Sunday, June 07, 2026 Normally I don't sleep well in the wilderness, but between the melatonin and another full day of paddling, I don't remember much after climbing into my sleeping bag. The next time I opened my eyes, it was morning. I think I may have finally discovered the secret to sleeping in the Boundary Waters. The morning got off to a slow start, and none of us were in any hurry to change that. We rolled out of our tents one by one, got some coffee going, wandered around camp, gathered another pile of firewood, and talked about what we wanted to do with the day. The night before, while sitting around the fire, we'd started talking about things that could make future trips even better. One idea everyone liked was having more family meals. There was just something fun about everyone pitching in and sharing a meal together. After the success of our homemade candy bars the night before, we decided tonight's goal was to catch enough fish for a proper fish fry. With camp chores finished, we paddled over to Caribou Lake to see if we could make it happen. Ryan and John stayed around the bay near the portage while Kev and I worked our way down the shoreline, stopping every so often to cast at anything that looked fishy.
The fishing was about as good as we could've hoped for. I caught wayyyyy too many little northern, most of them under two feet long, while Kev put a handful of nice smallmouth in the canoe. Before long John and Ryan paddled over laughing because they'd already filled their stringer. We got them a bigger one, and they just kept adding fish. Eventually we all met back up and agreed we'd each try to catch one more before heading back to camp. Sure enough, everyone added another fish, putting us somewhere around nine total. As we paddled back toward the portage into Little Caribou, we looked through the stringers and decided to let a couple of the smaller fish go. Even after that, we still had seven really nice fish for dinner, which turned out to be far more than four guys actually needed.
Kev has become the fish-cleaning expert on our trips. He's easily the fastest and somehow always gets more meat off the fish than anyone else. My role is mostly to stay out of his way while helping wherever I can. I'd rinse fillets, grab fresh water, pull fish off the stringer, and this trip I even found myself defending the remaining fish from an army of determined turtles by tossing little rocks in their direction whenever they got too close. That afternoon taught me something I hadn't expected. Everyone talks about bears and wolves in the Boundary Waters, but the real thieves around camp are turtles and snakes. It didn't take long to realize they'd learned that campsites often meant an easy meal. It actually made me think a little differently about Leave No Trace and how much wildlife adapts to people, even when we're trying our best to minimize our impact. Cleaning seven fish took a while, but once everything was ready, we got to work. We breaded the fillets with Shore Lunch and fried them up in one pan while another pan waited with melted lemon butter and seasoning. Some of the fish ended up in tacos, some found its way into fried rice, and every bit of it tasted incredible. This was our first trip where we'd dedicated an entire day to putting together a big fish fry, and we honestly had no idea how much fish four hungry guys could eat. As it turns out, seven fish is a feast. We polished off every fillet, an entire bag of rice, and sat there feeling like we'd just eaten at a five-star restaurant. For the first time all trip, we were too full to even think about making homemade candy bars.

After dinner, nobody was in much of a hurry to do anything. We just sat on the rocks and watched golden hour settle over the lake. The breeze that had made us fall in love with this campsite kept the mosquitoes away, the water was perfectly calm, and everything seemed to slow down. It was one of those rare moments where you don't feel the need to say much because everyone is quietly appreciating the same thing. I remember thinking that if life could always feel this simple, I'd never complain. Eventually the sun slipped below the trees, and we wandered back toward the middle of camp. We hung the food pack, got another fire going, and spent the rest of the evening doing what had quickly become our favorite part of the trip—telling stories, laughing at each other, and enjoying the kind of conversations that only seem to happen around a campfire. Looking back, those quiet evenings are every bit as memorable as the miles we paddled.

~Little Caribou Lake, Caribou Lake