looked like a potential campsite (for future reference). It served as a great break spot, but as campsites go it left a lot to be desired. The weather was overcast, winds were calm and the lake was covered in a haze similar to yesterday. As we stood there, it started to sprinkle, and being it was about 5pm we thought the boys might be looking for us to start portaging out and back to camp. So we donned our raingear and started paddling back the way we came. We encountered the other canoes fishing not far from the portage site. Jeff got off a cast and couldn't believe how far his lure was sailing through the air - a cast for the ages really - until he realized that it was no longer attached to his line. Poor Jeff, he probably has the same reaction with his beloved Dodge Duster: a thing of beauty, until he puts the key in the ignition.
We agreed we had all caught plenty of fish to satisfy our dinner, and so we pulled up and began our portage. This time though, we thought it would be a good idea to clean the fish right at the entrance and portage the fillets, so we upended a canoe on some wood and rocks, and Gary and Chuck did most of the cleaning while the rest of us portaged all our gear across in a couple trips. This took some time, and with calm winds, heavy forest, and fish guts everywhere the no-see-ums (infinitely small biting insects) started attacking. Gary's exposed hands and face were especially susceptible while he carved, and he didn't want to use bug spray around the fish fillets.
Once that was complete, we walked the final portage with the single canoe, paired up again and headed across Argo back to our campsite. This time I was paired with Chuck for the short trip back. About mid-lake there was a loud thunderclap, which was the signal for us all to get the hell off the water and back to camp. All was well until we reached our campsite. I stepped out of the canoe awkwardly, leaving Chuck to flail in the back while he tried to balance himself and the canoe - to no avail. The canoe tipped, and Chuck ended up falling in the shallow water near shore. I felt bad, since it was mostly my fault (mostly?). Chuck was wearing his high wader boots to keep his legs dry, and these filled with water as he and the canoe tipped into the drink. He found it difficult to stand with two vertical pools of lake water caressing his legs from toes to crotch!
The rain that had threatened all afternoon never developed to more than a constant sprinkle, and we retreated into our bug shelter for happy hour and a fish fry. Jeff elected to fry up the fish this night, and it was quite a sight to see! Jeff had liberally applied some of Chuck's brandy to the lining of his empty stomach, so we all watched in fascination as Jeff straddled the small stove and large pan balanced on our little fry table. We were praying that he wouldn't slop hot oil on himself, and the pan did tip a couple times. We also pondered how Jeff was going to deal with the immense northern pike fillets that his fish produced. One technique that someone might have considered would be to cut the fillet into 4 smaller pieces. Jeff thought this too....inefficient. When it came time to flip the first fillet, Jeff pulled this off with a gigantic flip, swoosh and splash of hot oil. Thank the gods none of us were in the line of fire! At our urging, Jeff did cut the 2nd fillet into more manageable sections, perplexed as to why we felt this was necessary.
The evening continued as most nights did: delicious fresh fish, brandy, bourbon, Fireball whiskey, Backwoods smokes, no mashed potatoes, and raucous bandit banter. Joe was enjoying his usual spot at the "bar" when he reached for a container of booze, brought it to his lips, and realized he was drinking cooking oil. We got a good laugh out of that, plus I'm guessing Joe's BM the next morning was smoother than normal.
This would be our last night on Argo, so with the rain holding off we were able to have a nice bonfire for ourselves, after which it was time for bed. Tomorrow we would begin retracing our route, with the goal of one (and only one!) portage each day.
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
Fishing Roland Lake
Another beautiful morning! We breakfasted, and checked the weather - yes, rain expected today, so we had best prepare camp for wind and rain. We had a variety of options including lightweight tarps, and a nice sized bug shelter that would do nicely for a hang-out location as long as it was set up strong and protected from the wind. Fortunately we had a whole area at the back of our campsite that was perfect: blocked from the wind on 3 sides, and a variety of trees to tie off for support. We set up another tarp to hang over most of our camp gear and food, and everything else was stashed in our tents.
