Barely able to sleep, I awake at first light and begin to get all of the gear together for the outfitters to load in the van. It’s clear and chilly this morning. At a brisk 55 degrees I can see my breath and am quick to remember the ever-changing weather conditions up here as I throw on my fleece and vest. After a hearty breakfast at the lodge, I go down to the bait house to pick up 3 dozen leeches. I am hoping that they’ll survive for the duration of the trip. We see two red foxes and one moose on the way up to our drop off point at Trails-end. This is the first year that we have chosen to be towed up through sag and although I feel a sense of guilt as we pass other struggling canoeists, it feels good not having to battle the wind and white caps the first day. In a half an hour we reach hook Island on Sag and as the tow boat motors off, suddenly reality hits; we are on our own now. An hour’s paddle and we reach the Canadian ranger’s station in Cache Bay. After all of the hassle it took to obtain the RABC, we are not even asked if we have it….go figure. It seems that the ranger is more concerned with fire safety and environmental conservation issues, which is good to see. She tells us that lead weights and live bait of any kind will be banned from the Quetico starting next year.

After purchasing a few items to support the Friends of the Quetico foundation, we are back in our canoes headed towards silver falls. On the way we pass through a series of narrows surrounded by high cliffs where we were told that an Indian ambush had occurred between the Sioux and Ojibwa. It wasn’t hard to imagine the exact positions at which the attackers must have been perched or the terror felt by the victim tribe as they quickly realized the severity of the situation. I felt a sense of eeriness as if I too were being watched as we continued to paddle toward the portage.

As we rounded the point, we could hear the roar of the falls a few hundred feet away. This year we had planned to pack the lightest we have ever packed. Not light enough it seemed. We were forced to double portage the 130 rods. That was ok though, it felt good to get out of the canoe and get some circulation running through my legs again. Soon after exiting the portage we saw a nesting pair of bald eagles high up in a red pine to the right of us. A third one flew over our heads and out over the bay towards the opposite tree-line. At this point it occurred to me it is no accident that this bird was chosen as a symbol to represent our nation. Words cannot describe the commanding presence that this majestic creature demanded as it soared effortlessly over its fishing grounds.

Following the southern shoreline of Saganagons we stopped at the second campsite marked on the map and investigated whether or not it would serve as an adequate base camp for two nights. Its gravel canoe launch, grassy tent-sites, and wonderful 180 degree lake views made it hard to pass up. Frankly, I was surprised to see such a nice site actually open; a trend that I hoped would continue the rest of the trip. With the thought of fish on the mind, I hurried to set up camp and get some quick sustenance in me before assembling the rods and seeing what kind of luck the lake would have for me on this day.

Conditions weren’t exactly prominent for producing results as it was the middle of the day with temperatures in the mid eighties, full sunshine, and little wind. However, I can say that I was just happy enough to have a rod in my hand. My brother and I drifted down from our campsite and worked the shoreline. With no luck we paddled back in and decided on having an early dinner of beef stroganoff before heading back out to fish a series of bays that looked promising across the lake. The first cast that Adam put on the edge of the weed-line sent his spool racing. Bigger than a bass and unlikely a walleye, there was little surprise when he was bit off in less than 10 seconds by a large pike. We both quickly changed to steel leaders and cast back into the lily-pads in hopes of maybe getting our lure back knowing how aggressive northerns can sometimes be. No such chance. As the sun dropped below the tree-line, we decided to jig at the entrance to the bay with a silver spoon and leech. I quickly hooked into a small walleye and about five minutes later about a hundred mosquitoes were trying to set their hooks into me. It was time to go in. I’ve never been attacked so brutally on the water as I was this night. When we get back to camp it seems as though our site has been taken over by alien invaders. Wait….nope that’s just my parents standing onshore with their head nets on after getting into the vodka. Drinking with a head net on becomes quite the challenge. We soon surrender and take refuge in the safe confines of our tents. I must get to bed early. Tomorrow the fishing really begins.