(Haven Lake, Unnamed Lake, Jigsaw Lake, Wrist Lake, Agean Creek, Amber Lake, Nutria Lake, Mexican Hat Lake) We took our time getting ready on this clear morning. The sun was hot by the time we were getting breakfast ready and the clearing in the middle of the camp was almost too hot to stand in. Slowly we got camp packed away and got ready to start a new day.

   We paddled south out of Haven Lake and found what we thought was a portage out of the lake but it turned out to be a moose path. In stead, we found that the small stream heading down to Gulch Lake was just slightly navigable. Occasionally we would have to step out onto the most solid ground we could find and pull the canoe over the thicker weeds but for the most part we were able to sit in the canoe and push our way down stream.    Gulch Lake was the scene of a fire and the rock slopes and cliffs were almost barren of living trees. We followed the lake to it’s termination at the south shore fishing along the way but not doing much good. We filtered some water and got ready for a long portage to Jigsaw Lake. The first ten feet of the portage was visible but then it quickly disappeared into the charred remains of the forest. We had not planned a real bushwack on the trip but here it was in front of us. Soon the maps and compasses were in hand and we made our way cross country to the next lake. Bushwacking through charred forest has to be the easiest situation to go through. You don’t have to contend with the underbrush and navigating over bare rock is much easier than ankle sucking muck. Eventually we came out of the burn area and started to approach the lake we could see beyond a stand of trees below us. Chet, who was carrying the canoe, wanted to get to the lake so he dropped down off the rock cliff and into a swamp full of sweet smelling Labrador tea and sphagnum moss. He then made his way through the forest. I dropped down behind him and began leading him through the soggy forest floor. I was just about to reach the lake, traveling along increasingly wet terrain when there was no more “terra-firma” below my feet. I dropped in a hole between some floating tamarack. I was up to my armpits in freezing cold water. I let out a yelp as the rush of cold poured in from every direction. I could hear the guys calling for me but I could not see them and they could not see me until I managed to pull myself and pack, out of the cold water. It was one heck of a way to wake up for the day.   We managed to get in the canoe without any more incidents and started our paddle across Jigsaw Lake. This lake was a mass of islands and coves that had all been burnt out. We crept our way though the island maze watching for more wildlife but the land was devoid of any cover and didn’t seem to be occupied by anything but a few curious ravens. It wasn’t till we reached the east end of the lake that we found more unharmed forest.    The beginning of the portage to Wrist Lake was another floating grassy bog full of bottomless muck and mosquitoes. Before long the portage climbed out of the swamps and into some higher ground. We passed over areas that had been recently worked over by a trail crew. I’m not sure what the Canadian trail crews do up here but the trail was littered with clothes. Not long after passing a sock, we passed a pair of tighty-whities, soon a pair of jeans, and finally a shirt. We never did see a guy with just one sock on, but we did keep our eyes out for him.

   At the end of the portage to Wrist Lake, we laid out our plans for the 2nd annual fishing tournament. The plan was to spend approximately 4 hours fishing this lake in an attempt to have the largest, by length, lake trout. When the time was up we were to rendezvous on a small island at the south end of the lake and make a late lunch of lake trout.

   We geared up for fishing and set off in our own directions. As we departed Chet immediately caught a pike and we could see Chad and Mike stopping to real in something as well. The lake is one of the larger, more wide open lakes we had been across. Its shores were lined with well developed trees and some higher hills. The lake was broken up by the occasional island or cove. From the main body of the lake you can see a large cliff on the south end that terminates at the waters edge. We paddled on and circled around an island at the entrance of the main body of the lake then headed south to go around a larger island.

   There was something mystical about this day on Wrist Lake. As we paddled across the smooth water, there was no wind. There were no clouds. There were no bugs. There were no birds chirping in the woods. No large birds circling over head. The squirrels were not rooting around in the leaves. There were no float-planes flying overhead. It was silent. It was maddeningly silent. I believe if you listened hard enough, you might just hear God breathing. I don’t know if the others noticed, or if it was just in my head because the fishing was so slow. It only lasted for about a half hour or so before the wind started up slightly, but it is the main thing I remember about that lake. I had never been in such absolute quiet.

