We made a quick stop at The Great Outdoors for leaches and some frozen ciscoes, which we were convinced would be our secret weapon to endless monster northerns. Turns out we could have done without the ciscoes … we didn't catch a fish on them, and all they did was stink up the softsided cooler we kept them in. Oh well.

We met our outfitter shortly after 6 for the van ride out to our entry point No. 32 on the South Kawishiwi River. Since our route for the trip wasn't overly rigorous, we had chosen to bring along a few more creature comforts and planned on double-portaging. We each had a large backpack, then a food pack and another small backpack with all our kitchen gear, not to mention 3 fishing rods each, leaches, paddles, etc.

That all changed when our outfitter threw the canoe on his shoulders and headed off down the well-worn, muddy trail. My dad and I looked at each other, shrugged as if to say, "Time to man up," and I threw my pack over my shoulders, then pulled the food pack onto my front, grabbed whatever loose gear was lying around and headed off down the 147-rod portage. Fortunately, this isn't a bad walk, and it was early enough (around 7 a.m.) that it wasn't too hot or buggy.

We broke free from the canopy of forest and were greeted by one of those sights that will linger in our minds forever — the peaceful, glassy South Kawishiwi river, flanked by slate black rocks and stunning evergreens as far as the eye can see.

Sweaty and out of breath from the loaded-down hike, we took a moment to enjoy the view. My dad, however, was of the impression that time was of the essence, so we packed up, lashed everything down and climbed in our Wenonah Champlain canoe. This was the moment of truth.

You see, the last time my dad and I were in a canoe together, we lasted about 3 seconds before we tipped over. Granted, this was one of those inherently unstable little silver bullets that you get from a rental company, on a fast little river in northern Michigan, with my two kids crowded in the center. Now I've done plenty of canoeing, and never had an issue, so I blame my dad, who's not know for his grace of movement. He doesn't settle into a seat, for example. He plops down. You know what I mean.

We talked several times about getting out and practicing our canoeing prowess over the weeks leading up to the trip, but never managed to find time.

So here we are, alone in the wild, with a 5-day trip ahead of us, and we're both a bit apprehensive about how this is going to go. Admittedly, the first few moments were a bit disconcerting as the canoe wobbled back and forth threateningly, but after a few moments, we got our balance figured out, and we were off, with me in the stern and my dad wedged into the bow.

Our plan was to head up the South Kawishiwi River for a few miles, portage into Little Gabbro, and find a campsite on Gabbro Lake, where we would base camp for a few days. The first leg of the journey was fantastic as we found our rhythm and had the big canoe slicing through the calm water with ease.

We couldn't help but notice, however, that every campsite we passed showed signs of occupancy: a canoe by shore, a tarp strung up between trees, or a wisp of smoke circling skyward.

We made it to the first portage, which is basically a little carry-over around a set of rapids on the South Kawishiwi.

We couldn't resist breaking out a rod, and it took only 2-3 casts to land the first fish of the trip, a small pike that was fooled by a jighead and a white twister tail dragged through the fast water.

Two more smallmouth fell to our offerings before the rain, which had begun to drizzle about an hour earlier, began to come down in earnest. During this short stint, my dad got his first taste of the treacherous footing in the BWCA. Trying to traverse a wet, rocky stretch, he slipped and bashed his shin. It served as a wake-up call, and we both made sure to watch our footing much more carefully in the future.

We followed the South Kawishiwi as it turned back to the south, then and there found the 122-rod portage into Little Gabbro, and on our first trip across, we met another guy on a solo trip. He told us he was paying the price for making the last-minute journey on his own, especially considering he was using a heavy home-made canoe. I volunteered to carry it for him, so after dropping our canoe on the shores of Little Gabbro, I hoisted his canoe on my shoulders. Ugh. After carrying our ultralight kevlar canoe, this thing was a beast. It didn't help that the yolk was positioned too far back, making it much more difficult to carry.

In addition, we came across a fresh pile of stinking crap (the human variety, judging by the fact that it was mixed with toilet paper) right along the portage. Lovely.

We dropped off his canoe, grabbed the remainder of our gear and completed the portage, then headed through Little Gabbro. It's a cool little lake, but we didn't spend much time exploring it, choosing intend to hurry toward our final destination in Gabbro Lake. We noticed two empty campsites — the first empty sites we'd seen — on our way through the narrows between the two lakes. Just as we got out into the main body of Gabbro Lake, we saw another canoe coming our way. We greeted the dad and son, who told us that they had come through Bald Eagle and Gabbro lakes, and that every site in both lakes was full. It was getting close to 2 p.m. and raining harder by the minute, so we did a quick 180 and headed back to one of the open sites.

We grabbed the site farthest to the west, which sits on a raised rocky shelf right on the stretch of fast water between Gabbro and Little Gabbro.

It turned out to be a great site — beautiful scenery from a nice seating area around the fire grate; plenty of fire wood; and some decent fishing from shore. We set up our tarp first, and enjoyed our first reprieve from the rain in several hours. The rain soon stopped, and we set up our tent and got a fire going. We caught a few smallmouth bass floating leaches under slip bobbers in the current, but never hit any walleye from this site.

Dinner for the evening was steaks, potatoes and onions, all cooked over the fire, and it was amazing. We enjoyed cigars and a beverage (something containing Jack Daniels, if I recall correctly) and watched as a huge beaver dragged branches back and forth across the channel. We also saw deer and bald eagles.

Then, we figured out what that buzzing sound we'd heard in the woods. The sun had just set when we were assaulted by mosquitoes. We quickly hoisted the food bag up off the ground and dove for cover in our tent.

My dad was asleep in 20 seconds, while I laid awake, listening to the buzz of mosquitoes and the other night sounds for a while before drifting off to sleep.