Jeff came out from his tent area with something he had brought, but he had no idea what it was. He explained that one of us had given it to him to bring along. We all shook are heads, both to confirm that we hadn't, and to laugh at Jeff's folly! We unfurled the large covering and after a few minutes realized it was a tent rainfly, likely from one of Jeff's tents at home. We laughed while Jeff explained it away by blaming his kids for using his gear and not putting it back properly. OK maybe, but we still razzed Jeff for not checking his gear beforehand! But hey, the rainfly made a great cover for our stash of firewood, so there ya go.
With camp secure and cleaned up, we headed out together for the NW part of Argo, and once again into the narrows of the "Soybean" River. The river flows into Roland Lake, but the passage requires a short portage. Jeff and I decided not to drop a line in the Siobhan and instead head straight to the portage, after which we'd break out the rods on Roland. The other two canoes were taking their time fishing along the way. We floated closer and closer to the dense covering of the outflow, and at the very end we spotted a take-out spot about 20 feet to the left. Pulling up and walking the path confirmed that yes, this was the short portage into Roland (but not the only one, as we would learn!). The portage was so short (10 rods?) that Jeff and I decided to haul the canoe full of our gear up and over the portage in one trip. The path was a bit steep up and down, but it didn't take us long at all. Then, we plopped the canoe in the water, climbed in, and started fishing.
We had OK luck with the bass that morning, enough to keep us occupied and happy. But as we worked the bank structure with our surface lures, we noticed a loon pop up along the bank ahead of us. Crap - we knew the loon was also fishing, and likely scaring all the bass into hiding. So, Jeff and I decided to paddle out around the pesky loon, then back towards shore to continue. This was fine for awhile, until - Crap! - another loon was messing with our "virgin territory" Jeff's name for the waters we hadn't fished yet). We were about to perform the same maneuver around this loon until we saw a peculiar thing - the loon was bobbing its head up and down on the surface of the water. Upon closer inspection we could see that it was playing with a big bass. We couldn't tell if the bass was dead, or the loon was trying to tire it out. Well, this was just too interesting to ignore, so I broke out my video camera and started filming. For the next 5 minutes I filmed while Jeff maneuvered the canoe as close as the loon would let us. The loon continued to play with that fish, until....well, the video segment tells the story of what happened next! What an incredible piece of footage! (Later that evening, the bandits would gather around my camera 2x3 inch view finder to watch the replay!)
After a couple hours of fishing, we decided to head back towards the portage area because we hadn't seen the other canoes on the lake yet, and it might be time to consider lunch. The whole ride back we were surprised that they hadn't come through yet. We finally found them all, but at a different portage spot than the one that Jeff and I used. They had uncovered a longer portage than ours. Oh well. As long as they were there, and there was a bit of an opening to share, it was a good time to break out lunch.
After that, we all hit the lake and started fishing the banks in the same area. After a few minutes I was casting with the others, and my line went up and over a tree branch about 15 feet up, the lure still landing in the water. As soon as the lure hit - bang! - fish on, and a nice size one to boot! With my line draped over the tree branch I wasn't quite sure what to do. So, what the heck, I started reeling it in - or "up" as the case may be. Jeff canoed me closer until the fish was hanging right about eye level with me. No need for a net to land this baby! After removing the fish, I was still faced with the possibility of snagging my lure on the branch above, and tugging on the branch was not going to bring it down. To avoid snagging the branch, a smart man would just remove the lure from the leader/swivel, reel the remaining line up and over the branch, reattach the lure, and continue on fishing. Let's just say this is exactly what I did, and move on with the story. Ahem..
It didn't take us long to all spread out across the lake, Jeff and I choosing to fish the shallows of the big island in the middle of the lake. Even though it had threatened rain all day, it finally began lightly raining consistently by this time. We held off donning raingear as long as possible because it gets damn uncomfortable canoeing/fishing in raingear. But we could no longer avoid it.
