We made our way through Lake One towards the portages. The water was considerably lower than normal, a theme that would come up again later. We managed to get the canoe stuck on a rock that would normally be clearable, and the rookies got a taste of backwoods problem-solving when I hopped off the boat to push it free. We got to the portages into Lake Two, and my father-in-law accomplished his goal for the trip by portaging a canoe for the first time in his life in his early 60s. We fought increasing wind and got to a decent west-shore site on Lake Three.

A big concern among the uninitiated was food. Luckily, our day-one burrito dinner with real frozen vegetables didn’t disappoint. Rain started coming down more seriously again and we called it a night.

While reading in the tent, my fiancée and I noticed some moisture coming in. She realized she actually had standing water forming at her feet, and we figured out our rain fly had failed along a seam. I got out of the tent, ran over to my soon-to-be in-laws’ tent where our packs were stashed, and retrieved the large extra tarp a coworker had loaned my fiancée. Then I got a towel from my brother-in-law and set to work. My fiancée cleaned up the inside of the tent while I got the tarp situated and we had a dry shelter once more.

We were off to a sluggish start for the day, and my fiancée advised we send a scouting party to secure a site while the others broke camp. For our party’s pace, this was actually the more expedient option. I took my father-in-law in a canoe and set off to the eastern reaches of Lake Three.

With the water low, things our map showed as islands were actually peninsulas. Combined with my unfamiliarity with the area, this led to us getting way off course. We ended up in Lake Four stuck on the wrong side of a temporary peninsula. We carried our canoe over the gap, figured out our location by comparing a downloaded map to the paper map, and found a great site on the northeastern side of the lake.

After staking our claim with a hammock and returning for the rest of our party, it was time to head across the water again. This time, we had the benefit of knowing what the area looked like! With two canoes and five people, we gave each person the opportunity to duff once. My brother-in-law took his turn for this crossing. He has some experience fishing, but none in canoe country, so I recommended he try trolling my biggest flicker minnow as deep as he could manage. Sure enough, a decent-sized northern hammered it just before reaching camp, and I was one step closer to my goal.

After setting up camp, I cast my faithful red and yellow Mepps #5 at a rock near our landing. A smallmouth ate it, and we now had something for the fish fry. We all took advantage of the beach landing area to swim, and then it was time for a serious fishing expedition.

My brother-in-law and I loaded up in the canoe and took off towards a pair of islands near the east end of Lake Three. In the channel between the islands, we had slow luck until I pulled out the trusty white spinner.

Within a few casts, I had a northern on the line - not the smallies we were hoping to fry up, but promising evidence that there were indeed fish in this channel! Just minutes later, another northern took the spinner. As I reeled it up to the boat, my brother-in-law readied the net. Just as he was about to swoop the fish up, it accelerated hard under the boat. I saw a green back, a white belly, and the snap on my leader breaking under the fish’s strength. Just as I was discovering its powers, the white spinner was gone forever.

We tried our channel a little longer before deciding to explore a rumor we’d heard. We made for the far side of Lake Four to seek out the rapids heading into Hudson. While we didn’t make it quite that far, we did get to the far end of Four, casting and exploring along the way. We realized we had better head back to camp, as it had been a few hours, we’d neglected to set a firm “back-by” time, and we were getting hungry for dinner. After a quick discussion, we elected to try trolling the flicker minnow again. We wanted to pick up one more fish - anything would do - to add to the frying pan as penance for our long time away. About halfway across the lake, something hit it. A decent northern hit my minnow hard and we had our protein in the boat. My brother-in-law put his own jointed swimbait in the water, and not long later the rod jumped. We never determined if it was the rocky depths or a monster northern that took his bait, because the line kept moving but the lure never surfaced. Either way, the lake won his lure.

We got back to camp, fried up our fish, and enjoyed a relaxing night at camp. A little night fishing with my fiancée and brother-in-law yielded the lone walleye of the trip, and we were treated to a beautiful moon on the paddle in.

Our folly was soon exposed as we realized that packing a canoe is an art learned with experience, and this group was still gaining necessary experience. We got out of camp and battled wind across Lake Three and back up Lake Two.

Morale was flagging and we had a quick snack after our portages. The wind was even worse on Lake One. Disaster struck as the wind took my brother-in-law’s bucket hat off his head. Despite our desperate attempts to rescue it, the hat — a treasure from the US Open — was lost. As my good-spirited brother-in-law said, “the lake giveth and the lake taketh, just like the golf course.”

