Why I Went Back


Another one of those cold, winter, Saturday mornings. Too cold to go fishing, that's for sure. The next best thing is to watch other people fish on the ol' television set. It's 9:30 a.m., which means the Fishin' Hole hosted by Jerry McKinnis is about to start. Jerry announces to the viewing audience he will be in the Boundary Waters today fishing for smallmouth bass with guide Harry Lambirth. I've been there once, I think to myself. It was a couple of years ago and I never really thought about returning. As the show continued to display the background scenery and the smallmouth being caught on top-water lures, memories of the Quetico visit emanated.

Anyone who has ever been to Quetico Provincial Park or the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness remembers their first trip, whether it was good, bad or indifferent. Most people also remember the person who introduced them to these lands and lakes of beauty. That person for me was my former college roommate, Doug Klees. Not long after graduation Doug called and asked if I would be interested in a canoe trip up in Canada. Having only been in a canoe a few times in my life I wasn't sure, but after hearing fish tales about the size and numbers being caught up there I was intrigued.

Doug informed me of the cost for this excursion and over the summer I managed to save enough to participate in this outing. On August 8th, I met with Doug and his two other friends who would be embarking on this journey. It was nice to meet these guys before our departure into Canada and to gain some familiarity with each other. We discussed all the items required for the trip and looked over maps of Quetico.

It was determined I would need to borrow several items and purchase others. Doug loaned me a two piece fishing rod which would be easier for portaging. He said if I took my one piece rod something might happen to it on the trail. I also had to borrow a backpack, rain gear and a tackle box. I didn't have many lures at the time since my experiences with casting artificial lures were limited to small in-line spinners used on a local river. Up until this time I was basically a live bait fisherman. Doug provided guidance while lure shopping. I didn't have a big budget, so 9 lures were selected along with some wire leaders. Cheap hiking boots were in order as well. I was persuaded to purchase some nonofficial Army jungle boots from a surplus store.

On the Friday before Labor Day everything was packed and crammed into the SUV for the drive north towards Ely, Minnesota . We drove straight through the night and about 900 miles later arrived in Ely the next afternoon. After sliding out of the SUV at the outfitter's parking lot, my head began ringing with noise. I had never been to a place so quiet. I could not hear a thing except for what was going on inside my head. We proceeded to empty the SUV and pack everything that would fit into our backpacks. Since there was no room for my over-sized sleeping bag, it was placed into a plastic garbage bag and tied to the back of my pack. A garbage bag also performed the duties of a dry sack for all my clothes.

It was hard to fall asleep in the bunkhouse that night, even after the all night drive the previous evening. First, it was too quiet, scary quiet. Secondly, I couldn't stop thinking about these huge fish we were going to be catching.

The next morning we had breakfast and then were towed over to the Canadian border at Prairie Portage. The Canadian Customs cabin (which is no longer open today, you must now use a RABC permit to enter Quetico) was the first stop. We were asked the standard border crossing questions and then moved on to the ranger's cabin for permits and fishing licenses.

With all the paper work done, the fishing trip was ready to commence. It took us a while searching the shoreline, but we found the first portage. Having no idea of what a portage was like, my thoughts were of a simple trail through the woods. There were no preconceived notions of climbing small mountains, walking through muck and tripping on every rock and root on the path. I wasn't able to see where to step because of the packs on both my front and back sides. The previous rainstorms made everything on the path slippery and muddy. At the end of the portage I was hoping we didn't have to do any more of those. Little did I know what lied ahead.

The next lake was paddled in hardly any time and we came to our next portage. I had no clue there were two long, back to back portages next on the slate. The first portage wasn't bad as far as the terrain, but it was extremely long. The real fun didn't start until the next portage. It was now my turn to portage a canoe for the first time. It was one of those so called “light-weight " aluminum models that felt like 80 pounds or more digging into my shoulders. The recent rainstorms had turned this portage into a small creek, with water extending up almost to knee level in certain areas. The portage was extremely rocky and I was constantly slipping off of rocks that couldn't be seen under the murky water. My sleeping bag was starting to fall from the backpack as it caught on limbs while I climbed over dead-falls. I had to squeeze the canoe in-between downed trees and to crawl under them in the mud. I was soaking from the rain, sweating profusely, swatting mosquitoes and cursing like a sailor. I started to wonder what the heck I had gotten myself into!

