Being that it would be our last day on the water, I easily awoke at 5a.m. to go fishing and to enjoy my last sunrise. Smoke still rising in the distance, I walked down to the lake with my oatmeal and stood by the waters edge. No waves were lapping against the rocks, no birds were chirping, not tree branch rustling. Absolute silence. Whatever I was experiencing in this moment is not easily conveyable unless you yourself have been to the North Country enough times. The sense of peaceful eeriness is not something that I will easily forget in my lifetime. A rising fish rapidly awoke my ears and I remembered the foremost reason for my early awakening. Soon I found myself working the shoreline with my dependable spoon. The flies were terrible this morning. There must have been fifty of them hovering around my ankles alone. I still do not understand how they can bite through wool socks. After working the area that produced the walleye the night before with no luck, I drifted across the channel towards the other islands. Surprisingly the water depth between the islands surpassed 110’ and there were lakers suspended at 90’. I quickly dropped my line. After 10 minutes of attempting to balance paddling the wind to hold my position and jigging, I got frustrated and let the wind carry me across the channel. The next two hours only resulted in three smallmouths and I decided to head in.

When I got back everyone was up and it was time to make those blueberry pancakes and walleye. When my brother pulled in the line on the stringer it was evident that the fish had rocked himself. As my brother continued to pull against the weight of the rock the cord surprisingly snapped leaving the fish to swim away if it wanted to. Someone had to go after the submerged line to bring in the fish. It was 8 in the morning and the island’s shadow still shown over the water by our campsite. “He who caught the fish swims for the fish.” My brother and I failed to hold in our laughter as my fully clothed father slowly eased his way into cold water. His breath began to quicken as he tried to prepare himself for the full body plunge. All at once he went for the end of the rope lying at the bottom of the six feet of water. When he came back up we could all see that he missed it, which only added to the hilarity of the situation. Now he struggled to find his footing on the rocks below as he breathed heavily and did some kind of rendition of a doggy paddle. I could not control myself. This was absolutely priceless. On his second attempt he successfully grabbed the end of the rope and pulled in the fish. We immediately grabbed the camera and got a picture of him with his prize. I haven’t seen him that happy in a long time; standing there drenched, half submerged in the water holding up his walleye, a grin from ear to ear. This is what it was all about.

After our delicious breakfast we packed up and headed out to see the pictographs behind the other side of the bay before our pick up. I really wish I knew what they represented or what the story was behind them. After a quick stop at the ranger station we were back at Hook Island waiting for our tow. It felt as though we had just been dropped off. With the thought of a warm shower, cold beer, and ribs on our minds, the boat ride seemed longer on the way home. At the same time I didn't want to leave.

Trip remarks/things learned:

- Best trip I have ever been on up there

- Saganagons is my new favorite lake

- If you can, get your RABC permits ahead of time

- Silver spoon is killer on any kind of fish

- Next year I’m bringing a hammock and less clothes

- Kevlar canoes are the way to go

- Getting a tow is the way to go

- Watch out for trees blown down on portages

- Fishing is definitely better in July than August

- Fish finders are well worth their bulk/weight