Low water made reading the terrain and map difficult. We finally made camp on a peninsula north of the main section of Lake One. We struggled to find the site since our maps disagreed with each other, but some passing kayakers offered the clarity we needed. After a mid-morning departure and an early afternoon arrival at camp, the entire party was famished. We enjoyed a hearty lunch of pancakes, hot chocolate, and summer sausage, and our spirits recovered greatly.

With camp established, my brother-in-law and I turned our attention to more pressing business. His mom hadn’t caught a fish since she was a young girl, and she thought it was high time to catch another. We gave her a quick casting lesson and paddled to the rapids at Lock and Dam 1.

A smallmouth crushed my reliable Mepps #5 right off the bat, but nothing else came together at the rapids. Moving upstream to a quiet lily-padded inlet, we tried everything in the tackle box. We longed for our lost spinners — my brother-in-law lost his to a tough snag on Day 1 — and tied on lure after lure. After a few fish barely missed his lucky frog, I somehow caught a northern on the Mepps. Just two fish on the stringer and nothing was coming together.

All this time, my mother-in-law was diligently casting and reeling. We fixed her snags and offered pointers on where to cast, but nothing was taking the bait. To her credit, she realized quickly what took years for some to learn: it’s about the journey and the experience, and it’s called “fishing,” not “catching.” Our “head back” time came, and my brother-in-law talked strategy. The flicker minnow was two for two, should we try that again?

Just minutes into our paddle home and lightning struck a third time, and we had a fish on the line. Although she was taken aback at first, we coached her to keep her rod tip up, tension on the line, and reel it in.

For the first time in decades, my mother-in-law proudly held her catch aloft: a pencil of a northern, but a catch to be proud of. Her son worked the lure free and we released the fish, and she was glad to see it swim off strong.

Back at camp, the lake tooketh from my brother-in-law once again. Just as he was pulling a nice northern into shore, it spit the hook and escaped. Between this, the hat, and having me marrying his sister, this guy couldn’t catch a break!

Aside from fishing and losing fantasy football leagues, I spend the fall hunting whenever my schedule allows. My very patient fiancée encourages the hobby as a way to put fresh meat on our table, but loves even more to tease me when I come home with no birds in the bag or no venison for the freezer. As I used the latrine at camp that night, I counted five grouse in an aspen tree watching me. A full limit of birds, and they literally caught me with my pants down, unarmed and out of season! The woods giveth, the woods taketh. I’m confident that for all the miles I tread this fall, shotgun in hand, I won’t see that many birds at once again.

I was the last one out of bed that night. I took in the moon and the calm waters, the same that had offered such a hearty chop just hours before. I always love being in the woods, and I was glad for the time bonding with my soon-to-be in-laws. With a wide range of outdoor aptitudes and enthusiasm for camping, everyone had brought a good attitude and tried their hardest, even when things didn’t go to plan or we hit road bumps. My fiancée is a great woman with a good head on her shoulders, and this trip reaffirmed for me that she comes from good stock. Standing there in the moonlight, I thought about how I’m lucky to have these woods and someone to spend my life enjoying them with.

We packed our canoes for the last time. I set her up with the flicker minnow, which had a perfect record so far. I’d bought it on the advice of the fishing forum on this site, during my customary pre-trip Scheel’s run. Sure enough, at the north end of Lake One, the lure defended its title. Another northern hit the lure, my lady had her fish, and I’d successfully guided my group to tight lines. Just in the nick of time, too, since she caught her fish about 20 minutes before we reached the entry point.

As much as I love being in the BWCA, I love getting out of them. My group loved my post-trip treats pulled from the still-icy cooler: cold water, carbonated energy drinks, and a mid-morning chocolate bar for yours truly. We loaded the cars, headed into Ely, and recounted our highlights over coffee and breakfast burritos at Northern Grounds.

The fires had cast doubt over the trip before it even happened, and as we enjoyed our post-return coffee, we were all grateful it had worked out. From PackSack Outfitter’s flexibility securing our canoes, to my fiancée’s hard work organizing gear for the crew, to my mother and father-in-laws’ willingness to get out of their comfort zones, I was thankful for everything that had come together to make the trip possible.