This was our first fly-in and also our first serious fishing trip in Ontario. The idea, once again, was big pike and enough walleyes to kill and eat a couple. Over the winter I tied thirty spiffy-looking, bucktail treble hooks. In the spring I turned them into spinners, both single and double bladed. All were what I'd call #6 size—big pike, small musky. For the walleyes we packed a couple of dozen jigs and a few bags of plastics. That was it, jigs and spinners. For gear we had a half dozen rods and reels, backup line, and a landing net big enough for a small submarine.
Wasn't but an uneventful five hundred and forty mile drive. Over the ten hours the scenery changed from rush hour traffic to spruce, pine, rock, and lake but it still was a long drive. At seventy-one I don't handle half a day behind a windshield like I used to. Could be that I'm no longer as tall as I once was, my butt and head have grown uncomfortably close, and too much time on my backside can cause a headache. Could also be that the excitement level isn't what it once was. Adventure might still be calling but I don't hear like I used to. Good thing I was with my son and that's always a pleasure.
Along the way Al spotted a dead moose in the ditch. To some that might not be a highlight but these days we take our interesting where we can. Who knows, there might even have been a treasure worth collecting among the bones? However, we were in a hurry to have fun and figured being slathered by rotting stink might not be worth rooting through the festering cadaver. We drove on, hell bent for Red Lake.
The motel wasn't much but was clean and our room was far enough from the bar that we weren't serenaded at two a.m. Done that before and it's not as neat as you might think, especially where the alarm is set to six.
This mural was in the lobby. I'm not sure what's it's supposed to mean but figure moose, fish, and dead trees have a lot to do with it. In fact, the moose looked something like the one Allan spied in the ditch, bones and all. Anyhow, I thought it was a pretty spiffy painting.
Our check-in with Viking Outposts didn't take but a minute. Lacking anything better to do, we hung around to drill one of the owners on pike fishing Optic Lake where we were heading. Originally we'd signed up for Night Hawk but were told the water was too low. Seems they'd had a dry winter followed by a warm spring. The temperature had hit ninety-five the day before and our outlook was mid-eighties for the next week. Glad we'd brought short sleeves and sunscreen.
Anyhow, the word pike spawned a questioning look on the man's face, like no on had ever asked him that before. He all but blurted out, "Who the hell in their right mind would come to this part of the world to fish pike? This is walleye country. Troll and jig, Yank. That's why the good Lord invented the 9.9 horse Mercury. Oh, we've got pike all right. In fact we've got way too many of those nasty little line snapping pricks."
I suppose his words should have been a clue, but not for me. What the hell, this was Canada, there were big pike everywhere, even in flooded ditches. I know for a fact Canadians had no love for pike. They called them jackfish and figured them not even worthy to feed to dogs. We'd heard the same up in Northwest Manitoba and found the pike fishing to be excellent. As usual, I figured the locals who'd been fishing the lakes around us since they'd stepped out of diapers, had been missing the boat. We left, none the wiser. Learning the truth took a few days.
We were limited to 150 pounds of food and gear each. After finishing the paperwork in the morning Allan asked if the water at our outpost was filtered. A good question that he'd asked me several times and I'd given him the wrong answer each time. Roseanne, who handled the paperwork and money, simply said, "No." That changed things a bit. Though all our canoe trip drinking water had come straight from the lake, this time I had my doubts. Luckily, Viking had 18 liter jugs of potable water we could add to the dozen liters Allan had packed and we bought one. Didn't think we'd go through it all but we did.
Once loaded, we squeezed into a little Cessna float plane piloted by the other owner, Hugh. Later we heard Hugh probably had more hours in a Cessna than any other pilot in Canada. Nice to know and our twenty minute flight went just like the man'd been doing it all his life.
Don't know about you but every time I've been on a plane the takeoffs and landings always hold my attention. Not that I fear dying, more that I enjoy being alive. Between times, I peek out the window at the lakes and woods passing below, scanning the dials on the dash, and checking to see if the wings might be coming loose. Touch down is always a good thing.
Another party and a stack of gear was waiting at the dock for our arrival. I asked how the fishing had been and received an 'awesome' for an answer. Like that told me a lot. There was a time awesome was used for a category five hurricane, a moon launch, or a massive forest fire. These days the word's used for everything from a volcano to how good the beans at Taco John's taste. Guess we're easily awed these days. So what they said told me they'd caught a few, maybe a lot, who knows? I figured Allan and I would find out on our own.
While offloading Hugh gave us the lowdown on all we needed to know, "the cabin's up there, the water pump's at the end of the hose," and in ten words and two seconds, how to start the pump. Guess we'd figure it out on our own.
We weren't expecting five star accommodations but our cabin was more than adequate. Had most everything we needed including moose antlers:
Ten minutes of offload and Hugh was gone. Quiet ruled the land. I've grown to love quiet and don't mind hearing my heartbeat at all. Says I'm alive and my hearing's not completely shot.