   Chet and I paddled all over this lake. We circled around islands and traveled down coves. We floated and jigged, caste for pike, trolled shallow, and trolled deep but were only able to pick up one small lake trout. After circling around for hours Chet and I decided to hit the rendezvous island and get a start on lunch preparation. Soon after Greg and Brian were floating by the island to make sure we were not still in the competition. Before too long, Chad and Mike were floating by the island but refused to get on it till we all agreed we were down with the competition. Only then did they beach the canoe. After some measuring and re-measuring of Chad, Mike, and Brian’s fish, that were all fairly similar in size, we finally concluded that Mike’s was the biggest, at 26”. This is something we will most likely hear about till someone else takes the title. We stuffed ourselves with lake trout and then ate some more lake trout before packing up and heading on.

   After portaging onto Steak Lake we got temporarily disoriented before finding the portage to Amber Lake. Amber Lake was another narrow lake stretching from west to east that we paddled at a leisurely pace. Casting some spoons the whole way across, we picked up only a few small pike. We picked up the pace after realizing the fishing wasn’t so hot. Before long we reached to portage to Nutria Lake. Chet and I reached the portage first and it was Chet’s turn to carry the canoe. I led the way on this portage leading over some lowland. The portage was riddle with moose tracks so I kept a watchful eye as I progressed along the soupy portage. Several times I stepped into muddy waters assuming blindly that there would be something solid to stop my foot as it fell through what looked like solid land. At times I realized that the trail was not so solid so I had to tip-toe along the edges of the trail to stay on firm ground. Chet wasn’t so lucky as he had the canoe and pack on board forcing his momentum. He unfortunately stepped along an edge of the trail and slid into the muck and twisted his ankle along the way. I hear the crash of the canoe and turned back after depositing my pack along the trail. He hobbled by obviously hurting and went to drop his pack off at the end of the portage. I went and retrieved the canoe and met up with him. We sat by while he felt out his wound and the others passed on and launched into the lake. After a few minutes the sprain subsided and we were in the canoe and on our way.

   Nutria Lake was a small pond that terminated to the east in a weedy marsh. Fortunately the stream exiting the lake was navigable through the reedy marsh. On our way through we chased off a pair of ducks with young, whom quickly skirted off to the side and hid in the standing weeds. We made our way down the stream when the silence was broken by an angry red-tail hawk perched high in a tree. As we made our way over a beaver dam into Mexican Hat Lake, the only thing we could here was the shrill cry of the hawk, obviously bothered by our presence. Eventually we got far enough away to satisfy the hawk and the “yelling” subsided.

   Mexican Hat Lake was our final destination for the night. We had no idea where we were going to camp but were happy to finally be “home” for the night. As we paddled along we started to rig up for walleye and seriously fish. Greg had recalled a report of a pristine campsite along the south shore bordering a waterfall so we paralleled the south shore in search of it. It wasn’t long before Chet and I had one walleye in the boat and then it was followed by another. We could hear the waterfall we were heading for but could not see it. Chet and I decided to B-line it for camp and then fish the waterfall while the others were meandering around. We had several other hits on our lines along the way but no other fish. When we reached the cascading falls that curved through a cove in the lake we decided to fish below them and assumed it would be packed with hungry fish. For the life of me, I could not cast without snagging the bottom and Chet wasn’t having much luck either. We decided to beach the canoe at the campsite and fish from there. By the time we were on shore and unloaded, Greg and Brian arrived. We staked claim to a couple of tent sites and then went about the business of setting up camp. After that we could see Chad and Mike drifting into the bay intent on fishing the evening bite. I rigged up a floating jig head and fished from shore. I caught a few walleye to keep but the fishing was difficult as the current from the falls was coming along shore at an awkward direction and hard to cast without the sinker being drug along the bottom till it snagged. We managed to catch enough walleye to stuff ourselves with before giving up for the night. After dinner the bugs started to intensify. We put on some heavier clothes and DEET’ed up but that was still not enough. Even though, we got another viewing of the northern lights. We sat on the rock point and tried our best to ignore the bugs before finally retreating into the tents.