call reading this portage was short but very uphill. Yup, it is! After hopping across a rock field at the take-out, the portage goes up…and up some more. But it’s really scenic. Near the halfway point, the path butts up against a large cliff wall on the left. 

A bit later, and still going up, I pass some large erratics dropped in amongst the trees.

About 50 yards from the end, the path levels off and dips down through some red and white pine to the shore of the unnamed lake.  This portage is now one of my favorites in the Quetico. I take a few minutes to catch my breath and then head down for the rest of my gear. 

The small unnamed lake is calm and picturesque as I make my way straight across. There’s a rock cairn marking the landing on a large exposed rock slab. I get everything unloaded and begin the steep downhill portage to Kett. When I return, I grab some water before lifting the canoe and I see a school of bass staring at me a few feet from the shore. The four bass all look about 12 inches and move slowly to my right for the shade of some overhanging tree limbs. I notice the depth tapers and then drops about 15 feet from shore and so, what the heck. I pull out my rod with the spinnerbait and cast it out. Bang. I reel in a 10-inch largemouth. Another cast, bang, another largemouth. In the next ten minutes, I catch 4 more largemouth, all between 10 and 13 inches. Great fun! I tie the rod back into the canoe and head down to Kett. It sure is nice going downhill instead of uphill.

As I cruise across Kett, I drink several cups of cool water by dipping my coffee mug. The next two portages are long, and I don’t want to carry any more water than I need to. I decide to fill up two nalgene bottles, one for when I reach the unnamed, and one for when I reach Basswood. The first portage from Kett starts off with a couple of muddy sections, then gradually ascends through shady forest on a smooth path. Not a difficult portage, but long enough at 160 rods. I finish the first Nalgene as I near the southern tip of the unnamed. 

I begin psyching myself up for the 280 rod portage into Basswood, which includes a section skirting a bog with lots of blowdown. It’s almost totally overcast now with stratocumulus clouds starting to thicken. The trail ascends fairly steeply for a bit. I reach the apex and large flat exposed rock. My son and I coined this area the “Quetico Interstate” as it was like walking a couple hundred yards on pavement. We found blueberries all over the place and I was hoping to find some today, but alas, there were none--eaten by other folks over the past few weeks. As the trail starts its descent to the blowdown area, I drop the gear, head back to retrieve the canoe, and then reload the packs and continue down to the blowdown area, an intriguing sight on this portage.

I reach Basswood literally bushed. The wind blowing pretty good out of the west feels nice as I take off my shirt to cool off. It’s getting quite cloudy and dark to the south and I hope it stays down there. After resting for a bit, I paddle around the point, rig up a deep diver, and troll up Ranger Bay. I hook into a couple pike and smallies, but I’m too tired to fish anymore. I reel up and paddle over to the portage. I hit the small beaver pond and eventually get my gear to the north shore put-in on Dahlberg. I’m almost totally out of gas as I finish loading the canoe for one final paddle to the campsite on the southern shore. It’s really nice and secluded and most folks don’t know it’s there. I look around for my rod/reel. Where the heck is it?? NO!! You gotta be sh#$ing me!! I think. Then I realize I left it ON THE OTHER SIDE of the beaver pond. I’m sooooo PO’d…and tired!!! After tossing all my newly defined CRAP back onto the shore, I hoist up the canoe and proceed over the short muddy portage and back across the damn pond. Sure enough…there’s my rod propped against a small shrub.

I arrive at the campsite deader than a doornail. I can’t even move once I park the canoe and stumble up to the nice firepit under the canopy of red pine. I sit on my chair for 10 minutes and finally stumble back down to the canoe and lug my gear up to the campsite. I can barely see straight. I slump back into my chair with some water. I’m really sore. Both my Achilles are aching, first time this entire trip. Even the great view of the lake with the clouds breaking apart and the sunlight streaming through in brilliant threads don’t help. I just sit there aching, and almost fall asleep. 

I finally feel some energy return. I say to myself, “Let’s get some clean clothes, clean off my boots and socks, soak my feet in the cool water, and set up camp”. I limp down to the canoe. The cold, almost aqua colored water of Dahlberg feels wonderful. So wonderful, I decide to strip to my birthday suit and dive in. Whooooaaaa this is so COLD!! I tread water for maybe two minutes and scramble up the rock and out of the water. I dry off. It feels good as the sun warms my skin. After tying down the canoe, I gather my boots and clothes and stumble up to camp.