The fish could not be found along the island, so we sought out the northern bank of the lake where information from Zup noted the greatest chance of good fishing. We headed to the far opposite end from the portage location and immediately had good luck, working our way back closer towards where we would eventually leave the lake. We couldn't see Chuck and Joe, but we could see Gary working the northern bank farther down. After a couple hours we arrived together, and Gary regaled us with a story of a big fish that had taken his lure and tangled the line in some fallen branches. Gary was convinced it was a biggie, so he was almost ready to climb out and wade through the brush to rescue his line and capture the fish. Alas, his line broke and that was the end of that idea.
Jeff and I left Gary to fish a big longer, then headed across to a campsite on an island to get out of the canoe, strip off our raingear and outer layers, stretch our backs and rest our butts. The rain had stopped, the winds were calm (non-existent!), and the temps were mild but muggy. It felt good to strip down and walk around. We assumed Chuck and Joe had gone back through the portage for home, so we decided to wait for Gary to finish fishing and paddle by. Plus, we could help Gary with his canoe across the portage. Jeff and I were done fishing for the day, and it would be a nice calm paddle back to camp.
The portage was quick, and the Siobhan was like glass. No, it WAS glass. I've seen calm winds and water before, but this was different. A heavy haze covered the nearby banks, the water reflecting the vegetation and trees on both sides and ahead of us. It was the same when we reached Argo - pure glass. This was a big change from yesterday when we were paddling against a heavy headwind. Today we could glide through the water with ease, our canoes and paddles the only ripple on the water. It was a quintessential moment for me, a memory I'll not soon forget. I used the opportunity to film alongside Gary as he quietly paddled by, his reflection on the water a perfect mirror image, the peace broken only by the crack of a whip from the stern of my vessel: "OK Kevin, you can paddle now." My, but SOMEONE was HUNGRY!
We quickly paddled across the lake to camp, where the other canoe had already landed. With the threat of rain very real now, we set up shop in the bug shelter, with Chuck and Jeff cleaning fish, and Joe acting as cabana boy, dolling out slurps of beer and shots of booze. With fish guts in hand, Jeff headed off to the woods to dispose of the carcasses. Upon return he told us how the pesky new forest growth had thrown the fish guts back in his face as he tried to toss the remains into the shrubbery and small trees. "Fish Face" was the apt nickname given Jeff that night.
We cooked, cleaned, and retired to the cozy confines of the shelter as the rain became steady. There was very little wind, and we were quite pleased that we had prepared the camp earlier in the day for this eventuality.
At about 11:30 I headed to bed, and was met with a horrible surprise - Gary's tent was leaking water on to our sleeping bags, pads, and gear. Ah! How could this happen?? His tent was only about 5 years old, and had been trail tested all over the U.S. The coating on the rainfly was flaking a little, and this must have been the cause. When Gary arrived we soaked up the puddles that had formed on (and in!) our sleeping bags, then set out to figure out what we were going to do. Hey, wait, don't we have a spare rainfly covering our firewood? Gary and I jumped into action, moving the wood to a spot underneath the supply tarp, then quickly rigged Jeff's spare rainfly over our tent. Fortunately we had set up the tent in an area surrounded by 3-4 nearby trees. We stretched and sloped the rainfly to hover above us, and it worked beautifully. No more rain, no more leak. However, I was really worried that I'd be climbing into a wet, cold sleeping bag, and since my bag is down (not synthetic), that stuff never dries. I was quite surprised that I slept warm and comfortable, and my bag never really retained any water. Whew! That could have been a bad deal all around.
Gary of course was majorly bummed that a major item of his gear had failed. For an avid outdoorsman, you can count on one hand the gear that you most depend on, the gear you don't compromise on, the gear that MUST work because it is impractical to bring multiples, the gear that can be a lifesaver in extreme situations. Sleeping bag and tent are two of them. But thanks to Jeff and his much maligned extra rainfly, we survived this damp experience.
