Alone - 2003

     We weren't truly alone, there were the four fishermen we passed on the first and third days. We saw them briefly and they saw us, that was about it. Then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere on day eight a dark-haired man motored past our camp. Of course we were sitting on our folding chairs thirty yards up and off the river and were unseen. That's it. If something happened to one of us we were screwed, plain and simple. Had we the slightest shred of sanity we'd have stayed home or gone to Minnesota's Boundary Waters where the wilderness was a little more civilized. As it was, the only person who had any idea of where we were was Larry Gogal and his idea was simply 'somewhere on the river - maybe.' In the years since I've given a lot of thought to side trips we might have taken, a half-mile bushwhack to five hundred acres of unnamed water and ten miles up a side river to a lake of serious size. Might have been the best fishing of a lifetime. But for sure not a soul on the planet would've had any idea where we were. Can't say I looked at it that way back then. Nope, that would've been way too wise. Instead we stuck to the plan, more out of fear of more unknown than I was up for and the possible misery it would no doubt require than anything else. Call it the guiding hands of cowardice and sloth. Sometimes character faults are an asset.
     Don't know what provoked me in the first place to running off toward the Canadian bush with my son in tow. Don't get me wrong when I write of the backwoods. The backwoods Allan and I traveled weren't that far back. Nothing at all like running the fast water of a river dumping into the Arctic Ocean or Hudson Bay. Not once did we truly stick our necks in the wringer. We tried back in '09 but a shortage of marking ribbon put a quick end to that foolishness. Better that I daydreamed that bushwhack to an unnamed lake in the novel I wrote. But on the trip of '03 we were as alone as we'd ever been, though it sure didn't feel that way.
     Our next campsite had it all, two side bays of size and structure galore. Would've even been better had we found any fish. Our landing told us to the inch how far the water level was down. Call the boulder strewn shelf a sitting man's belly button above the river. Again we had to pitch the tent back in the mossy woods but our kitchen and sitting area gave us a fine view of the sterile water below. Best part was we did dishes over duff and I didn't fall once. The fishing told us to spend only one night. A couple of hours paddle in the morning would bring us to huge Burntwood Lake and a rebirth of hope we'd find good fishing.