Since my oldest son was in elementary school, we talked about where he would want to go for a high school graduation trip. A fly in trip to an Alaskan fishing lodge? That's pretty expensive. Backpacking in the western U.S.? That's an awesome trip, but we do that every summer, so it wouldn't be new. What else is there that combines wilderness travel with solitude and the opportunity for great fishing? What about canoeing, camping, fishing … what about Quetico? When I graduated high school over 30 years ago, my father, brother, and some others went to Quetico. I stayed behind because I felt I needed to spend the summer working to make money for college. So, they went and I stayed behind. I made some long-forgotten, inconsequential amount of money that had no bearing on my ability to pay for school. I did lose what turned out to be a once in a lifetime chance to do that trip with by Dad and brother. And when my father later died too young, I regretted not going on that trip and still do to this day. With my own son graduating and headed off to college, it seemed like Quetico was as good of a choice as anywhere. It would be new for both of us, and I could see what I missed. I studied maps, plotted multiple routes, and finally settled on looping from Stanton Bay, down the B-chain, over to Sturgeon and then back up the Deux through Dore and back to Stanton. I thought this route would allow time to explore, fish, find a nice layover campsite, and see some country with ample time to soak it in. Months melted away and, soon enough, it was time to go. We split the 14-hour drive from home to Atikokan into two leisurely days and we arrived Canoe Canada in the late afternoon prior to our departure day. What a cool place, and what helpful people. Going over our route with Shane - I think that was his name - made trip seem real. We'd find out tomorrow. Low clouds and a brisk east wind greeted us early the next morning. We headed to Canoe Canada to catch the shuttle to Stanton Bay. As we drove down Highway 11, the low clouds turned to sheets of blowing rain. Not exactly a warm welcome. But, on cue, the rain let up and petered out to a drizzle as we approached Stanton Bay. We unloaded, the driver left, and it was just the two of us. Being experienced backpackers and river canoeists, we packed light and the portage to Stanton Bay went quickly. As we loaded the canoe, my son pointed out something swimming across the bay. A beaver? No, too high out of the water. A goose? No. Wait, that's a moose!! It was a cow moose just cruising across the width of the bay like it was nothing. At that point, I knew this trip was going to be good. We loaded up the Souris River 16, and shoved off into Stanton Bay. Almost immediately, the trip went from good to great. I took the canoe down the shore and my son proceeded to have the most amazing topwater smallmouth fishing I'd ever seen. We cruised silently up the shore about 20 feet out, and cast ahead of the canoe and parallel to the shore. Seemingly EVERY cast got blown up by a quality smallmouth. We released them all boatside with no measurement, but these were tanks. I'm not sure you could get better bass fishing than what we had right off the bat, the first hour of the trip. That alone was worth the price of admission. But we got a lot more bang for our buck as we got deeper and deeper into the Q. Emerging from Stanton Bay, the immensity of Pickerel Lake was intimidating. Having canoed only on smaller rivers, it took a while to get used to paddling out into such an expanse of water. The east wind caused some decent swells from the eastern expanse of the lake. We hopscotched behind islands as we headed south to the B-chain. En route, caught a few small pike. We saw no one, and wouldn't for the next two days, until a somewhat unfortunate encounter on Olifaunt Lake. We portaged down from the dam, and travelled down to a campsite on a small rocky outcropping above a pretty set of small rapids. It was a small site, but nice for two people. We caught walleye and smallmouth from camp, both in lake right above the rapids and down in slack water behind rocks in the rapids themselves. Exhausted, we turned in early on this drizzly evening. Day 2 had us taking a leisurely trip down to Olifaunt Lake. We stopped and fished along the way, having great success below every rapid or current area in the B-chain and down to Fern Lake. We took the beautiful portage from Fern down to Olifaunt and, as we paddled out into the main body of Olifaunt, were greeted by a strong west wind. Of course, it just had to shift from east to west just to keep it interesting. We headed for the small island campsite, where we stayed for two days. As others have noted, this island is too small for anything but very low-impact camping. We had no fire - and there was a fire ban anyway - and nothing was left behind except the faint imprints of where out tents had been. If you are going to camp on small island, you just can't use it as a latrine, period. The minor inconveniences aside, this little island was – with a little care – a fantastic place to be. On Day 3, we laid over and headed back the way we came with a plan to see if we could visit the no-name lake north of Olifaunt. We paddled the stream a good way, lifted over three rocky, brushy areas, and finally got to spot where it was looking like the juice might not be worth the squeeze. But what a neat little stream. My son remarked that despite some long backcountry trips in big wilderness areas in the greater Yellowstone area, this spot felt more remote than any other place he had ever been. It did feel isolated, and the amount of moose sign was staggering. It looked like every moose in Quetico had been through there! We headed back down, and stopped at the small swift water section right below where the little stream joined back with Olifaunt. We pulled the canoe around the backside of the big rock that juts out into the current, and tied it to a fallen tree at the far back of the eddy pool downstream of rock. As we ate lunch, we saw our first canoe since we left. As the canoeist approached, I stood up and said "hi" and commented on what a beautiful spot it was, or something along those lines. No response. We were fifteen feet up the rock, but I could see he seemed a bit grim-faced. I asked if he needed a hand. Somewhat curtly, he said "no." Okay, fair enough, message received. He