Later, we arrived at our first campsite and after setting up camp I was glad to take off the wet boots and socks that were tearing up my feet. As a nightly ritual we would wring out our socks and hang them on tree limbs. Dinner consisted of splitting a bag of freeze dried something or other. We used one of those old fashioned fill with white gas and pump up the pressure type stoves. At times it would be very difficult to ignite. There were two tents. One was a 2 to 3 person tent and the other a single. During the whole trip I had to sleep in the tight, 2 to 3 person tent on a foam pad. Some nights were spent sleeping with both guys' stinking feet in my face so we could all fit into this tent. We alternated each night. It also continued to rain most evenings.

After wake up each morning, I would grab my socks off the trees, wring them out again, slap them on the rocks a few times and then slide these wet, nasty things back on. This was followed with shoe-horning the wet, blister inducing jungle boots back on. It rained each and every day we were out there. I lived in a rain suit with a swimsuit on underneath most of the trek.

The majority of the time I had no clue where we were. Sure I knew I was on some remote lake in Canada, but that was about it. On one portage while playing follow-the-leader, we made a wrong turn. Halfway through a marshy bog I fell into a muck hole all the way up to the two backpacks I was wearing. I couldn't set myself free and had to be rescued from this disaster by one of my trip mates. When we finally made it to the lake a discussion begins about our whereabouts. After our two leaders finished debating our location, a conclusion was rendered. We were back on the same lake from which we had just portaged!

We moved to a new location every day. During canoe travel we would troll for fish. If we caught fish and it wasn't raining too hard, we would fillet them for lunch. If it was pouring down rain, lunch would consist of Ramen noodles. The fishing was everything I imagined it would be. I caught my biggest smallmouth bass ever, my first walleye and first northern pike. Every smallmouth seemed to be huge. The walleye tasted great. If I was lucky enough to catch a walleye, they made me portage the fish until we reached our final destination for the day. One pike I caught was close to ten pounds and I couldn't figure out how in the world to pull this monster into the canoe. As with most pike on the trip I was scared of those teeth. I brought one top-water lure with me, an old jitterbug. It was tied on only once during the whole trip because my fellow trip mates all laughed about it and said I'd never catch anything on a top-water lure. It was promptly replaced with another lure and not used again.

A little more than halfway through the trip I fell ill. The illness was possibly caused from being wet constantly, be it my head or cold feet. It seemed to be raining all the time. I was a trooper and stuck it out, though I certainly didn't have much of a choice. Laying on a large rock in the middle of a lake, a discussion had begun on what we would eat when the trip was finished. There was talk of pizza, cheeseburgers with bacon and a carbonated drink. It was at this point we all decided to start heading back to the border and leave on day 9 instead of 10.

We paddled back down towards the border the following day. We encountered some brutal portages along the way, but after what I had already been through on this trip I was accustomed with long, hard days. While on a creek, our path was obstructed by an enormous bull moose who was not in any rush to move out of the thoroughfare. We back paddled and waited until he was done grazing. Once the creek-block was cleared, we made our way back towards Basswood Lake. Arriving at the end of the last portage into Basswood's Bayley Bay we were greeted with the largest rolling white caps of the voyage. Since I was still under the weather, it was a great strain to paddle across the bay. I was exhausted by the time we landed at Prairie Portage. The plan was to paddle back to the outfitter's resort, but we were not up to the challenge. We ended up flagging down a tow boat and purchased a ride back to Moose Lake. The outfitter greeted us with a cold beer upon our return to the dock. Finally something carbonated to drink!

My first trip was over and even though there had been excellent fishing I wasn't sure if I would ever want to go back and face those same negative experiences again. It wasn't until two years later while watching the Fishin' Hole show that I ever thought about going again. There was Jerry up in Quetico with guides Harry and Mary Lambirth catching big smallmouth on top-water lures. My juices started flowing and the wheels began to turn in my head. Something inside tugged at my soul to go back again. Even after all that I had been through on the first trip, I found myself still wanting to go back.

Planning was started, reservations were made and a partner was found for round number two. A list of necessary items was compiled to insure a good trip this time around. The best part about having the first trip was the invaluable lessons cultivated around things I should and shouldn't do to have a favorable outing. I've been building on these experiences after each trip to Quetico ever since.

