Packing

     What did I forget? Seems I always forget something. There's nothing left on the floor except the rug so I must have everything. Most is in the truck though the frozen stuff can't be packed till the gray of Wednesday morning. We've managed to pare the stuff down to three packs, each in the forty-five to fifty pound range though they feel a whole lot more. I've got the bug in me to save an hour or more by doing the three-quarter mile portage though the paddle down Pine Creek makes more sense. My seventy-two year old back says I'm crazy to even think of a long portage and my only answer is, "No shit."
     The forecast is for a slight chance of rain on three of the days, highs around eighty and a fair amount of humidity. No doubt we'll sweat so I'm leaving the long-johns and gloves at home. Honestly, I'd rather have it be fifteen or twenty degrees colder so the sleeping bag feels good at night. Makes me recall the trip of 2000 and night time temperatures hovering around freezing. Misery makes for a good story so I shouldn't complain. As usual Mother Nature will call the shots.

Broken Canoe Fixed (I Hope)

     I've had the Kevlar Wenonah for seventeen years. Bought it at an overstock sale for a trip that didn't cooperate. My son Allan and I were as ready as ready could be, light gear, lots of food and the thrill of a ten mile lake crossing followed by a four mile portage waiting up in northwest Manitoba. That day we learned it's possible for a fifty thousand acre lake to be frozen solid in early June when you're five hundred miles north of the border. Oh well, we had a plan B that provided two weeks of the best fishing we'd ever had.

     The canoe was exactly what I was looking for, light weight and formed from leftover patches at the factory. Only problem was it didn't have a carry yoke. Not a problem. I fashioned one from ash, broke it on the first trip and never replaced it. Over the years the boat suffered from not having a center thwart and an eighth of a ton Iowan bouncing around up front. First the aircraft aluminum seat frame snapped and I rebuilt it from ash and added cane seating. Last year one of the aluminum gunwales split. Not good. Earlier this spring I braced the split with a pair of heavy duty straps bolted in place and yesterday reinstalled the center thwart a tad behind center to allow the use of a clamp on carry yoke. She's a jury-rigged joy to behold and ready for Brian and my trip next Wednesday. Took me seventeen years to do what I should have done on day one. For me that's a little ahead of normal.

Old Man Shows Glimmer of Wisdom

     Yup, I've gone and done it, asked for help from a complete stranger. Our Boundary Waters trip narrowed to one choice today when I found the name and e-mail address of a man who'll cart us across big Lake Vermilion to the portage into Trout Lake. There was a time not so long ago when I'd have hammered the miles one way or the other and then I recalled Allan and my first two week trip in Manitoba. We made it one mile the first day and nearly sank on the way. Big waves on big water make canoes seem real little. Anyhow, seventy-five bucks will nearly eliminate the possibility of being windbound. I've already done that enough for one lifetime.
     If this was twenty-five years ago I'd be envisioning big fish and lots of them. These days I'm hoping for a meal or two and decent weather (no broken bones would also be nice). Seeing as how Lonnie Johnson—our tow man— heads the Guide Association on Vermilion and specializes on fishing Trout Lake maybe I'll pump him for some fishing ideas?

Old Man's Back Strikes Again

     Yesterday I was sitting in a chair checking out my reels when my back spasmed and went south in a hurry—third time in the last six months. It could be the way I'm built, the abuse I've put my body through over the decades or maybe even the result of Lyme disease. Most likely I'm simply wearing out. It didn't take but a few minutes to say bye-bye canoe trip. When I woke this morning I was in a serious funk about reaching the end of my wilderness road.
     However, I kept hitting my head against the 'never again' wall till a couple of options spilled from my brain. Spoke with Brian and we agreed there'd be no more long portages in our future. That led us to the possibility of paddling three miles farther north on Trout Lake to a navigable creek that'd take us to Pine Lake and it's wonderful fishing. Or—plan B—head to another entry point and take the Moose River south into Big Moose Lake and it's wonderful fishing. Both routes call for only a couple of short carries unless the beavers have been busy.
     Crossing big Lake Vermilion to reach the Trout Lake portage had me concerned from the get-go. If the wind was up we'd be sitting on the shore watching the waves roll by. The solution was to also reserve the entry to Big Moose. If the forecast calls for wind we'll head up the Moose River. If not, we'll cross Vermilion. Anyhow, we now have two permits for the same day.

Not Yet Too Old (I Think)

     I turned seventy-two last March, guess that makes me half gross. I'd put any kind of canoe trip off in a corner of my brain where it wouldn't do me any harm. That's called wisdom. Then about a week ago, while my wisdom was taking a nap, the possibility of a Boundary Waters trip paddled forward and made itself at home.

     Honestly, over the last year or two I'd mentally mapped out and researched a fistful of possibilities that ranged all the way to renting a boat and motor for a week in Voyageurs National Park. Also another couple of boat-in and fly-in trips over the border. If you want to catch big pike and can come up with seven grand for four people, I'll let you in on a primo trip. However, there are two affordable boat-ins I think I'll keep to myself. 

     Anyhow, I asked Lois if she was okay with me doing another canoe trip and she only raised one skeptical eyebrow. Ten minutes later I texted my nephew Brian—he was my only possibility—partly hoping he'd be too busy and would say no. Didn't work out that way. Nope, seems he'd been thinking along the same lines and recalling the good times we'd had in the backwoods. 

     At the moment we have a permit reserved for June 26. For a change we're heading out of Ely toward a back corner of the Boundary Waters. Fishing's supposed to be pretty good, the lakes quiet and the portages look to be doable for a man with more wrinkles than sense. Normally, I wouldn't give late June a consideration but spring's been a little slow up near the Canadian border. Hopefully the fish will be ready for us and the bugs won't be too bad.

Tales from Deadman Lake

     The above title and Between Thought and the Treetops are available at Lulu.com

Life is Short

     Had a northwest Manitoba fishing trip set up for this summer with my grandson Jakob, son-in-law Ryan and his dad Larry. Ryan and Larry are pike fisherman to the bone, so is Jakob but he doesn't know it yet—his genes allow him no choice. I was excited, they're excited, even Steve Japp who runs the one-man Elbow Lake Lodge was excited. Steve's read my first two books and he feels an affinity with my fictitious Uncle Emil. Good man.

     Anyhow, about two months ago Larry was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer and given a year to live. Sure not something anyone wants to hear. To date he's gone though surgery, chemo and radiation. He's done it well but Larry's always been that kind of man. If you've read my postings you're probably familiar with him and his days in the back seat of a canoe putting Ryan onto hordes of bass and pike.

     If Larry hasn't given up hope and is sound of body, somehow or other we'll put another trip together. Won't be an expedition but there are several classic Minnesota border lakes that will have something available for us. Ryan's said he'd like to get one last shot at boat time with his dad. So would I.

     I guess there's always another year till there isn't.