Thursday, June 28, 2012

On this last day of our northwoods adventure I awoke early and was once again on the water shortly after 4:30 a.m. Memories of yesterday morning’s hot walleye bite drew me to the same rock pile at the same time of day with the same plan, but perhaps I went to the well once too often because I could not catch even a single fish there. The only strike I had was from a bass which quickly jumped off, leaving me fishless after nearly an hour of steady casting and in spite of several lure changes. With the clock ticking on my final morning to fish I moved to a tapering, rock-strewn point across the lake which looked perfect because it dropped quickly to deep water, but I could not even get a bite there, proving yet again that there is much that I do not understand about fishing these northern waters. Finally, with the sun peeking above the horizon I moved to the tip of our campsite island and caught one bass on the flyrod, salvaging an otherwise fish-free morning.

We had a 4:00 p.m. pickup scheduled for Hook Island, a location that was three portages and several miles distant. Our plan was to get underway around 8am and leave the fishing tackle stowed until we reached Cache Bay, when we’d check the time and determine how much fishing we could fit in while working our way out. After a quick breakfast we broke camp, and were underway before 8:00 a.m., then quickly made it across the short portage out of Slate Lake. We then headed south for what appeared on our maps to be a lift-over not far from the outflow from Silver Falls, but we found that the high water level changed the lift-over to a paddle-through, and our three-portage day was turned into a two- portage day as a result! The current was ripping against us on the paddle through the non-lift-over, and all the way to the downstream end of the Silver Falls portage, but we had little difficulty digging against the flow and found ourselves stepping ashore shortly after 8:30 a.m. We shared the portage trail with a three-canoe group going the same direction and who were one leg ahead of us in their double portaging. I felt really old when I was passed by teenage boys who were JOGGING back for their second load. Elissa and I found ourselves and our gear across the portage by around 9:30 a.m., where we paused for a rest and a drink at the landing and where I spotted this guy:

We’d seen quite a few dragonflies every day and an examination of the surrounding rocks showed that this was a popular area for dragonfly metamorphosis, as evidenced by dozens of nearby empty shells.

After the portage-induced muscle burn eased (We’re from the flatlands of Florida and not accustomed to hill climbing) we launched for the trip to Cache Bay. Our morning thus far had been spent in small, narrow waters and in the woods so we hadn’t noticed until now that the wind was moving. As we paddled further and further out the waterway the winds got stronger and stronger, until we were being pushed at a pretty good clip by a westerly tailwind of at least 15 knots, the strongest wind we’d had since our entry four days prior. With our early start and with the good time we’d made we figured that we’d be able to fish for several hours on the way out and discussed the possibility of trolling for lake trout in Cache Bay, but a look at the choppy waters there quickly killed that idea, and we instead ducked into the first large bay east of the entrance to the Silver Falls channel, where we were able to fish a lee shoreline along the northern side. We fished most of this bay, then jumped down to the second large bay and did the same thing. Fishing was fairly good for bass and northerns and we caught fish regularly as we travelled the shoreline.

Here’s a northern that Elissa took on her favorite Storm Thin Fin. If you look at the underside of the lower jaw just opposite the lure you’ll see a leech attached to the fish, something we hadn’t seen before.

Here’s a bass she caught that had survived an earlier encounter with something that left a wound on it’s side.

Shortly after she caught this bass a modest sized northern of maybe 28 inches completely engulfed Elissa’s lure and managed to clip the leader at boatside, leaving her with only one of her favorites remaining. I asked her what she’d do if she lost that last one, but fortunately she was able to nurse it to trip’s end or I might have caught heat for inadequate tackle packing.