On my drive back up to Ely it felt as if I had an elephant sitting on my chest. This was a bad case of anxiety caused by not being sure I knew what I was doing. It was scary thinking I might somehow get us lost out there and not be able to navigate a map to find our way around. It wasn't until viewing some maps with the outfitter that the anxiety went away. Since this was the first time ever really studying the maps, they didn't appear as difficult as I imagined. During this trip I didn't have any dilemmas navigating. The fishing was under par compared to the first trip, but the weather was more desirable. It's amazing what a little sun can do for an out-of-doors adventure. We encountered some new experiences such as the ruffed grouse that we thought were wild chickens back in Moose Bay, saw ancient rock drawings called pictographs while floating Basswood River and clouds at night that moved around like flames in a fire, which turned out to be northern lights. After this outing I knew I had to come back each year.

Had I not returned for a second go at it, I would not have realized over the years these trips are much more than being here for the fishing. Reasons for my revisits include solitude, soul searching, adventure, wildlife and being in a spiritual place of great beauty. Some special experiences would have been missed over the following years: spending 7 days by myself on my first solo quest, contemplating life and returning to a world that had ultimately changed while I was in the woods on 9 / 11 / 2001, looking a wolf in the eyes as it swam in front of my canoe not more than 10 feet from us, taking in the view from the many picturesque cliffs and falls, paddling a 14 mile long lake in 9 hours, fighting a strong head wind and white caps, breaking only to bail. On the flip side, paddling the same lake in a little over two and a half hours with a tail wind. Other experiences included a bear pulling on my food pack in a tree on the 3rd day of a 12 day trip, listening to Ojibwa Natives beat on a ceremonial drum on Quetico Lake, bushwhacking through parts unknown, observing a pair of eagles mating in mid air and breaking apart just above the lake's surface, catching a 43 inch pike on 9 / 11 / 2001 and having no one around to take the picture, trolling up a walleye close to ten pounds on the first day of a 13 day trip, and using a double willow blade chartreuse spinner bait to hook up with a five pound smallmouth. These are a very small sampling of experiences encountered after my initial run in the Quetico and I will live with these memories for a lifetime.

If it were not for Jerry McKinnis, I don't know if I would have ever gone back to Quetico again. Maybe something else might have triggered that tug at my soul and then again maybe not? I had a chance to thank him in person a few years down the road when he was in Dayton, Ohio for an outdoor \ boat show. I was never so nervous before to meet someone and I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe it was because I watched his show nearly every weekend. I was wearing a Boundary Waters sweatshirt at the time and the first thing he said to me was, “Ely, Minnesota, my favorite place in the world! ". Well, I had to agree with him. Jerry asked me if I knew Harry and Mary Lambirth, the guides from the Quetico shows. I told him, "No, that place is pretty big up there ". I thought to myself, what are the odds of ever meeting these people. In 1998, while waiting in line at the Prairie Portage ranger station, I met a lady who was first in line. We were both there a hour early. We sat and discussed fishing, Boundary Water politics and dog sledding for the next hour. It wasn't until the end of the conversation when we shook hands and told each other our first names did I realize she was Mary Lambirth. I asked her if she was married to a guy named Harry. She pointed him out down by the dock talking to his clients. I later met Harry. What a thrill it was to meet all the people who influenced my life with a fishing show one day. I am forever grateful for Doug Klees taking me up there the first time and to Jerry, Mary and Harry for producing a show about fishing in Quetico Provincial Park.

Quetico Provincial Park has forever changed my life. It is now part of who I am today and who I will be tomorrow.

THE END

Awesome read!

Thanks, QM! Nice storytelling.

The outfitter greeted us with a cold beer upon our return to the dock.
Made it all worth while!

Awesome story.......making my third trip to BW this June.

Amen

Thanks! I loved "The Fishin' Hole" and Jerry McKinnis and especially his shows about the BWCAW, trout fishing on the White River, and his fishing trips with Bobby Knight. One of my favorite "Fishin' Hole" quote has always been "All smallmouth are good, some are just gooder than others!"

quote ozarkpaddler: "Thanks! I loved "The Fishin' Hole" and Jerry McKinnis and especially his shows about the BWCAW, trout fishing on the White River, and his fishing trips with Bobby Knight. One of my favorite "Fishin' Hole" quote has always been "All smallmouth are good, some are just gooder than others!""

I still say that sometimes when I'm in Quetico :)

I won't even begin to tell my story. Not quite the horrors you experienced but I absolutely HATED the experience. Thankful that it only lasted five days!

