Matt and I would become lifelong friends after the two of us made our way into the Ontario wilderness for several days of hiking, camping, and fishing.
We shouldered our packs, aluminum canoe, and walked from the truck to the trailhead marker, which was nothing more than a small weathered wooden box & sign mounted on a post. If you didn’t know where to look you’d never see it. We signed in with the date we were going in and our expected date of return.
I had been hearing about this adventure from Matt for a long time. I spent all winter getting in shape for the long 4 to 5 mile walk. Depending on a lot of things it could be a miserable hike. At best it was going to be a lot of work.
We stuffed a sleeping bag in each end of the canoe and set off “up” the trail. The first half mile was all up hill and even though it was a cool spring day the sun and exercise soon had us sweating. It was also a good “warm up” and by the time the trail started down hill for a little ways we were both feeling pretty good. Unfortunately it was also my turn to carry the canoe. It was unfortunate because this part of the trail was now blocked by all the brush that had been bent over by last winters snow. The technique here was to tip the front of the canoe down and push as hard as it took to get through. Seeing only Matt’s feet just ahead kept me on the trail. Which was getting harder & harder to follow. That’s where Matt became the real guide, he’d been here many times before & knew where to go.
We traded off carrying the canoe about every half mile although it seemed like each one was a little longer than the last. At one point I could see water ahead through the trees, when I asked hopefully if that was our destination I heard only sarcastic laughter. We were only half way there. Not a problem, it was a fantastic spring day and there is something special for me about being in the woods in early spring.
Every now and then we would see the splayed out track of a moose in the muddy trail. At times small rivers of water and mud rushed down the trail around our boots. Other times we slogged through long flat areas of muck and standing water. This was Ontario alright. Now I knew why Matt suggested I tuck my pants into the top of my Bean boots and why he told me to oil them up good too.
The hills became more rolling and then we were in something more in common with a northern Michigan cedar swamp. And the trail? I didn’t have a clue, I just knew the general direction we were going. I am not sure how Matt could carry the canoe and still see where we were going. By the time I saw water again I knew we were close. We were both ready for a break.
Then I saw something unexpected, a wood box up ahead. It was maybe two feet tall and three feet square. The plastic toilet seat on top solved that mystery. It turns out that even though our camp sight was nothing more than a small clearing on a high spot beside the lake, the MNR (Ministry of Natural Resources) had it marked as a designated camp sight and they were nice enough to provide an outhouse. Well, kind of. It was still better than grabbing a tree trunk.
It had taken a few hours but what a great spot. The lake was that dark green you only seem to see here in Canada. With almost no wind blowing there was the perfect reflection of a huge rock cliff on the other side of the lake. That and the cloudless blue sky made it all worthwhile.
Setting up camp was quick and easy, we didn’t bring much with us. I for one was anxious to start fishing. That seemed to surprise Matt a little. I guess the fact that I would be turning 40 the next day made him think I’d need a nap or something.
As Matt paddled slowly around the shoreline I tied a small spoon to my pack rod and cast it up toward shore. On the second or third cast I let the spoon drop back behind us and “trolled” a little. Matt said the lake was deep here and the fish would be down near the bottom. Shortly after that I had my first fish. Nothing real big but it would be more than enough for our dinner. Matt was content to paddle us around while I fished. I wasn’t going to argue with him. Spectacular scenery, a lake that was maybe 30 acres with a rock cliff on one side and the rest surrounded by a mix of evergreen & hardwoods. Catching fish every few minutes, did I mention the cloudless blue sky? What better way to spend ones 40th birthday. By the time we decided to head in and start dinner I had caught and released several more lake trout. All on that one small spoon. A good thing because my tackle box was small enough to just fit into the cargo pocket on my pants. Only bring in what you want to carry Matt had said.
Matt prepped dinner while I scrounged firewood. Before I knew it we were both ready for bed. Sleeping on the ground wasn’t difficult at all that night. Before we crawled into our sleeping bags Matt said we were going to go for “Brookies” in the morning.
author’s cabin during wintertime
We got up well after the sun and after working out some kinks we had coffee and a quick breakfast. That’s when I found out that “going for Brookies” meant carrying the canoe to another lake. Matt told me that there were both brook & lake trout in the lake we were camped on so I assumed that’s where we were fishing. After all, we did just get here didn’t we? No problem he said, it’ll be worth the hike and it isn’t that far. At least we were not carrying much other than the canoe, just one small pack with lunch and a few things just in case.
Off we went back the way we came in. I was puzzled a little but Matt promised big brook trout so I kept quiet and followed along. Back through the swamp and then a long narrow wet spot that turned into a stream that lead us to a rocky waterfall. That’s where Matt took over carrying the canoe, UP the waterfall? Really, there is a lake at the top of the waterfall?
The rocks made an easy ladder for us to climb and yes, once at the top there was not just one but three small lakes. Two were easy to see with only a narrow row of trees and rock separating them. The third one was visible once we were in the canoe.
It was looking like this would be a copy of yesterday’s weather and I was hanging onto that promise of huge brook trout as we paddled away from shore. Half way across the lake Matt told me to tie on a specific Blue Fox spinner. He said it was ‘the” brook trout lure.
