Monday, June 16, 2025 Once again, I sleep later than I intended. I can't seem to find the motivation to get out and fish. During the night, my thoughts kept returning to my sister and to the responsibility of caring for my parents as they continue to age. Coffee in hand, I walk over to where the turtle laid her eggs last night. They're gone. Some predator dug up the nest during the night. Nature can be unforgiving. Breakfast is the last of my fresh eggs with precooked bacon. It isn't until nearly 10:30 that I finally push away from shore. I catch a beautiful 20-inch lake trout but decide it's too large for what I need, so I release it back into the deep, cold water. By early afternoon, I haven't caught another fish, so I return to camp for lunch. Dark clouds are building to the west. Reluctantly, I decide it's time to put up the tarp. Whenever possible, I'd rather leave it packed away, but years of wilderness travel have taught me otherwise. I've spent entire days reading beneath that tarp while rain poured relentlessly outside. After lunch, I head back out, hoping to catch either a late lunch or an early dinner. A few fish strike, but none stay hooked. Finally, just as I'm preparing to head in, I land another lake trout about the same size as the previous one. Rain begins as I clean the fish. Normally, I'd cook it over a fire away from camp, but with steady rain falling, I fry it beneath the shelter of my tarp. The shower eases briefly, and I prepare to launch again. The moment my canoe reaches the water, the rain returns. Then comes thunder. Fishing is finished for the day. There's something about sitting beneath a tarp while rain drums overhead that invites reflection. I find myself weighing tomorrow's options. I could head south through Gun, Beartrack, Thumb, and Finger Lakes. Or I could return to Lac La Croix, make my way to Pocket Creek, and continue toward Gebe-on-equet. The second route appeals to me, but it means crossing more of Lac La Croix's big water. That thought makes me uneasy. The rain continues well into the evening. Around 8:30, I retreat to my tent, read for a while, and let the steady rhythm of rain on nylon carry me off to sleep.