Jeff came out from his tent area with something he had brought, but he had no idea what it was. He explained that one of us had given it to him to bring along. We all shook are heads, both to confirm that we hadn't, and to laugh at Jeff's folly! We unfurled the large covering and after a few minutes realized it was a tent rainfly, likely from one of Jeff's tents at home. We laughed while Jeff explained it away by blaming his kids for using his gear and not putting it back properly. OK maybe, but we still razzed Jeff for not checking his gear beforehand! But hey, the rainfly made a great cover for our stash of firewood, so there ya go.
With camp secure and cleaned up, we headed out together for the NW part of Argo, and once again into the narrows of the "Soybean" River. The river flows into Roland Lake, but the passage requires a short portage. Jeff and I decided not to drop a line in the Siobhan and instead head straight to the portage, after which we'd break out the rods on Roland. The other two canoes were taking their time fishing along the way. We floated closer and closer to the dense covering of the outflow, and at the very end we spotted a take-out spot about 20 feet to the left. Pulling up and walking the path confirmed that yes, this was the short portage into Roland (but not the only one, as we would learn!). The portage was so short (10 rods?) that Jeff and I decided to haul the canoe full of our gear up and over the portage in one trip. The path was a bit steep up and down, but it didn't take us long at all. Then, we plopped the canoe in the water, climbed in, and started fishing.
We had OK luck with the bass that morning, enough to keep us occupied and happy. But as we worked the bank structure with our surface lures, we noticed a loon pop up along the bank ahead of us. Crap - we knew the loon was also fishing, and likely scaring all the bass into hiding. So, Jeff and I decided to paddle out around the pesky loon, then back towards shore to continue. This was fine for awhile, until - Crap! - another loon was messing with our "virgin territory" Jeff's name for the waters we hadn't fished yet). We were about to perform the same maneuver around this loon until we saw a peculiar thing - the loon was bobbing its head up and down on the surface of the water. Upon closer inspection we could see that it was playing with a big bass. We couldn't tell if the bass was dead, or the loon was trying to tire it out. Well, this was just too interesting to ignore, so I broke out my video camera and started filming. For the next 5 minutes I filmed while Jeff maneuvered the canoe as close as the loon would let us. The loon continued to play with that fish, until....well, the video segment tells the story of what happened next! What an incredible piece of footage! (Later that evening, the bandits would gather around my camera 2x3 inch view finder to watch the replay!)
After a couple hours of fishing, we decided to head back towards the portage area because we hadn't seen the other canoes on the lake yet, and it might be time to consider lunch. The whole ride back we were surprised that they hadn't come through yet. We finally found them all, but at a different portage spot than the one that Jeff and I used. They had uncovered a longer portage than ours. Oh well. As long as they were there, and there was a bit of an opening to share, it was a good time to break out lunch.
After that, we all hit the lake and started fishing the banks in the same area. After a few minutes I was casting with the others, and my line went up and over a tree branch about 15 feet up, the lure still landing in the water. As soon as the lure hit - bang! - fish on, and a nice size one to boot! With my line draped over the tree branch I wasn't quite sure what to do. So, what the heck, I started reeling it in - or "up" as the case may be. Jeff canoed me closer until the fish was hanging right about eye level with me. No need for a net to land this baby! After removing the fish, I was still faced with the possibility of snagging my lure on the branch above, and tugging on the branch was not going to bring it down. To avoid snagging the branch, a smart man would just remove the lure from the leader/swivel, reel the remaining line up and over the branch, reattach the lure, and continue on fishing. Let's just say this is exactly what I did, and move on with the story. Ahem..
It didn't take us long to all spread out across the lake, Jeff and I choosing to fish the shallows of the big island in the middle of the lake. Even though it had threatened rain all day, it finally began lightly raining consistently by this time. We held off donning raingear as long as possible because it gets damn uncomfortable canoeing/fishing in raingear. But we could no longer avoid it.