It seems that most of the lakes in this area have some kind of cliff face or rocky island with a sheer drop off where all the fish are. That is where we headed, straight across the lake to a rock wall. We slowed the canoe and drifted along just close enough to cast the little spinners up against the rock. Let it sink a little and then bring it back just fast enough to keep the blade spinning. The first few fish hit hard and fought much more than the lakers I’d caught. We fished there until things slowed down and then we paddled around catching an occasional fish. The rock wall proved to be the best place to catch them on this lake. My biggest was over 20 inches.
We were not in a hurry, paddling occasionally and drifting as we fished. It was another perfect day. If anything the sun was getting a little warm, but we were not complaining. After a bagel sandwich on shore we tried that rock wall again. We caught a few more fish but the ones we had already released were not making the same mistake. Before long we were dragging the canoe over to the second lake and then the third. Neither of the other lakes produced the action of the first but we had been catching fish pretty much non stop there. Matt said this was typical of these three lakes.
What really ended our day was the fact that we were getting uncomfortable in the canoe. Of course we still stayed longer than we probably would have but really, what else were we going to do? So far we have been very lucky in our choice of dates for this trip. The weather was perfect, there were no bugs out yet and the fish were biting. I didn’t even want to think about leaving.
We stayed up a little longer that night sitting around the fire, looking at the stars and talking. As Matt put it, solving the world’s problems. Matt suggested we try another lake tomorrow, also a brook trout lake. How far is that one I asked. “Not far,” he said, “Just across this lake and over the hill.”
Day three was a little cloudy in the morning but ended up being nice overall. After paddling across the lake we beached the canoe between two twisted cedar trees. I was in the front of the boat and was surprised to see just how sharp the drop off was here. The water was pretty clear and the exposed tree roots really helped define the bottom before it disappeared into a dark green.
I could see what looked like a faint trail here but this end of the lake was pretty much low cedar swamp and little was growing around all the trees. After we tied the paddles into the canoe Matt picked it up and off we went. Just as he’d said, before long we were headed up a high hill but the trail was clear here. This was clearly a moose trail. Between all the tracks and droppings, that was obvious. I suppose the moose didn’t like climbing this hill any more than I did so they all took the same easy(est) route. After we finally reached the top I had the pleasure of carrying the canoe back down the hill. I am not sure which was worse, going up or down. Both were steep and slippery, but our destination was well worth it.
We came to a level soggy spot and up ahead through the trees I could see what looked like two rock cliffs less than 100 yards apart. A little farther down the trail and we were standing in water but still not at the lake. We could see it but the Canadian ‘bush’ as they say here is well named. The ‘bush’ tends to grow right up to and sometimes into the water. Don’t get me wrong, this was turning into a great adventure and these short hikes just added to it. I could not have been happier, at least that’s what I thought.
You couldn’t see much of the lake until you got out onto it, as before it was dark green and it reflected the rock walls that rose up along both sides. There was a small cove with numerous dead trees laying half in the water and half on shore. Farther down it looked like a long narrow lane that opened up to something yet unseen.
The first brookies hit right there in the middle of that first cove. Beautifully colored trout slammed our spinners, violently twisting and splashing their way towards the boat. Then suddenly they stopped hitting just like that. We moved along one shore where Matt said the fishing would be better. We caught and released more fish than I can remember as we moved farther down the lake all on that same little spinner. I was tempted to try something different a few times but I kept telling myself, if ain’t broke, don’t fix it!
I found out that the lake was more or less shaped like a long peanut shell with a large cove at the far end. In the middle of that cove we were suddenly catching fish as fast as we could land and release them then cast again. Many times they were hitting the lure as soon as it hit the water. Several times we saw other fish trying to take the lure away from the fish as we were pulling it beside the canoe. I have never experienced that kind of fishing anywhere before or since, except in that particular lake and yes, I have been back. As suddenly as it started it stopped. We continued to cast and drift along with a slight breeze but the word was out. They just stopped hitting our super spinners.
We stopped to get out and stretch on the huge broken rocks that lined one shore. We were surprised to find that there was still snow in between some of the rocks. We filled our empty lunch bag with it and put a couple of brookies on ice for the hike back. These fish were a bit smaller than the lakers so we kept a couple of them for dinner. On another trip to the same location someone decided that we should make ‘slushies’ with the old snow, a powdered juice drink and some bourbon. The occasional pine needle was easy enough to pick out. That went over nicely around the camp fire. Who would have thought you could have ice in your drink 5 miles from the nearest road?
Those simple fish dinners cooked over a small fire sure were good. Maybe it’s because all the fresh air and exercise gave us a big appetite. I guess everything is always better when you are in a good camp somewhere with a good friend(s) and the fishing is great. Those days seemed to fly by. No matter how often I do this, these are the shortest days of my life. An odd way to measure your life I suppose, but I think everyone feels the same when they are doing something they truly enjoy.
That first trip was more than 25 years ago now. Matt and I became close friends, we still fish together regularly but we do it from the comfort of my cabin in Ontario. Every time it rains there we sit inside & