(Mesaba Lake, Hub Lake, Fente Lake, Whipped Lake, Time Lake, Mora Lake, Little Saganaga Lake, Virgin Lake, West Fern Lake, Powell Lake, French Lake, Gillis Lake)

The beginning of our fishing tournament day started off pretty serious. We agreed that we only keep two fish per boat and the longest fish would win. Everyone had their rods ready and the camp packed up for travel in no time. As soon as we were on the water we were fishing. Unfortunately Mesaba Lake skunked us for the second day.  

On Hug Lake we experience another “first time since we’ve been coming up” happening. As we were making our way across Hub, fishing of course, I noticed a large black object on shore that caught my attention. Sure enough it was a bear. We changed course and headed toward it. The bear didn’t notice our approach until I hit a rock with the canoe. We continued to follow it along shore until it finally disappeared into the brush then we headed to the portage.

The portage to Fente Lake was a long one that we were dreading. Greg and I typically played rock-paper-scissors to determine who got the canoe on the long ones. Luck was with me the whole trip (sorry Greg!) so Greg had to take this one. 

On Fente we fished very briefly before making the portage to Whipped Lake. So far the fishing tournament was going pretty well. Nobody had caught anything so just catching a fish could win it for you. Well, Whipped Lake wasn’t going to win the tournament for anyone today. As we headed north on Whipped lake we were thinking of taking a shortcut across an unnamed lake and Time Lake to Mora instead of the portage. I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye when we passed the bay that went toward the unnamed lake. We stopped the canoe and paddled back so we could see down the bay. It took a minute to see it again but there was definitely movement in front of a downed tree in the water. We decided to head down the bay and check it out. Before long we could tell it was a moose swimming across the bay. The moose was pretty quick to see us and wasted no time getting onto shore and back into the woods. Since we were all ready up the bay we decided to check out the shortcut. After making our way across the unnamed lake it was apparent that we were not the only ones to have done this. The tell tale sign of aluminum and paint scraped on the rocks gave it away. It was a bit of work but we managed to get the canoes through the rapids, across Time Lake, and over to Mora Lake. 

From Mora Lake we hit the portage to Little Saganaga Lake to fish some more. Before putting the canoes into the lake we made plans to fish till lunch time and meet on an island campsite we had been to once before. The wind was up on Little Sag and getting across the lake was a chore. We zigged, we zagged, we snagged, but we couldn’t catch any fish. When we met up with the others at the designated lunch spot we found that they had not caught anything either.

After lunch we headed to Virgin Lake. The portage to Virgin Lake was a long one but not bad. I think they had to re-rout it a little bit since the blowdown. This area was hit pretty badly. Virgin Lake left us all skunked again. This was turning out to be one of our worst days fishing.

On West Fern Lake our luck changed. Mike and Chad were cruising the southern shore so Greg and decided to fish the northern shore. As we came past the point of an island, Greg’s rod bent and the fight was on. I reeled in my line to prevent any line tangles. As I reeled in, I was getting strikes and a laker followed the lure right up to the boat. Greg fought the fish while I turned the cane to make another pass over the point of the island where we got the first hit. Greg soon flopped a healthy sized laker into the boat. As he was trying to get the hook out of the fish, he, or more so the fish, managed to bury a hook into his finger. I could tell it was serious because I heard him cut the hook off the lure and maybe, just maybe, there was a little cursing added. As he tried to push the hook through his skin I realized maybe he needed some help. I offered to land on shore and provide some assistance. If he passed out in the boat we’d be sure to flip. After he made another attempt to push the hook through his finger, he was ready to go to shore. While all this was going on, the inner-fisherman in me had paddled the canoe around for another pass over the hole and my line was out. After passing over the hole and getting a hit but missing the fish, I started to reel in so I could put us on shore. As I was reeling the lure in I could feel a fish hitting. When the lure reached the boat I could see the laker right behind it. I let the lure float to the surface and gave it a couple twitches. It was enough to tempt the fish to strike again and it smashed the lure off the surface and caught the hooks. I tried to horse it in for a while but then realized it was a bigger fish so I took it easy. When I did get it into the boat I was sure I was still in the competition.  I took us to shore so Greg could figure out what to do with the hook in his finger. I got out my first-aid kit and was digging around for some things I though Greg might need when I heard some more profanity. Greg managed to push the hook all the way through and get it out. We fixed up his wound and then went to catch up with the others who were long gone by now. Before heading off, I had to measure the fish to see who was in the lead. His was 23” and mine was 24”.