The fish could not be found along the island, so we sought out the northern bank of the lake where information from Zup noted the greatest chance of good fishing. We headed to the far opposite end from the portage location and immediately had good luck, working our way back closer towards where we would eventually leave the lake. We couldn't see Chuck and Joe, but we could see Gary working the northern bank farther down. After a couple hours we arrived together, and Gary regaled us with a story of a big fish that had taken his lure and tangled the line in some fallen branches. Gary was convinced it was a biggie, so he was almost ready to climb out and wade through the brush to rescue his line and capture the fish. Alas, his line broke and that was the end of that idea.
Jeff and I left Gary to fish a big longer, then headed across to a campsite on an island to get out of the canoe, strip off our raingear and outer layers, stretch our backs and rest our butts. The rain had stopped, the winds were calm (non-existent!), and the temps were mild but muggy. It felt good to strip down and walk around. We assumed Chuck and Joe had gone back through the portage for home, so we decided to wait for Gary to finish fishing and paddle by. Plus, we could help Gary with his canoe across the portage. Jeff and I were done fishing for the day, and it would be a nice calm paddle back to camp.
The portage was quick, and the Siobhan was like glass. No, it WAS glass. I've seen calm winds and water before, but this was different. A heavy haze covered the nearby banks, the water reflecting the vegetation and trees on both sides and ahead of us. It was the same when we reached Argo - pure glass. This was a big change from yesterday when we were paddling against a heavy headwind. Today we could glide through the water with ease, our canoes and paddles the only ripple on the water. It was a quintessential moment for me, a memory I'll not soon forget. I used the opportunity to film alongside Gary as he quietly paddled by, his reflection on the water a perfect mirror image, the peace broken only by the crack of a whip from the stern of my vessel: "OK Kevin, you can paddle now." My, but SOMEONE was HUNGRY!
We quickly paddled across the lake to camp, where the other canoe had already landed. With the threat of rain very real now, we set up shop in the bug shelter, with Chuck and Jeff cleaning fish, and Joe acting as cabana boy, dolling out slurps of beer and shots of booze. With fish guts in hand, Jeff headed off to the woods to dispose of the carcasses. Upon return he told us how the pesky new forest growth had thrown the fish guts back in his face as he tried to toss the remains into the shrubbery and small trees. "Fish Face" was the apt nickname given Jeff that night.
We cooked, cleaned, and retired to the cozy confines of the shelter as the rain became steady. There was very little wind, and we were quite pleased that we had prepared the camp earlier in the day for this eventuality.
At about 11:30 I headed to bed, and was met with a horrible surprise - Gary's tent was leaking water on to our sleeping bags, pads, and gear. Ah! How could this happen?? His tent was only about 5 years old, and had been trail tested all over the U.S. The coating on the rainfly was flaking a little, and this must have been the cause. When Gary arrived we soaked up the puddles that had formed on (and in!) our sleeping bags, then set out to figure out what we were going to do. Hey, wait, don't we have a spare rainfly covering our firewood? Gary and I jumped into action, moving the wood to a spot underneath the supply tarp, then quickly rigged Jeff's spare rainfly over our tent. Fortunately we had set up the tent in an area surrounded by 3-4 nearby trees. We stretched and sloped the rainfly to hover above us, and it worked beautifully. No more rain, no more leak. However, I was really worried that I'd be climbing into a wet, cold sleeping bag, and since my bag is down (not synthetic), that stuff never dries. I was quite surprised that I slept warm and comfortable, and my bag never really retained any water. Whew! That could have been a bad deal all around.
Gary of course was majorly bummed that a major item of his gear had failed. For an avid outdoorsman, you can count on one hand the gear that you most depend on, the gear you don't compromise on, the gear that MUST work because it is impractical to bring multiples, the gear that can be a lifesaver in extreme situations. Sleeping bag and tent are two of them. But thanks to Jeff and his much maligned extra rainfly, we survived this damp experience.
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