After returning home - I'm not quite certain what happened - but about three weeks later I was planning going back the next summer. That was 37 years ago and too many trips to count.

For us true believers there is just something about it.

Thanks for sharing your story.

quote ObiWenonahKenobi: "I won't even begin to tell my story. Not quite the horrors you experienced but I absolutely HATED the experience. Thankful that it only lasted five days!


After returning home - I'm not quite certain what happened - but about three weeks later I was planning going back the next summer. That was 37 years ago and too many trips to count.


For us true believers there is just something about it.


Thanks for sharing your story."

You're lucky it only took you a few weeks. It took me a couple of years and fishing show to get my juices flowing again. I wish I would have never missed a year. I made up for it by going three times a year for awhile and then I moved up there for a season. Fished the Boundary Waters every day after work.

Nice read Mike. My first wasn't quite like yours, but the 3rd week of May was very chilly and very wet. Fishing was awesome.

What a great read,you are a very descriptive writer.

quote outbackmack14: "What a great read,you are a very descriptive writer. "

Thanks, I'm a better writer now. I think I wrote that about 12 years ago. I'm definitely a better poet than writer. Here is a link below to my most descriptive piece yet.......It is called "The Last Shot"


The Last Shot

Thanks for the great read!

Thanks for the story.

"After our two leaders finished debating our location, a conclusion was rendered. We were back on the same lake from which we had just portaged"

I've been there. Very confusing.

Hex

Ah, I really enjoyed your story. I knew where you were when you mentioned the two back to back portages. We always planned those two for the end of our trip coming out of Agnes and out on Sunday Bay where I recall meeting up with white caps as well. Still one of my favorite places in Quetico. Thanks

Wonderful read! Thanks for doing it.

Thanks for the post, I really enjoyed it.

It made me think of my first trip in the early 90's. I saw a commercial for Ely on TV while hanging out with a friend. I think it was Jerry McKinnis talking about the great smallmouth fishing. I turned to my buddy and said how cool it would be to go there. He looked at me and said to start saving because he had made reservations the day before. 6 months later we were there. Been going back ever since.

quote Hawbakers: "Ah, I really enjoyed your story. I knew where you were when you mentioned the two back to back portages. We always planned those two for the end of our trip coming out of Agnes and out on Sunday Bay where I recall meeting up with white caps as well. Still one of my favorite places in Quetico. Thanks "

Yep, you have the right portages. What a way to start your first Quetico trip. We actually did the "North Portage" first out of Sunday Bay on Basswood. I found out about Singing Brook Portage years later.

quote QueticoMike: "

quote Hawbakers: "Ah, I really enjoyed your story. I knew where you were when you mentioned the two back to back portages. We always planned those two for the end of our trip coming out of Agnes and out on Sunday Bay where I recall meeting up with white caps as well. Still one of my favorite places in Quetico. Thanks "

Yep, you have the right portages. What a way to start your first Quetico trip. We actually did the "North Portage" first out of Sunday Bay on Basswood. I found out about Singing Brook Portage years later. "

Yeah! We Nicknamed that portage the yellow brick road it is so flat and easy!

Thank you!

quote Hawbakers: "

quote QueticoMike: "

quote Hawbakers: "Ah, I really enjoyed your story. I knew where you were when you mentioned the two back to back portages. We always planned those two for the end of our trip coming out of Agnes and out on Sunday Bay where I recall meeting up with white caps as well. Still one of my favorite places in Quetico. Thanks "

Yep, you have the right portages. What a way to start your first Quetico trip. We actually did the "North Portage" first out of Sunday Bay on Basswood. I found out about Singing Brook Portage years later. "

Yeah! We Nicknamed that portage the yellow brick road it is so flat and easy!"

The Yellow Brick Road is the portage from Bayley Bay to Burke Lake. Singing Brook portage is the little up and over that connects Burke with Sunday Lake.

Thank you for both reads Mike. It puts me right there with you. It's nice to get lost in your words/world.

Say, this is off topic, but, QM, what do you think about memorial weekend smallmouth? Is it too cold for them yet?

quote analyzer: "Say, this is off topic, but, QM, what do you think about memorial weekend smallmouth? Is it too cold for them yet?"

For the last 15 years or so, there might have been three times that it was too cold for them. I go every year around that time. Typically late May and into early June is the best time for smallmouth fishing in the area. It always depends on the weather. I will be there this year during that weekend. I'm hoping the weather roller coaster starts going back up and it warms a little before I head that way.