pulled his small solo canoe around the rock and had a little trouble getting back in, and then got stuck in the eddy and got pushed back to where our canoe was tied up. I didn't quite understand why it was proving so difficult, but whatever, it was what it was, so I asked him if he wanted me to assist him or if he needed me to pull my canoe out of the water so he had more room. He said "no." I said, "okay." Rather than just drifting out of the eddy, he fought the main current off the point of the rock and then finally shot out into swifter water. He then pulls a hard turn, faced directly at us, and launched into a profanity-filled tirade. Whoa … where did that come from? I told him I asked him twice if he need any help and both times he said "no." My son, wisely, told me to disengage, and he was right. The guy kept it up as he paddled away, yelling a couple times back over his shoulder. If I should have pulled my boat out of the water when I saw him coming, then I was wrong. But it was surely nothing to warrant that kind of an outburst, particularly since he twice answered "no" when I asked if he need help. I've never experienced anything like that in 35 years of backcountry travel or, now that I think about, in my normal, everyday life. Oh well. You never know what people are going through I guess. And, fortunately for him, we're relaxed, sane people. If he pulled that with someone who also had a short fuse, then the situation could become serious. We paddled back, and had fun wondering how the rest of his trip went, and hoping he had calmed down to enjoy this beautiful place. We paddled out of the eddy with no problem and enjoyed a fabulous sunset with walleye tacos ... delicious! I enjoyed a pour of Lagavulin 16 and turned in. ***I debated whether to include this in my trip report to avoid emphasizing a negative experience. But, that is what happened, so that is part of the report. Day 4 had us taking a very short trip over to the 5\-star site on Sturgeon Lake, sitting on the first point past the portage out of Olifaunt. What fantastic campsite! On the way over to Sturgeon, we detoured to the Pickerel River outlet from Olifaunt. We walked down the portage trail to fish the rapids. I thought the fishing right off the bat in Stanton Bay couldn't be beat. I was wrong. For 45 minutes, we caught quality-sized bass and walleye on almost every cast. It was even more fun because we used some homemade, yellow, rabbit strip jig spinners I tied for the trip. The jig spinner was very visible in the water and when it disappeared ... set the hook, and fish was on. A truly beautiful spot for some top-notch, unforgettable wilderness fishing. We set up on the Sturgeon site and enjoyed the view. I pulled up chair overlooking the channel and the expanse of Sturgeon Lake down to and past Blueberry Island. It was here that Quetico connected with me deeply. Some 35 years ago, my father would have taken his canoe down the channel and past this camp on their way from Dore to Russell and, ultimately, McDougall. Did he stop here, on this very rock? Did he too catch a walleye right here? Did he too look south with wonder at the expanse of land and water in this magnificent place? I don't know about the first two, but I have no doubt about the third. This was a special place. With the whole afternoon to spare, we fished the rocky point off camp and had good action for walleye, a few smallies, and a big pike that bit me off right before I could net it. After an early dinner, the wind died, and Sturgeon Lake turned glassy. We headed out to fish the rocky bank on the south of the campsite back toward the portage to Olifaunt. My son got into another great run of fantastic smallies on topwater and a spinnerbait. All were quality-sized fish, but two in particular were just in a different size category - true trophy smallies - plus a surprise (to us at least) walleye on the spinnerbait. On Day 5, we headed up the Deux to Pine Portage Bay. On the way, we paddled the to the north end of Sturgeon to the Pickerel River. More nice bass, and lunch on an island in the river. On the way up, we circled the island in north Sturgeon and saw two HUGE sturgeon sunning themselves upon in the mud flats - the biggest one looked like it was 5 feet long. It probably wasn't, but it sure looked like it. Seeing the moose swim across Stanton Bay was cool, but that monster prehistoric fishing shooting off the mud flats 6 feet from the canoe was next level. We planned to camp on Dore, but saw another canoe across the lake headed to the 4-star site around the corner from the portage to Pickerel, so we decided to take our chances on Pine Portage Bay. Glad we did, because we had it to ourselves and the 4-star site had a nice view of a beautiful sunset. I enjoyed the a small pour of Wild Turkey Rare Breed bourbon – what a good day it was. Day 6 had us taking another leisurely paddle across Sturgeon to the island at the mouth of Stanton Bay. We visited some islands in Pickerel, and had lunch. We got to camp in the early afternoon, set up, and then fished some with no luck. The sun had finally come out, and it was warm. I finally strung up the hammock and was out like a light in seconds - best nap ever. By late afternoon, another brisk east wind picked up and we still had caught no fish from the rocks at the canoe landing. I bushwhacked to the east side of the island to fish the windward shore and started catching walleyes immediately. While not the same fast-paced action as other days, it was satisfying to figure it out, even if a more seasoned walleye angler would have found it obvious. We had a delicious meal and called it a night. On our final morning, we were to meet a shuttle at noon at Stanton Bay. Because we were so close, we had a leisurely morning and then paddled into Stanton Bay to re-visit the smallmouth we encountered earlier in the week. It was not every cast action like the first day, but it still was very good in anyone's book. As we paddled toward the put in, I was a bit overcome by the poignancy of the moment. The trip I'd planned for so long was over, and so too was the fleeting reconnection my father's past. And my son, who started talking about this trip as a young boy, was now a young man headed off to start his next chapter in life. I'll remember that moment more than the anything and, if for no other reason, Quetico will always be a special place for me.