Day 5: Where the Magic Happens
Wednesday, June 17th, 2026
In spite of the late bedtime, I am wide awake at 6 A.M. I let Andrew sleep in while I thrash through the thick tangle of brush and balsam sticks near our site to find suitable firewood. After splitting up a sizable pile and prepping the canoe for fishing, I wake Andrew up, and we eat breakfast while planning where we will be fishing today. I try to plug my phone into the weather radio which is my backup battery for this trip, but find that it isn’t powerful enough to charge it. This isn’t a big deal, but my phone is the only camera we have with us out here, and with its battery already at 46%, I will have to avoid taking extra photos for the rest of this trip to save battery. With light winds in store for today, we should be able to cover plenty of water. After tending to the fishing poles, we head down to the landing where we witness a white and red floatplane land and taxi up to the site west of us where we were foolishly gathering firewood last night. After a few minutes, we see the plane take off, making for an eventful start to the morning.
At last we depart the landing at 10:35, and a steady rain starts to fall ten minutes later. With the rain comes a persistent chill in the air, and my sunny optimism for a successful day of fishing fades to match the featureless slate gray sky overhead. The lake is devoid of canoe traffic, and I can’t help but connect these conditions to other similar days I’ve had in the park, days that finished with empty stringers, icy hands, and a dampened spirit.
I’m snapped out of my negative stupor by the sight of Andrew’s rod doubling over in the bow, and shout “Fish on!” As I toss the anchor bag overboard, reel in my line, and snatch the net. It’s a gorgeous, quality Smallmouth for Andrew (we’ve decided that 15” qualifies as a quality Smallmouth on this trip), which we release. My optimism starts to glimmer again. Soon enough his rod violently bends again, and he says it’s another nice fish, which turns out to be a fat 30” Northern Pike, the largest either of us have ever caught. The rain is falling harder now, but nothing can bring us down. In less than 20 minutes on the water, we’ve already caught two wonderful fish! I switch from my Rapala to a swim bait, attempting to show Andrew that I can catch fish too. He boats another decent Smallmouth or two on his chatterbait, I predictably hook into two tiny Smallmouth, and his clinic on how to catch quality fish in the Boundary Waters continues.

At some point, the rain stops, as does the bite, and we head toward Eddy Falls, along with apparently everyone else on the lake. Rather than visit the falls, we make one unsuccessful trolling pass below the inlet to Knife, then cross over to a nearby bank for a lunch break sitting on logs in the brush.

It’s been nearly a week since we left home, but as we sit there swatting mosquitoes, taking in the sound of the falls and watching the world go by on this nondescript bank contentedly eating our nondescript meals, I sense for the first time we are hitting our stride. This isn’t a matter of comfort, but of mindset. We know that at any moment these sun-dappled skies will suddenly give way to clouds, rain, and biting wind, but are confident that we will make the best of that moment when it arrives, along with each moment that follows. Our hope for what is to come on our trip feels perfectly balanced with our gratitude for the joys, laughter, and even the suffering we’ve already shared up to this point. When preparing for the “siege” of future challenges of a wilderness trip in the midst of my modern life at home, my mentality is that of any modern man facing a modern problem. In the modern world, even when prepping for a trip to the wilderness, my main concerns are the gear and the time. Namely, how to manage and prepare our equipment, and how to do this quickly so I can get back to the demands modern life has on my time. While this is necessary, it’s bizarre how none of that matters too much once we are truly “out here,” both physically and mentally. The stringer is gone. The food isn’t as tasty as I envisioned when spending days in my kitchen dehydrating it. The fishing has wildly vacillated between slow and terrific. We deal with each moment exactly as it’s been given to us, at times laughing, at times letting out our pent up frustrations, but always enduring, and perpetually grateful for it. Time is no longer an obstacle or a constraint, but purely a gift, in all its glorious imperfection.

I set aside another modern attitude that has no place in the wilderness, my pride, and ask Andrew what lure from our tackle arsenal I should try this afternoon, since he’s the one catching all the fish so far. As always, he suggests a lure I am not even considering, a Mepps #5 Black Fury inline spinner. While this lure has been in the tackle box on every canoe trip I’ve taken, I’ve rarely fished with it and never once had a bite on it. After telling all of this to Andrew, he gives me an ultimatum: “If you don’t use that lure, I will.” Given his success with the chatterbait this morning, I tell him to keep fishing with what he has so at least one of us will catch something, and I will give the Black Fury a try. We clean up lunch, tie on the lure, and shove off for the next bay to fish.

We paddle around the corner, the sound of the falls recedes, and we are once again on the troll, silently awaiting the next strike. After several minutes, it seems that moment will never come, but then my rod springs to life. It feels like a decent fish, but nothing too special, perhaps a five pound Northern that seems intent on staying down in the water. However, once I catch a glimpse, I see it’s a gorgeous Walleye! Andrew perfectly nets the fish and we measure it at 21 inches. After some struggle with tying the Walleye on to the rope stringer, we continue down the shoreline. Once again, there is extended silence, and Andrew asks me how far we intend to paddle down this bank. I tell him we won’t be going too much farther, in hopes that we can perhaps find another Walleye. Of course, for every fish I catch, Andrew tends to catch two, and he does just that in short order, boating two healthy 16” Smallmouths. Once again, we are feeling optimistic, and keep trolling down the shoreline.

We near a shallow rock shelf, and both of us start to paddle away from it, fearing a snag. My rod bends deeply, then bends even more, and stays that way. Unsure if I’ve found a snag with my large treble hook, I pick up the rod and am confident it’s a nice fish, another one that seems intent on staying down deep in the water. The fish goes on an impressive run, and I wonder aloud if we finally have our “Leonardo” on the line that would complete our team grand slam (everyone needs to have special names for fish species, and Leonardo was chosen as our Lake Trout name for this trip). I periodically make progress in reeling in the fish, and each time that progress is met with another long, drag-screaming run. After a few minutes of this behavior, we are both laughing at how ridiculously long this fight is going on. My right wrist is even feeling some strain from tightly holding up the rod against the running of the fish. At least twice, I start to see the fluorocarbon leader clear the water, then lose all progress to yet another deep run.

At last, Andrew catches his first glimpse of the fish and can barely contain himself. “Dad, it’s a MONSTER Pike!!!” He exclaims. Shortly thereafter, I also see the fish and have no doubt that this is the largest fish of any species I have ever seen while fishing. When I’ve allowed myself to dream about catching a fish like this, I’ve always imagined it as a tense moment, wondering if we would be able to actually land such a monster. Somehow though, at this moment, I can only laugh. The head of this Pike alone is just impossibly large, and I know that we have a real rodeo ahead of us in order to land this fish. The fish runs deep yet again, and I continue to keep tension and reel it back toward the boat. The fight has gone on for about five minutes at this point, and I can tell the fish is beginning to tire as I reel it in. Once again, we catch sight of the Pike as it languidly floats along the surface of the water next to the canoe four feet away, appearing half as long as the boat. Even though I upgraded our net to a much larger model this year, I know this fish won’t fit inside it easily, and make a vain attempt to reach out and grab it by the gill plate. The canoe briefly dips to the side and I immediately understand why people speak of taking the canoe to shore to land giant pike for fear of capsizing. Andrew considers handing me the net, but quickly puts that idea out of his mind as I bring the fish alongside the boat once more with little effort. Andrew holds the net ready, and the fish swims right in. Well, the first third of it anyway. Once its head hits the back of the net hoop, the tension is off the line, and the barbless hook pops right out of the upper corner of its mouth. ”There goes the line,” I calmly say, perhaps assuming that there was no possible way for this dream to actually come true. But as I say that, I reflexively put down my rod and flop the back two-thirds of the fish into the net with my hands. With the handle extended and the heavy weight of the fish, Andrew is unable to lift the fish into the boat, so I grab the hoop and lift it in.

As a child in Kansas learning how to fish for bass and catfish under the tutelage of my grandmother, I dreamt of catching just one Northern Pike in my lifetime, because they were the largest fish to catch in a fishing game I played with her. Years ago, I first ventured to north central Minnesota on a work trip over the Fourth of July weekend, where a co-worker and I spent hours trolling weed lines in a 10 hp aluminum motorboat catching small Pike with leeches, and I first conceived of the dream of catching Pike like this with my children someday. Years after that, I began taking my first Boundary Waters trips, determined to catch a gigantic Northern Pike “the size of my leg,” but more often than not, I struck out completely at catching anything, let alone a fish of significant size. But now, I am here. WE are here, sharing this moment, together.

In this singular moment, what can one say? What can one think, or do? All I can do is laugh, hysterically! After years of dreaming, suffering, failure, and accepting that I will always be outfished by my son and just about anyone else that owns a fishing pole, I am staring at a magnificent, prehistoric creature of a size that I never could have imagined. Given that fact, I don’t laugh for long. As sudden as the hysterical shock of actually landing this fish overcomes me, it evaporates into a heavy feeling of responsibility that now rests squarely on my shoulders. This fish, this dream, this perfectly evolved monarch of the ecosystem, is now in my hands, and I must handle this responsibility with both reverence and speed. I quickly power on my phone, pass it up to Andrew, and he snaps multiple photos, taking utmost care to support the body. After photos, I measure the fish on the ruler I have stuck to the inside of the canoe. This in and of itself is a comical task, given that the ruler only goes to 36” and I have to maneuver the fish under the thwart while trying to fully support the body to get the most accurate measurement possible. The head of the fish reaches all the way up to the very front of the third seat bracket from the ruler near my seat. This makes for an easy mark to remember to measure once we get back to the outfitter. I briefly hold the fish over the widest part of the canoe in the middle, and it easily hangs over each side. After another photo or two to be sure, I put the fish back in the water. We wait a minute or two while it recovers, then watch it swim back into the depths of the lake.

Andrew and I are beside ourselves with disbelief. I lay back in the stern of the canoe and let my laughter soar toward the heavens. It feels like my whole body is tingling with nervous, confused energy, and my head feels like it’s floating above my body. Once I finally regain control of my emotions, I pull up the anchor, reposition the canoe, and cast out my line, telling Andrew, “Line out on the right.” He looks back at me incredulously and exclaims, “That’s it?! You’re just moving on now?! You can’t just do that!” “Nothing else to do but try for another one I guess,” I deadpan with a smirk. Over the course of the next thirty minutes, we work this same area of the shoreline, coming up with a quality fish each time. Andrew boats yet another 16” Smallmouth, then I reel in a nice 29” Northern. Especially since we don’t have the time or battery power to capture photos of each of these fish, we become very efficient at unhooking, measuring, and releasing them, laughing out loud about how nonchalant we are about catching fish that only last year would have been cause for riotous celebration. After each catch, Andrew keeps repeating “What is happening?! How is this real life?!” It seems we’ve ventured into a world where even the average fish we catch will be significantly larger than any fish we’ve caught previously. Andrew caps off this most surreal hour of fishing with a terrific 17” Smallmouth, before the action finally slows.

Still starstruck, we paddle to site #2037 to regroup and clean the Walleye. I spend some extra time showing Andrew how to filet the fish and let him give it a try. With any luck, he’ll not only be a better fisherman than me soon, but also better at cleaning fish! A day like this could only be made better by one more perfect catch: a Lake Trout. We tie on a shad dancer and a tail dancer, and make plans to troll by some of the deeper parts of the lake on our way back to camp. We pick up a few choice logs of bleached white beaver wood nearby for the campfire, then make our way toward where we hope the lake trout reside.

We plod our way toward the campsite, trolling our lures for quite some time into a modest headwind that creates chop on the water, but nothing can dampen our enthusiasm today. Then Andrew has a fish on that feels like a good one, and both of us feel certain that we have finally found “Leonardo!” Though our premonitions were wrong when we felt this way on Rabbit, nothing can stop us today. After adjusting his drag, Andrew easily reels in a gorgeous 18”Lake Trout, his first ever, and the first one I’ve seen caught since my very first trip to the Boundary Waters, four years ago. That makes for a single-day “team” grand slam! Unreal!

Once back at the camp, I nearly fumble the Lake Trout back into the depths at the landing as I fiddle with the stringer, but today is apparently our lucky day once again, as I find a way to grab it before it swims off. While there’s plenty to do to prepare for supper once again, tonight these tasks are a joyful burden to be enjoyed and savored, rather than overwhelmed by. As I’m unloading gear, organizing camp, and processing the beaver wood, we banter about the best names for Boundary Waters fish. Lake Trout are to be named “Leonardo,” as they are truly a “magnum opus” species, uniquely evolved for these deep, clear northern waters. Walleyes are named “Winston,” a regal name befitting of their lofty stature in the hearts and minds of all fishermen. While we love catching bass, they receive the most simple name of “Boris,” occasionally abbreviated to “Bo.” Pike are dubbed “Spike,” matching their insanely aggressive attitude and unpredictability. Since I’m convinced today’s trophy fish was an aggressive female, I choose to name her “Petra,” a mysterious phantom goddess of the deep.

Before fully diving into meal prep, both he and I decide that this is a night that must be capped off with a brief celebratory swim. I flop into the shallow, icy water, half-jokingly shouting “State record pike!”, feeling the exhilaration of the frigid water enveloping my body along with the deep, meaningful joy that can only come after experiencing a fleeting moment of unspeakable success borne through years of patient pursuit.

Andrew volunteers to take charge of cleaning the Lake Trout, since he saw a YouTube video of how to gut and cook a trout whole over the fire this year and is eager to try it. I gladly hand the fish cleaning duties over to him and thus learn a new way to cook and clean fish. After removing the head, gutting the fish, and cleaning out the gut cavity and bloodline, he slices a few deep gouges in the body, which we season, and then simply lay the fish on the fire grate.