Thanks. I have had a very strong itch to go to the Quetico over the years. The vast majority of my trips are basecamping, so it would mean I'd have to completely rework my gear to go to Q, or rent. I'm thinking about biting the bullet and buying a souris river quetico and giving it a whirl. It's definitely on my bucket list.

As you probably know, I spend most of my time on Zephyr. However I have over 1300 hours of fishing on Z, without catching a walleye over 6 lbs. Catching a 30" walleye is also on the bucket list. So I'm going to give up the place I call home, for a venture or six elsewhere. This year for memorial weekend, I'm planning to go to Alpine. Sir lips swears by it. I haven't been there in 35 years.

Both of my kids are getting married this year, so I don't want to spend a bunch of money on light weight gear(yet), but I'm going to start planning my 2017 Quetico trip.

I appreciate all of the written contributions you have made to this site. It's educational, and entertaining. I like your style. Thanks Mike. It's a pleasure to live vicariously through your Quetico trips.

Thanks for the kind words. Have you ever read any of my poetry? I have had 13 poems published in the Boundary Waters Journal over the years. I am a better poet than writer :)

QueticoMike: "Why I Went Back

My favorite quote from this is catching the huge pike and having no one around to take a picture... so crazy that you were in the woods on 9/11.


catching a 43 inch pike on 9 / 11 / 2001 and having no one around to take the picture,

Another one of those cold, winter, Saturday mornings. Too cold to go fishing, that's for sure. The next best thing is to watch other people fish on the ol' television set. It's 9:30 a.m., which means the Fishin' Hole hosted by Jerry McKinnis is about to start. Jerry announces to the viewing audience he will be in the Boundary Waters today fishing for smallmouth bass with guide Harry Lambirth. I've been there once, I think to myself. It was a couple of years ago and I never really thought about returning. As the show continued to display the background scenery and the smallmouth being caught on top-water lures, memories of the Quetico visit emanated.

Anyone who has ever been to Quetico Provincial Park or the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness remembers their first trip, whether it was good, bad or indifferent. Most people also remember the person who introduced them to these lands and lakes of beauty. That person for me was my former college roommate, Doug Klees. Not long after graduation Doug called and asked if I would be interested in a canoe trip up in Canada. Having only been in a canoe a few times in my life I wasn't sure, but after hearing fish tales about the size and numbers being caught up there I was intrigued.

Doug informed me of the cost for this excursion and over the summer I managed to save enough to participate in this outing. On August 8th, I met with Doug and his two other friends who would be embarking on this journey. It was nice to meet these guys before our departure into Canada and to gain some familiarity with each other. We discussed all the items required for the trip and looked over maps of Quetico.

It was determined I would need to borrow several items and purchase others. Doug loaned me a two piece fishing rod which would be easier for portaging. He said if I took my one piece rod something might happen to it on the trail. I also had to borrow a backpack, rain gear and a tackle box. I didn't have many lures at the time since my experiences with casting artificial lures were limited to small in-line spinners used on a local river. Up until this time I was basically a live bait fisherman. Doug provided guidance while lure shopping. I didn't have a big budget, so 9 lures were selected along with some wire leaders. Cheap hiking boots were in order as well. I was persuaded to purchase some nonofficial Army jungle boots from a surplus store.

On the Friday before Labor Day everything was packed and crammed into the SUV for the drive north towards Ely, Minnesota . We drove straight through the night and about 900 miles later arrived in Ely the next afternoon. After sliding out of the SUV at the outfitter's parking lot, my head began ringing with noise. I had never been to a place so quiet. I could not hear a thing except for what was going on inside my head. We proceeded to empty the SUV and pack everything that would fit into our backpacks. Since there was no room for my over-sized sleeping bag, it was placed into a plastic garbage bag and tied to the back of my pack. A garbage bag also performed the duties of a dry sack for all my clothes.

It was hard to fall asleep in the bunkhouse that night, even after the all night drive the previous evening. First, it was too quiet, scary quiet. Secondly, I couldn't stop thinking about these huge fish we were going to be catching.

The next morning we had breakfast and then were towed over to the Canadian border at Prairie Portage. The Canadian Customs cabin (which is no longer open today, you must now use a RABC permit to enter Quetico) was the first stop. We were asked the standard border crossing questions and then moved on to the ranger's cabin for permits and fishing licenses.