I don some clean pants and a shirt, sit down, and now enjoy the view. The wind has died and the sun is streaming down. I grab a cigar and a drink and gaze at the scenery for the next 30 minutes. 

I’m too tired to cook, so I feast on the last of the peanut butter, jelly and whole wheat bread. Wow…who would think such a simple thing could taste so good!  Next thing I know, a local friend dive bombs my head and perches a few feet above me on a pine branch.

“Hey, Buddy!” I squawk. “Long time no see”. I wonder if he’s the same Canada Jay I saw last year on this same campsite. As the sun sets to the west, I take a number of pictures.

Day 10.

I sleep in a little longer than usual. It’s about 7:00 when I finally drag myself out of the tent. The first thing I notice are the darn mosquitoes—they’re everywhere! I deet up, boil some water and fry up the last of the bacon and eggs. As the cobwebs leave my head, I admire the view. I notice the waves kicking up on the far side—a southerly wind. That means it won’t be easy paddling down the chute and around Canadian Point to Little Merriam Bay.

I can’t eat all the eggs and bacon, so I spread it out on the flat rock where the jay should make quick work of it. At 9:30, Basswood is beginning to rock and roll as I paddle due east to check out the campsites on the south central side of White Island. After catching and releasing a couple of medium sized pike, I find a very nice campsite with a good landing, lots of duff, a couple decent tent pads and nice firepit. It surprisingly didn’t look much used. After a quick bathroom break, I push off and paddle SW along the shoreline trailing a deep diving rap. Bang! Big hit! I grab the rod out of the holder, but a second later, nothing. Shoot. I put the rod back in the holder. Two paddle strokes and Bang Bang Bang again as the rods jerks back and forth! I grab it and hold on for dear life. Big fish! After 10 minutes or so, I grab a big out of the water. Just under 40 inches. Not quite a trophy as I extract the trebles and slide him back in the water.

As I round the point and turn south, the southerly wind is really blowing into my f ace. I skirt the leftside shoreline rocks and head across a bay. I’m paddling hard with the yak paddle, slowly making headway. I pretend I’m punching into a bag like a boxer—left cross, right cross. I count up to 50 punches, then reverse and countdown 50 punches. I do it again as the nose of my Northwind slices into the rollers. 10 minutes later, I reach the end of the bay and take refuge behind the rocky shoreline. I turn into the wind again and struggle through the next cove, coming to rest out of the waves and on some rocks. As I swig some water, I look left and notice a really nice grove of old and young red pine. I step out, tie the canoe to a big rock and head into the pine. The ground was super soft, laced with deep crevices between boulders and rock. Pines of varying sizes grow right out of the crevices. A few large old pine are decaying beneath the duff as evidenced by their long rounded mounds. Many younger pine are cracked and leaning down to the ground. I collect several 8-foot long seasoned logs and a bunch of large pine knots and load them into the canoe. As I paddle away hugging the shoreline, I feel like a voyageur loaded with goods.

I finally make it around Canadian Point and shoot between it and Ottawa Island in the calmer waters. I quickly make it to Rookery Island. My goal was to get over to Salchert Island and look around for a campsite--I literally had no idea what I’d find, but figured there must be some sites in that area. As I near the northeast corner of Rookery, I hit the waves broadside and veer left to quarter with the wind, now blowing S/SE. I quickly reach the SW corner of Salchert and park on the leeward side of a small island.

It’s about 3:00 pm as I explore this tiny island. Circular shaped and about 50 yards in diameter, I’m reminded of Tom Hanks in Castaway. There’s a firepit that’s partially caved in with broken twigs and sticks laying among and adjacent to the rocks.

I notice nice pine and cedar. The tent area is under an open pine canopy. A thick layer of needles and cones are all over the pad—it doesn’t appear this site has been used since last year. I take some more pictures.

I’ve fought the wind enough and decide to make a go of my little island campsite. There’s not much wind protection from the south, but I don’t really mind—it’ll keep the skeeters at bay. I set up the tarp between the tent pad and firepit to act as a windbreak. Then I spend 10 minutes scraping all the pine cones off the pad and set up the tent and fly. After resting behind the tarp out of the wind, I split the wood and fix up the firepit. When it’s all done, I do my best Tom Hanks imitation in a deep bass, “Yes! I have created Grand Firepit! I. I have created!” You can tell I’ve been on a solo for a while, can’t you? But I am proud of my new firepit.