Between this healthy Lake Trout and the Walleye, we have no need for a dehydrated meal tonight, supplementing our fish feast with our standard appetizer of pan-fried summer sausage with cheese, cheez-its, and hot sauce, plus bannock, finishing with strawberry chocolate angel food cake for dessert. For the first time on this trip, I feel truly full.

As the sun sinks low on the horizon and with the “must-do” tasks of the day behind us, we allow ourselves to fully ruminate on the events of the day, savoring them, turning them over in our minds again and again, discovering new, miraculous details that led us to be right here, right now. The wonders are numerous!

-On my first trip to the Boundary Waters with my friend Shawn, we had planned on reaching the South Arm of Knife Lake, but stopped short and settled for a wonderful base camp trip on Ester. I did so many things wrong on that trip, and my fishing expertise was much lower than it is now. Had we made it to Knife, it’s possible we wouldn’t have had much luck here, and I don’t know if I would have been eager to return later with Andrew.

-Our parish priest at home, Father Marco, dispensed us from attending Mass once during our trip, but we had to slightly change our trip plans to make sure we attended Sunday Mass in Grand Marais before our entry date, even though it was inconvenient. This timing that seemed difficult at first ended up being the most perfect timing imaginable.

-Andrew’s suggestion of using the Mepps Black Fury, something I never would have considered on my own, and his insistence that one of us should use it.

-Catching just enough fish to keep us paddling onward to where we hit the jackpot. Both he and I were contemplating turning around! And had I not caught the Walleye on the Mepps, I most likely would have tied on a different lure!

-We found a heads up penny when first arriving at this site and left it on our table at camp. Maybe it brought us luck (or was it the lucky underwear we found hanging in the tree?)!

“Happiness is only real when shared.” ~Christopher McCandless

Over the glowing embers that have accompany all of life’s most treasured discussions, we allow ourselves to ponder what this all means. When Andrew asks me how it felt to catch the fish, I first tell him that there’s simply no way I could have caught it without him. I am here because of him. I tied on the lure because of him. My trips are now more fishing-focused because he is here. He netted the fish, took the all-important photos, and accentuated the memory by sharing in it, none of which would have been possible on my own. I tell him that the only thing that would have made it better for me is if he would have caught it. Andrew surprises me by saying he wouldn’t have it any other way, that he’s happier that I’m the one that caught the fish. He tells me that while many people don’t particularly like catching Pike, he knows no one that loves catching Pike more than me, and knew it meant the world to me to catch today’s trophy, the Pike of legend.

I share with him that part of what made catching this fish so unspeakably special is that he and I, by the work of our own hands, made it happen, together. No motors, no guides, and in many ways…no clue. This fish, in this place, simultaneously feels like an undeserved offering from the heavens as well as something we suffered for…a dream we have shared together for ages.

“I think everybody should…do everything they’ve ever dreamed of so they can see that it’s not the answer.” ~Jim Carrey

Andrew asks the classic question of “How did it feel?” While the moment was triumphant, the feeling that will stick with me forever is how I felt a heavy weight of responsibility upon me to care for this unspeakably magnificent creature. While I wanted to appreciate the moment, I have never so strongly felt the responsibility as a sportsman to cherish my moment, then return this fish, this incredible resource of this world-class fishery, back to the water unharmed.

A constant that we keep circling back to is more of a question than an answer. With this kind of success on our very first full day on the lake, what now? How has our perspective been changed today? After so many quality fish and one incredible trophy, where do we go from here? Last year, we were overjoyed when catching 24” pike and 13” smallmouth. Whether the fish are plentiful, sparse, large, or small, how can we appreciate each day of fishing we’ve been given as much as this day? Are we forever spoiled?

As the embers die, we approach the above questions with a cold hearted practicality: The setting of new goals for the remainder of our trip. These goals are:

Andrew: Catch a 20” Smallmouth (for myself: Just catch one 15” Smallmouth).

Andrew: Catch a Walleye (for myself: catch a Lake Trout) to complete the individual grand slam for the trip.

Both: Catch a Smallmouth or Northern on a topwater lure.

While these goals do little to answer the deeper questions of how today’s fishing success will alter our perspective and attitude going forward, they turn abstract thoughts into concrete pursuits: There is more out there for us, infinitely more than this modest goals list. The fact that I can still scarcely believe the events of today truly happened is evidence that they are already slipping into the past. Today is now in the past. Tonight, we sleep in victory. Tomorrow we will greet the morning as any other: With gratitude for a fresh new day, whatever it may bring.

Stats—> Paddle distance: 6.0 miles | Fishing time: 5:00 | Fish caught: 13 (8 SB, 3 NP, 1 W, 1 LT) | Lakes: South Arm Knife | Top lures: Z-Man Mini Max chatter bait (green pumpkin), Mepps 5 Black Fury (chartreuse skirt)