With all the paper work done, the fishing trip was ready to commence. It took us a while searching the shoreline, but we found the first portage. Having no idea of what a portage was like, my thoughts were of a simple trail through the woods. There were no preconceived notions of climbing small mountains, walking through muck and tripping on every rock and root on the path. I wasn't able to see where to step because of the packs on both my front and back sides. The previous rainstorms made everything on the path slippery and muddy. At the end of the portage I was hoping we didn't have to do any more of those. Little did I know what lied ahead.

The next lake was paddled in hardly any time and we came to our next portage. I had no clue there were two long, back to back portages next on the slate. The first portage wasn't bad as far as the terrain, but it was extremely long. The real fun didn't start until the next portage. It was now my turn to portage a canoe for the first time. It was one of those so called “light-weight " aluminum models that felt like 80 pounds or more digging into my shoulders. The recent rainstorms had turned this portage into a small creek, with water extending up almost to knee level in certain areas. The portage was extremely rocky and I was constantly slipping off of rocks that couldn't be seen under the murky water. My sleeping bag was starting to fall from the backpack as it caught on limbs while I climbed over dead-falls. I had to squeeze the canoe in-between downed trees and to crawl under them in the mud. I was soaking from the rain, sweating profusely, swatting mosquitoes and cursing like a sailor. I started to wonder what the heck I had gotten myself into!

Later, we arrived at our first campsite and after setting up camp I was glad to take off the wet boots and socks that were tearing up my feet. As a nightly ritual we would wring out our socks and hang them on tree limbs. Dinner consisted of splitting a bag of freeze dried something or other. We used one of those old fashioned fill with white gas and pump up the pressure type stoves. At times it would be very difficult to ignite. There were two tents. One was a 2 to 3 person tent and the other a single. During the whole trip I had to sleep in the tight, 2 to 3 person tent on a foam pad. Some nights were spent sleeping with both guys' stinking feet in my face so we could all fit into this tent. We alternated each night. It also continued to rain most evenings.

After wake up each morning, I would grab my socks off the trees, wring them out again, slap them on the rocks a few times and then slide these wet, nasty things back on. This was followed with shoe-horning the wet, blister inducing jungle boots back on. It rained each and every day we were out there. I lived in a rain suit with a swimsuit on underneath most of the trek.

The majority of the time I had no clue where we were. Sure I knew I was on some remote lake in Canada, but that was about it. On one portage while playing follow-the-leader, we made a wrong turn. Halfway through a marshy bog I fell into a muck hole all the way up to the two backpacks I was wearing. I couldn't set myself free and had to be rescued from this disaster by one of my trip mates. When we finally made it to the lake a discussion begins about our whereabouts. After our two leaders finished debating our location, a conclusion was rendered. We were back on the same lake from which we had just portaged!

We moved to a new location every day. During canoe travel we would troll for fish. If we caught fish and it wasn't raining too hard, we would fillet them for lunch. If it was pouring down rain, lunch would consist of Ramen noodles. The fishing was everything I imagined it would be. I caught my biggest smallmouth bass ever, my first walleye and first northern pike. Every smallmouth seemed to be huge. The walleye tasted great. If I was lucky enough to catch a walleye, they made me portage the fish until we reached our final destination for the day. One pike I caught was close to ten pounds and I couldn't figure out how in the world to pull this monster into the canoe. As with most pike on the trip I was scared of those teeth. I brought one top-water lure with me, an old jitterbug. It was tied on only once during the whole trip because my fellow trip mates all laughed about it and said I'd never catch anything on a top-water lure. It was promptly replaced with another lure and not used again.

A little more than halfway through the trip I fell ill. The illness was possibly caused from being wet constantly, be it my head or cold feet. It seemed to be raining all the time. I was a trooper and stuck it out, though I certainly didn't have much of a choice. Laying on a large rock in the middle of a lake, a discussion had begun on what we would eat when the trip was finished. There was talk of pizza, cheeseburgers with bacon and a carbonated drink. It was at this point we all decided to start heading back to the border and leave on day 9 instead of 10.