The fishing wasn’t bad, but every time I looked out at the open water in Cache Bay the view grew less and less appealing. We were fishing where we couldn’t feel the wind but whitecaps were quickly building on the bay, pushed by a westerly wind that appeared to have grown to nearly 20 knots. Concerned by the deteriorating weather we gave up on the fishing, stowed our rods and headed for Cache Point. As soon as we cleared the bay in which we’d been fishing it became a bumpy ride, and it got more bumpy the further we went. I’ve spent enough hours on enough vessels of various sizes and styles on enough big water to have a fair idea about the capabilities of a boat, and I know that we were pretty close to the limit for our heavily-laden canoe as we made that open water crossing. Photos never seem to capture rough seas as vividly as we remember them, but here’s a shot I snatched between paddle digs:

We just did take a few wave tops over the starboard side gunwale, but fortunately we didn’t ship enough water to warrant emergency bailing. Once in a while we’d actually surfboard along when we were overtaken by a particularly large swell. At one point Elissa asked me to paddle while she took a sip of water, and she later confessed that it was to combat a growing nausea she was experiencing during the wild, rolling ride with the seas on our starboard quarter. (Elissa’s no girly-girl and the only other time she’s been sea sick was when fishing for tuna in the Gulf Stream off Islamorada.)

We had no anemometer aboard, but Elissa’s flapping pony tail was registering the wind speed as “serious”. Fortunately the island to the north of the Cache Bay ranger station offered us a wind break about 2/3 of the way across. As we approached the pile of rocks that lies on the north side of the island there were waves crashing almost completely over it, but when we pulled in behind we were able to take a break in the lee before making the push to Cache Point. Incredibly, there was a group of three canoes going the other direction, apparently having just left the ranger station and headed for Silver Falls. If they’d have gone due west from the ranger station, then followed the shoreline north they’d have probably had an easier time of it. We watched them make slow, splashy progress for a while until we made the final pull for Cache Point, which we were able to round safely and ease into the lee offered by the towering northern shoreline of Saganaga Lake.

What a relief to be in calm seas again. We needed a break to stretch our legs and calm our nerves, so we headed for a campsite at the mouth of a small bay maybe a half mile east of Cache Point. What a great site! The boat landing was a small bit of sandy beach, a large clearing was only steps from the landing, and there was plenty of shade. We flopped for lunch and both of us caught a nap.

At around 2:00 p.m. we left for the final leg of our adventure, but with two hours until our pick up time we figured that we could still squeeze in some more fishing. We commenced by taking a couple of bass and a northern from the bay adjacent to our lunch site, then proceeded to fish the main lake shoreline towards the northeast. For an hour or so we picked a fish here and a fish there as we worked along, but I kept looking behind us at the main lake which seemed to be growing ever more choppy, ever nearer to our protected shoreline. I believe that the wind was shifting a bit to the south of west and better lining up with the direction of the main lake, allowing the waves to build. When we reached a position on the shoreline where it looked like we might be nearly upwind of Hook Island we forsook the protection of the rocky headland and headed for Hook, and the further we paddled the rougher the ride (deja’ vu from this morning in Cache Bay!) By the time we were halfway across we were flying almost directly downwind at a decidedly uncanoelike speed, but all went well until we reached the very entrance to the bay on the west side of Hook Island. This half-circle bay is flanked on the north and south side by points which probably offer protection from many wind and wave directions, but on this day the twin points were facing almost directly into the whipping wind and were serving to funnel the waves into the harbor, standing the waves taller as the rollers pushed into the bay. It’s easy to exaggerate the size of waves when one’s telling a tale, so take this observation with whatever grain of salt you want: as we flew between those two points we surfed through a set that was nearly head-high to a seated paddler. We crash-landed ashore and scrambled out to drag the canoe into the trees, but not before the stern took green water from the breaking surf.

You guys have some interesting boating up there! As we caught our breath on Hook Island I checked my watch and noted that we’d made the wind-aided crossing from the north shore of Saganaga to the island in only 12 minutes. Our tow boat soon came slamming around the corner, crash landed next to our canoe, and we loaded canoe and gear aboard while the metal boat was being pummeled on the beach. The return trip to Seagull Outfitters was bumpy and wet but otherwise uneventful until we reached their office and everyone within earshot was forced to listen to our rough sea stories, stories which I’m sure they’ve heard before.

The post-trip shower was suitably refreshing, and the post-trip dinner, taken at the Gunflint Lodge some ten miles away, was suitably fulfilling and featured drinks which contained actual ice!

After dinner we did some dusk driving on nearby gravel roads looking for a moose, an animal which Elissa had never seen before and for which she’d unsuccessfully searched on last year’s trip. We saw a deer, a rabbit and a family of ducks, but no moose, so we returned to our bunk house room, packed our belongings and spent our last night in the north country.