Tuesday, June 17, 2025 The rain continued until two or three in the morning. I didn't sleep well. Thoughts of my sister and my parents drifted through my dreams, leaving me restless. Negative thoughts have a way of taking hold during a solo trip. Without anyone to share them with, it's easy to let worry grow until it overshadows the very experience you've come to enjoy. I had planned to get an early start fishing, but by 11:00 a.m. I was still lingering around camp. Someone had given me a Mountain House breakfast skillet a few years ago, and I'd been carrying it ever since. This morning seemed like a good time to finally try it. It was disappointing. All I could taste was smoke. The eggs, ham, and peppers had almost no flavor. I'll stick with my own dehydrated eggs from now on. The wind is stronger than I expected, with occasional heavy gusts, so I decide to spend the day on nearby Trygg Lake in search of brook trout. After reorganizing my gear for the short portage, I carry my canoe up the steep fifteen-rod trail. The lake is quiet. I troll a blue jointed Rapala, hopeful after the success I had here on a previous trip. The first brook trout comes unhooked beside the canoe just as I reach for the net. An hour later, another one escapes in exactly the same way. By late afternoon, I'm beginning to think today simply isn't my day. Around 5:30, I decide to make one last pass before heading back to camp. I'm glad I do. The rod bends sharply, and after a brief fight, I slide a beautiful sixteen-inch brook trout into the net. That fish becomes dinner.