We paddled back down towards the border the following day. We encountered some brutal portages along the way, but after what I had already been through on this trip I was accustomed with long, hard days. While on a creek, our path was obstructed by an enormous bull moose who was not in any rush to move out of the thoroughfare. We back paddled and waited until he was done grazing. Once the creek-block was cleared, we made our way back towards Basswood Lake. Arriving at the end of the last portage into Basswood's Bayley Bay we were greeted with the largest rolling white caps of the voyage. Since I was still under the weather, it was a great strain to paddle across the bay. I was exhausted by the time we landed at Prairie Portage. The plan was to paddle back to the outfitter's resort, but we were not up to the challenge. We ended up flagging down a tow boat and purchased a ride back to Moose Lake. The outfitter greeted us with a cold beer upon our return to the dock. Finally something carbonated to drink!

My first trip was over and even though there had been excellent fishing I wasn't sure if I would ever want to go back and face those same negative experiences again. It wasn't until two years later while watching the Fishin' Hole show that I ever thought about going again. There was Jerry up in Quetico with guides Harry and Mary Lambirth catching big smallmouth on top-water lures. My juices started flowing and the wheels began to turn in my head. Something inside tugged at my soul to go back again. Even after all that I had been through on the first trip, I found myself still wanting to go back.

Planning was started, reservations were made and a partner was found for round number two. A list of necessary items was compiled to insure a good trip this time around. The best part about having the first trip was the invaluable lessons cultivated around things I should and shouldn't do to have a favorable outing. I've been building on these experiences after each trip to Quetico ever since.

On my drive back up to Ely it felt as if I had an elephant sitting on my chest. This was a bad case of anxiety caused by not being sure I knew what I was doing. It was scary thinking I might somehow get us lost out there and not be able to navigate a map to find our way around. It wasn't until viewing some maps with the outfitter that the anxiety went away. Since this was the first time ever really studying the maps, they didn't appear as difficult as I imagined. During this trip I didn't have any dilemmas navigating. The fishing was under par compared to the first trip, but the weather was more desirable. It's amazing what a little sun can do for an out-of-doors adventure. We encountered some new experiences such as the ruffed grouse that we thought were wild chickens back in Moose Bay, saw ancient rock drawings called pictographs while floating Basswood River and clouds at night that moved around like flames in a fire, which turned out to be northern lights. After this outing I knew I had to come back each year.

Had I not returned for a second go at it, I would not have realized over the years these trips are much more than being here for the fishing. Reasons for my revisits include solitude, soul searching, adventure, wildlife and being in a spiritual place of great beauty. Some special experiences would have been missed over the following years: spending 7 days by myself on my first solo quest, contemplating life and returning to a world that had ultimately changed while I was in the woods on 9 / 11 / 2001, looking a wolf in the eyes as it swam in front of my canoe not more than 10 feet from us, taking in the view from the many picturesque cliffs and falls, paddling a 14 mile long lake in 9 hours, fighting a strong head wind and white caps, breaking only to bail. On the flip side, paddling the same lake in a little over two and a half hours with a tail wind. Other experiences included a bear pulling on my food pack in a tree on the 3rd day of a 12 day trip, listening to Ojibwa Natives beat on a ceremonial drum on Quetico Lake, bushwhacking through parts unknown, observing a pair of eagles mating in mid air and breaking apart just above the lake's surface, catching a 43 inch pike on 9 / 11 / 2001 and having no one around to take the picture, trolling up a walleye close to ten pounds on the first day of a 13 day trip, and using a double willow blade chartreuse spinner bait to hook up with a five pound smallmouth. These are a very small sampling of experiences encountered after my initial run in the Quetico and I will live with these memories for a lifetime.

If it were not for Jerry McKinnis, I don't know if I would have ever gone back to Quetico again. Maybe something else might have triggered that tug at my soul and then again maybe not? I had a chance to thank him in person a few years down the road when he was in Dayton, Ohio for an outdoor \ boat show. I was never so nervous before to meet someone and I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe it was because I watched his show nearly every weekend. I was wearing a Boundary Waters sweatshirt at the time and the first thing he said to me was, “Ely, Minnesota, my favorite place in the world! ". Well, I had to agree with him. Jerry asked me if I knew Harry and Mary Lambirth, the guides from the Quetico shows. I told him, "No, that place is pretty big up there ". I thought to myself, what are the odds of ever meeting these people. In 1998, while waiting in line at the Prairie Portage ranger station, I met a lady who was first in line. We were both there a hour early. We sat and discussed fishing, Boundary Water politics and dog sledding for the next hour. It wasn't until the end of the conversation when we shook hands and told each other our first names did I realize she was Mary Lambirth. I asked her if she was married to a guy named Harry. She pointed him out down by the dock talking to his clients. I later met Harry. What a thrill it was to meet all the people who influenced my life with a fishing show one day. I am forever grateful for Doug Klees taking me up there the first time and to Jerry, Mary and Harry for producing a show about fishing in Quetico Provincial Park.

