Friday, July 10, 2020

The early bedtime and the time change from Orlando made for an early morning. I figured it was past 7:00 am when I awoke, only to find my watch informing me it was 5 am. This is always one of my favorite times of solitude on these trips. I quietly slipped out of the hammock, changed clothes, and made my way to the center of camp for a much-needed cup of coffee. Thirty minutes later I was trolling across the lake in search of the next trophy fish. The water was calm, but some of the wind remained producing a very mild chop on the water. Several hours of fishing didn’t produce a single bite but it was one of those mornings that the lack of fish didn’t bother me. The peace and solitude were more than rewarding enough. I had my phone for photos and decided to put on some quiet music on at a very low volume. It was so foreign sounding in the wilderness that I quickly turned it off. The silence was much more relaxing.

A reoccurring topic of discussion amongst the three of us was whether each of us would enjoy a purely solo trip to the Boundary Waters. Mornings like this, there is no questions I would revel in a solo adventure. However, the group dynamic is not easily replaced, and certain aspects of the experience would not be as enjoyable without someone to share it with. Grant decided a dog companion would definitely count as a sufficient tripping partner. I would mostly agrees, but Cooper, my 6 year-old golden retriever, is not well behaved enough to my mind at ease on a trip like this. My goal for retirement is to take multiple solos annually.

I coasted back into camp mid-morning for another cup of coffee as Grant and Davis slowly emerged from their hammock and tent respectively and joined me. Before long, bacon and eggs were frying over the stoves as we discussed the day's plan. I must say, the precooked bacon over the frying pan tastes pretty close to the real thing at home.

The lack of fishing success certainly was weighing on the group and a change of venue was suggested for the day. After carefully studying the map, we elected to head for either Thomas or Fraser Lakes, depending on the weather and the exhaustion factor. It was slightly unnerving to leave the site especially given the lack of campsite availability we had seen several days prior. After the one to two hours of packing up camp, we said goodbye to Ima and headed along the southern shore in a steady wind and medium chop in search of the 28-rod portage into Hatchett Lake.

The portage entrance to Hatchett is between two high cliff faces and makes for a doable yet steep initial rocky climb. The takeout is a nice setup although tough if you're one of those dry footers.

The far end of the portage opens into a narrow channel filled with lily pads and thankfully protected from the wind. We passed several canoes headed the opposite way and quickly traded hellos before pushing on.

There was one small portage that I felt brave enough to bypass, trying my luck on two or three pullovers. My back appreciated the break from the heavy packs, but I found there was no significant time saved as I met Davis and Grant exiting the portage on the other side.

A short ten rod portage later around mid-day, we found ourselves staring out into Thomas Lake. We met a nice young couple from New York on the portage and traded stories of the storm several nights prior. They also gave us a scouting report of the sites available on Thomas. Much to our disappointment, they informed us the majority of sites on the southwestern end of the lakes were occupied, some by larger boy scout groups. We gave them our take on Ima Lake and learned they were going to try to make it into Ensign by the end of the day. With the wind blowing heavily from northwest to southeast, I assumed that was going to be a long day of travel for them. We carefully studied the map and decided to avoid the crowds on the southwest side. Dave at Williams and Hall had marked site 1186 on the southeastern side as a preferred site so we charted a course and crossed our fingers. The moderate wind pushed us south, and we learned the solo canoe could make the trek much faster than the more heavily loaded tandem. As I rounded an island in the middle of the lake, I saw a lone figure sitting on a cliff edge in the vicinity of the site. The red shirt he or she was wearing looked like it could be visible from several miles away. I once again was overcome with this feeling that because we had planned, sweated, and worked hard, that somehow, we were entitled to the site we wanted. It’s certainly easy to understand the frustration some paddlers feel to travel all day only to find a lake with no available sites.

We pulled into the shore of the island, protected somewhat from the wind, and debated the next move. We could east to the only two remaining sites on the lake, or head west to the scout Gymboree with a dozen or so sites scattered on that side of the lake. Fraser Lake to the east was still an option if the two eastern sites were occupied. We turned back into the wind and made our way along the western shore of a large “L Shaped” island in the middle of Thomas. As we rounded the northern side of the island, we could see a group of eight campers or so loitering around a rocky point that could only be the more northern of the two sites. We scanned the shoreline about 150 yards to the east and pulled into a fairly poor takeout of campsite 1187. As we scouted the site, we found it tucked back into the woods with several decent tent pads, but it lacked the views we desired as well as the lack of wind to keep the bugs at bay. The blue barrel was opened, and we stared at the map as a lunch of PB and Js with summer sausage on Ritz was enjoyed. I could tell everyone was starting to feel a little drained, or maybe that was me just hoping my trip companions were starting to feel as tired as I was.