As sunset overtakes the sky, I start the fire and ready the oven for another pizza. While it bakes, I grab my rod and proceed around the island clockwise, catching three 14 to 16-inch smallmouth. It’s almost dark when I finally sit on the ledgerock savoring the pizza as I watch the glow of the western horizon get dimmer and dimmer. 

The fire is nice and warm as I smoke my last cigar and down the last of the vodka. I look to the west and see an orange moon just above the treeline. I watch it rise some and then turn south and go lower. Neat. I try to take a picture.

I admire the fire and the evening stars for another hour. The wind weakens some but not much.. I hope to fish around Satchert Island at daybreak then paddle to Prairie Portage for a noon tow back to La Tourell’s. I hit the sack hoping the wind dies during the night.

Day 11.

I‘m up at first light and forgo my usual coffee so I can get on the water quickly. I paddle counterclockwise around Salchert Island for 90 minutes. The fishing is real slow except for one cove where I land two 18-inch and one 17 inch bass in five casts. I return to take down the camp and head for home. I’m gonna miss this neat little Castaway island. As I paddle south toward the expanse of Basswood, I notice the wind has shifted to the SW. As a result, the waves aren’t bad as the wind is blocked by Rookery Island. I wasn’t planning to fish anymore because I thought I’d be battling against a southeast wind, but now that it shifted, I’d be surfing over to Inlet Bay. I’ve got a good hour to fish! So I rig up my deep diving firetiger and cast it out behind me. After a couple minutes of paddling, my pole bends big-time and the line starts running out. I grab my rod as the Northwind turns and drifts back towards the island. 10 minutes later, I see him. Oh my!! The biggest pike I’ve ever hooked!! The pike had spun itself around a couple times and the mono is wrapped around its mouth and big head. I’m not sure what to do as this large toothy torpedo is just laying sideways on top of the water. I see the line is not inside his mouth, and he appears to have put himself in a monofilament straight jacket. So I ease him next to the canoe, put on my leather glove and grab it by the gill. I’m thinking, if he jumps, I’ll either lose a finger or have trebles stuck in body somewhere. I heave him up over the gunwale. GOT HIM!! HOLY COW!! 42 inches!! I take a picture and let him swim away. Now my fishing trip is done.

I surf down Basswood and make it to Inlet Bay 45 minutes before my scheduled tow to La Tourell’s. As I come over the top of Prairie Portage, I see the tow boat waiting for me—a pleasant surprise. Thirty minutes later, I’m on the towboat racing into the wind across the expanses of Sucker, Birch, and Moose Lake. I count over 40 canoes, those heading SW barely moving against the wind and waves. I thank my lucky stars for the tow—it’d take me six hours to paddle from PP to the Moose Lake Entry Point. This picture just doesn’t do justice to the strength of this wind.

Epilogue

I’ve been taking my sons on weeklong trips for about 10 years now, and usually follow these trips with a solo trip. This year’s trip ranks as one of my all-time favorites. 

I am mostly thankful that I was just able to take this trip after a couple bouts with pneumonia.  The weather was about as good as it gets in Quetico--mostly light winds, a little rain, not overly hot for August, and a lot fewer bugs and mosquitoes compared to other Quetico routes. The fishing exceeded all my expectations with a trophy smallmouth, laker and pike.

I counted 34 portages during the trip, including some day trips. The toughest in order were Kahshahpiwi to Side (a muddy slog), McNeice to Kahshahpiwi (rough but doable), Kett to Basswood (not overly hard, just long), and the “Boggy Portage” between Shade and Grey (always an experience). My favorite portage was from Nub to the unnamed on the way to Kett. I was about 250 yards, pretty much straight up the hill, with scenic pine, a tall cliff wall, and some huge erratics along the way.

I had brought in a few new things to try out for the first time. The Exped 7 pad was much more comfortable than my Thermarest. The reflector oven worked nicely. I had pizza four nights and the fresh ingredients made for great and tasty memories. The rental kayak paddle was simply amazing. I won’t solo again without one--Canoecopia, here I come. My Abyss boots were fantastic. No more dry-footing for me. My little Nikon S3000 point and shoot camera was so much easier to trip with than my Nikon D-70 digital SLR--not as versatile of course, but the weight savings was big and the pictures were still very nice. The SPOT device I find out later my wife and sons really appreciated. Not only did they know I was okay, but they were able to track my locations on Google Earth. And lastly, I had brought along a little Sony digital voice recorder instead of a journal--four months after the trip, the recorder was invaluable in helping me write this report.

Well, time to wrap some Christmas presents. I hope you’ve enjoyed the read. Cheers!

Pineknot