Quetico Provincial Park has forever changed my life. It is now part of who I am today and who I will be tomorrow.

THE END

"

THAT was worth reading!

What a great read! It got me to thinking back about my very first trip as a teenager in Boy Scouts, then taking my kids on their first trips up there. This summer I'm taking my wife and stepdaughter on their first trip to what I call God's Country.

Thanks for sharing

Thank You! I enjoyed your story very much. Its true that the first trip can be the most memorable. Mine was in 1964 and it seems like yesterday.
I would like to hear more "first trip" stories from others as well.

Good story, fun read.
Yep, the Q portage that puts you back on the same lake. First time there many decades ago we did that in an hour long torrential storm. I thought I had lost my mind. It is marked a bit better now.

GraniteCliffs: "Good story, fun read.
Yep, the Q portage that puts you back on the same lake. First time there many decades ago we did that in an hour long torrential storm. I thought I had lost my mind. It is marked a bit better now. "

If that's the one north of Shade Lake around Grey Lk., well I fell for that too on a solo in 2016.

I enjoyed the story Mike. The Fishin' Hole was always fun to watch and was an inspiration for me as well.

That is indeed the one. I have been on it a couple of dozen times since and always remind whoever I am with where to go.

Thank You for sharing. I see a lot of my first trip in your story.

Thanks Mike, great stories. I was invited to go in 1997, said no at the time work was too busy. Next invite came in 2010 and I said yes. So many years wasted, still one of my biggest regrets not going in '97. Hooked ever since.

Fantastic, thanks for sharing Mike!

ozarkpaddler: "Thanks! I loved "The Fishin' Hole" and Jerry McKinnis and especially his shows about the BWCAW, trout fishing on the White River, and his fishing trips with Bobby Knight. One of my favorite "Fishin' Hole" quote has always been "All smallmouth are good, some are just gooder than others!""

+1

blutofish1: "

ozarkpaddler: "Thanks! I loved "The Fishin' Hole" and Jerry McKinnis and especially his shows about the BWCAW, trout fishing on the White River, and his fishing trips with Bobby Knight. One of my favorite "Fishin' Hole" quote has always been "All smallmouth are good, some are just gooder than others!""

+1"

+2!

As always love your story’s!

I really enjoyed this report. That first trip is always an eye opener, but if you want to go back as you are leaving, you know it was a good trip.

30Smoke: "I really enjoyed this report. That first trip is always an eye opener, but if you want to go back as you are leaving, you know it was a good trip. "

I was up there during 9/11 and I wish I was up there in Quetico right now and not knowing about the virus. I think I would be a lot safer there :)

merlyn: "Thank You! I enjoyed your story very much. Its true that the first trip can be the most memorable. Mine was in 1964 and it seems like yesterday.
I would like to hear more "first trip" stories from others as well."

Google - Michael Teach Full Tour - it was in the USA Today Travel Section - that was a very memorable trip!

analyzer: "Say, this is off topic, but, QM, what do you think about memorial weekend smallmouth? Is it too cold for them yet?"

Been there done that,that is very hard to say,some years they are really peaking(spawning-etc),other years a little to early. My opinion on average Memorial day is a little to early to be really hot fishing. But go if that is the only time you can. Walleye fishing should be excellent than. Bugs usually just starting to get going. Usually.

"why i went back'
i had done some ontario fly in trips previous to my 1st bwca trip.
yes nice having a solid roof with propane fridge-lighting and a 15' lund with a 9.9 , but the experience of my 1st BW trip(found lake) (fishing wasn't that good) but left me wanting more.
actually my 2nd trip was into the SAK 1991 and ice out was very recent but the temps shot up into the low 90's (yes opener) and all species were turned on big time , and after that i had done more than 12+ openers in the SAK. and probably as many seasonal trips in the seagull lake area. yes it was an easy hook ;)
i'll add this too , exactly 20 years from my 1st trip into knife lake ,i took my boys and 1 of their friends and we had the same kind of conditions, catching walleyes from camp on deadbait tells you how good the fishing was ;) again ;)