As we packed up lunch and started to load the canoes back up, we watched as a leader of the group to the north appeared to be doing a demonstration of sorts. An adult appeared to be teaching paddle strokes or technique to four or five junior campers. What was most intriguing was all the members of the group had their life jackets on and the canoes looked fully loaded with gear. This was definitely worth waiting out a few minutes. Much to our delight, they slowly loaded up the four boats and made their way west. A 2 pm departure was hardly ideal for them and we assumed the heavy winds had delayed their planned departure.

The timing however was advantageous and as another group of three boats headed up from the south, we didn’t waste any time jumping to the northern site. Site 1188 was much more to our liking. Another rocky elevated site made for great views and a grassy open area by the water was perfect for a hammock or two. Everyone split up as we picked our favorite spots and began the slow unpacking process.

After several hours, we were eager to dip our lines in the water and see if Thomas or Fraser would give us any better luck. The winds were still pretty brutal, and we found ourselves pushed south. We found the narrow passage into Fraser with high cliff walls on either side. The result was almost like a wind tunnel and despite being less than ten feet wide, the passage at times became hard to navigate with the wind pushing us back towards Thomas. Once through, we fished the western shores of Fraser without much success and worked our way up to a cove on the far northwestern corner of the lake. By this time, I was trying every technique I knew of (which isn’t very many given my relative lack of fishing knowledge). It didn’t matter how many YouTube videos I had watched; it wasn’t translating into results. That changed when I decided to try out a Lindy Rig with a “bullet sinker” next to a swivel, followed by a floating jig head with plastic 3 to 4 feet out. We worked the eastern side of the cove with a drop-off of 10-20 feet and managed to land a few walleyes. As I pulled the first walleye out of the water, a large bald eagle took interest and perched himself on the top of the nearest tree. He cocked his head back and forth as I placed the walleye on the stringer. His impressive curved beak looked imposing and I found myself slightly unnerved as I turned my back to the bird to tend to the fish. He stayed for the next fifteen minutes or so checking out our catch, no doubt waiting for his chance at an easy supper. We didn’t give him the chance and after a while, we heard the familiar sound of him taking flight. Grant managed to pull another keeper walleye right to the edge of the boat before he broke free and quickly swam out of reach. After procuring another walleye, we decided to make our way back to camp.

As we leisurely paddled back down to the southern passage, we saw something crossing the lake. We traded guesses…” probably a loon”. The interesting this was how high out of the water it was sitting. We were still pretty far away, and it didn’t seem the right size for a loon. “Maybe a beaver?”. We quickened our paddle slightly and soon the enormous antlers of the moose slowly came into view. Keeping our distance, we watched it approach the western shore and climb out of the water. It was quite an impressive site. I tried to get my best shot with the iPhone, but the distance made it difficult to make out. As it climbed out of the water, the moose turned his head and watched us curiously before losing interest and disappearing behind the tree line. I had joked with the group earlier than the only thing missing on this trip was a moose sighting. Box checked! We joked on whether or not a bear sighting needed to be on the list. Far away from camp was the agreed upon answer. Two years ago Davis and I had an overeager bear visit our camp on Knife several times one night which was less than relaxing.

Back at camp, I got to the task of cleaning the fish. We elected for a side of garlic mashed potatoes and griddle cakes, which had become a crowd favorite after the two previous nights. Our battle with the serving sizes continued and we had enough mashed potatoes for a group of 8. Bourbon once again followed dinner with another cigar and amazing sunset. This time it was Four Roses Reserve Bourbon, compliments of Davis.

We got to bed slightly later than usual and as each of us tidied up camp and brushed our teeth, our mistake became evident. The swarm of mosquitoes descended on camp with such vengeance I had never before seen. It was hard not to swallow or breath in the bugs as the swarms around our heads continued to grow. As I unzipped the bug net and rather emergently climbed in the hammock, I tried to close it up right behind me, flipping on my headlight to survey the damage. A sizable cloud of mosquitoes joined me beneath the bug net as I swatted and clapped, trying to thin the uninvited guests. I was able to get a few more chapters of the book in before my eyes gave in. The night of sleep was pretty miserable, mostly due to the mosquitoes somehow managing to bite me on my back repetitively through the hammock material.