We caught up with Mike and Chad when we reached Powell Lake. They had both caught a laker each on Powell but we couldn’t see them. We fished a little on Powell then headed to French Lake. On French Lake we hugged the shore dragging lures only to get a few hits but not land any fish. We portaged south into Gillis and started hunting for a campsite while fishing along the way. Before we got out of the first bay we were getting hits and catching lake trout. None of the trout we were catching compared to our first catch and I was feeling pretty confident with my catch winning the tournament. When we passed by one campsite that was vacant and were swinging around to give it another look everyone started getting hits and catching fish. We were using a mixed bag of crank baits, some shad-raps, rattle-traps, hot-n-tots, and thunder-cranks. The fish weren’t real deep and once we realized that, we started catching more fish. It was hard to quite fishing but it started to get late so we headed into an empty site to set up camp. Before setting up camp we had to measure the fish so we laid them all out. It was immediately obvious that mine was the biggest. Greg’s and my fish dwarfed the others (sorry guys). I took it upon myself to start talking smack and eyeing up their tackle boxes immediately following. I continued talking smack for the rest of the trip. 

We set up camp and cleaned the four fish. The meat on these trout was as red as salmon. I had never seen lakers so good and red. I was really considering sushi for dinner. Our dinner consisted of strictly fish, the four fish we had was just over “too much” so we agreed that the new limit was one fish per boat. We tried to mix it up a bit and had at least 4 courses of differently spiced trout. We were going to make a side dish but ruled that out about half way through the fish. The end of the night we were blessed with a brief show of northern lights.

(Gillis Lake, Crooked Lake, Owl Lake, Tuscarora Lake, Hubbub Lake, Copper Lake, Noname Lake, Noname Lake, Noname Lake, Sora Lake, Din Lake, Mass Lake)

We didn’t hurry too much this morning as we worked our way across Gillis Lake. The fishing wasn’t as hot under the bright sun and there was a bit of chop on the water. A few fish were caught as we crossed the lake. We portaged on to Crooked Lake and fished some more trolling on the “scenic rout” around the lake to the portage to Owl Lake. I caught one laker before we reached the portage but let it go. We made short work across Owl Lake and portaged into Tuscarora Lake. 

On Tuscarora we made plans to fish until lunch time and meet at a campsite for lunch. Greg and I trolled lures around an island and over deep water but we couldn’t manage to find any fish till we were just about to the campsite/lunchsite. Greg hooked into a laker and got it into the boat. Of course we had to fish over that hole again but were unable to get any more fish for lunch. 

After lunch we headed toward the portage to Hubbub Lake. Again, Greg lost the rock-paper-scissors so he had to carry the boat. We had been on this portage before and dreaded the boardwalk across the dry “Howl Lake” in the middle of it. If you had the canoe while crossing the boardwalk in the past, it was a real treat, especially if there was a good wind. Well, it turns out, the boardwalk is now underwater and it appears that beavers made this stretch navigable with the canoe. Greg was sure to point out that it was officially a new portage when we reached the other side so I got to carry the boat.

We crossed Hubbub Lake and portaged into Copper Lake. On Copper Lake we took our time to investigate the rock face on the north shore. Soon we spotted the blue of copper in the rocks and could see evidence of primitive mining activities. We snapped a couple of pictures and headed off to the south. 

We had reserved a PMA (Primitive Management Area) permit for the “Hairy Lake PMA zone 2” for our next bushwhack. We turned due south and found the stream that marked where we were to start our bushwhack. To our surprise there was an old portage there. The bushwhack to the first noname lake was an easy one. The trail was pretty easy to follow except for a few downed trees here and there. On the other end of the first lake we were able to find the start of another old portage. Unfortunately the condition of these old portages started to rapidly deteriorate. After a while the portages all but disappeared and it was usually in a thicket of nearly impassable saplings and the very determined little pines. The saplings will usually push out of the way but those little pine trees typically push back with enough force to stop you in your tracks! By the time we reached the third noname lake our spirits were getting beat and the lake wasn’t worthy of putting a canoe into, so we simply walked around it. I believe it was around here the Chad made the profound statement, “Here, portage is more a verb than a noun.” Maybe you had to be there for it to be funny, but we got a good laugh out of it. The brushcrash into Sora Lake was full of all the bad stuff you come to appreciate during a bushwhack. The hills and valleys to go over that never help the orienteer leading the group. Thick patches of tag alder surrounded by ankle sucking muck filled the valleys and the hills were a mix of fallen trees, thick pine saplings, and enough ground cover that you couldn’t really see where your feet were going. To top it off the mosquitoes had found us and there was no escape. It was here I started talking to the bugs, Chad was haphazardly spraying DEET into the air around him, but Greg and Mike seemed to be hiding their bug insanity pretty well.

Sora Lake was a long and beautiful lake. There was no wind, no people, and no noise. We took our time making our way down the lake being sure to take the bends slow and quiet to see if there was any surprises around the next corner. By the end of the lake my spirit had been lifted and I was ready, willing, and able to take the next bushwhack into Din Lake. Din Lake and Mass Lake are connected by a short stream and it was there that we saw a fire ring. It didn’t look like much of a campsite so we paddled around Mass Lake looking for a suitable spot. After about an hour of checking different bays and rock outcroppings and not finding anything that looked like a good campsite we decided to head back to the fire ring. There wasn’t much for a flat spot to put a tent but we made due and cleared a small area. We fixed the fire ring, made dinner, and were basically delirious till we finally hit the sack.