Up reasonably early this morning and packing up only takes about 20 minutes. We are really getting this down. Once again it is a beautiful day without a cloud in the sky. Temperatures are in the 90’s for sure. We quickly made it to the 75 rod portage leading to the southern section of the lake and this time only my brother and I are forced to double portage. As we paddle around the point we are immediately struck by a relentless wind. Damn it!! Oh well it was going to happen at some point. We have all been in this situation before: Paddling as hard as you can and moving about a mere 1 mile an hour. Lake Saganagons wasn’t going to let us leave easily. It took us an hour and a half of intense paddling against whitecaps but we finally made it to silver falls. Not as bad as South Lake 5 years ago I thought to myself; what can be considered the battle of Normandy in my family’s ongoing war with the wind each trip. As we unloaded our gear at the portage, I mentally prepared myself for the journey across the 130 rods with the 75 lb. turquoise oil tanker of canoes that my parents refused to let go of. A real one of a kind. I am determined to make it across without stopping as sort of a personal challenge. In an effort to accomplish my mission I find myself bombing along at a good pace in order to maximize my distance covered before my shoulders go to mush. With a tremendous thud I suddenly come to a complete stop. Completely dumbfounded and struggling to balance the canoe, I tilt up the bow to see an entire tree suspended horizontally across the trail. “Well that wasn’t there a week ago.” Its presence was completely undetectable to someone carrying a canoe over their head. “Man am I glad no one saw that bone head maneuver,” I thought to myself. “I must have looked like a complete jackass.” I keep moving and just barely make it the full way without stopping. Mission accomplished. After telling my dad of the incident, he laughed then warned a gentleman heading the opposite way of the tree hazard. The man only muttered a cocky response, “Don’t worry about me, we encounter stuff like that all the time on portages,” as he struggled to lift the canoe over his head while carrying a # 4 Duluth. As he walked away, my dad and I both looked at one another and each let out a soft chuckle.

As we loaded up our canoes, we couldn’t help but notice what looked to be smoke over the tree-line in the direction that we were headed. Heading into Cache Bay we see not one but two fires burning in the distance; one smaller to the right that we can clearly see, and another major one that looks to be several miles away. Every three minutes we see a bright eruption of fire followed by a ferocious crackling as another pine would go up in flames. Man, sound really does travel over water. We made it to our last campsite of our trip, near Gull Rock in the middle of Cache bay, hoping that the smoke from the fire wouldn’t continue to drift towards our direction that night.

The campsite wasn’t the best, with its shaky canoe landing; however it did have its perks. One of these was its abundant supply of blueberries. My mother and I were quick to fill up our mugs with the tasty, much anticipated delicacy. After setting up camp, I just couldn’t resist anymore; I had to get over to that fire and explore its effects up close. With a little bit of convincing, my brother agreed to accompany me across the bay. By the time we made it over there it was as if we were on another planet; some desolate waste land destroyed by nuclear war; the kind of images that render in the depths of any imagination. Grey ash covered what was left of the smoldering landscape, the boulders still hot, several logs still burning. After exploring for a few minutes we decided that it was probably a good idea to leave seeing that the winds were shifting and thick smoke was on the way.

Like every trip I remember ever being on with him, my dad is always the poor soul who sacrifices himself in order to give someone else, usually us boys, the optimal chance of catching fish. Doing such things as steering the canoe to get us that perfect cast and paddling steadily as we troll etc.. It was time that he caught a fish of his own; the perfect topper to this thus far perfect trip. After dinner we headed across to the other side of the island and began casting spoons from shore. I had previously in the day had some luck with smallmouth from just off the canoe launch using a daredevil. While toying with a smallmouth myself I suddenly heard the sound of my dad's drag going off. “I’ve got something big!” he said. As he worked it in towards shore we instantly saw those infamous large pale-white eyes staring back at us. A walleye, Sweet! How much better could this trip get. It was like someone was reading our minds and accommodating our every desire. The 25” fish was the largest walleye of our trip. Fresh walleye and blueberry pancakes for breakfast tomorrow!