Woke up before dawn to red columns in the East. Stunning, haunting. Again the lake was glass and inviting to the boat.

Now I was hungry for walleye so headed back over to the spot. It was so calm I didn't even bother rigging up and anchor. Dropped the same jighead and bam. This was not a 16" er. It took a bit to get him up, and I would estimate him at 24-26". I just gently held him along the side of the boat and worked the jig out with my leatherman. I apologize a bit to him and then watched him slip into the depths, hoping fish don't have memories (sadly I know the truth). Within 10 minutes I had two 15"ers, so headed back to shore. After getting them fileted out, I dug around in my food pack for the seasoned flour. Dig dig, nothing. Now I don't know about you, but I always seem to forget one thing. This trip it was the flour. Time to improvise. Oh look, this broccoli "soup" is actually mostly flour. And this "seasoning" packet from my rice tastes a lot like cayenne and parika. Dump it in, mix it up. Whala. Broccoli soup shore lunch mix! Now you tell me what tastes better than fresh walleye at 7am on your own lake in Northern Minnesota?

Just as I was washing up, the clouds rolled in and the rains came down. I either forgot or just didn't car about bringing a tarp, so into the tent I went. It rained hard for 4 or 5 hours with wind. And I got wet. My trusty REI nitelite from 1996 had finally got tired. That tent has been with me on trips from Nepal to the Torres del Paine. And now it was leaking. Or at least the rain fly was. I can figure that out when I get home. So it was a leaky nap, but no biggie. I have been re reading Cormack McCarthy, whose prose I find unmatched by modern writers. I hadn't read All the Pretty Horses for many years since I taught it in AP Lit and found it rather immature for him. However, I decided to re-read it, and am finding it more nuanced than I remember. I enjoyed it througout the trip.

Upon emerging from my tent, a bald eagle was working on the fish remains I had laid on a rock, maybe 10 yards from the tent. His immensity and grandeur so close was otherwordly. Interestingly, he flew across the lake, perching right above my fishing hole. He remained there until I paddled over for my evening fish, at which point he flew directly back to the my site to finish the fish. How marvelous!

By 3 the sun was shining again so I strung about a 25 ft clothesline and hung everything to dry. The wind was still blowing so I gave up the idea of moving on to Brule. I had seen one canoe come past me towards Brule. 40 minutes later it came back past. My guess is they portaged to Brule, saw the waves and came back. Wise choice.

Went back to the same hole to catch a few more walleyes for supper. This time I anchored, using an old trick of a tiewrapped basketball net with a rock and nylon rope. Got a couple small eyes quick and called it quits before the mosquitoes emerged. Walleys and tobasco and off to bed.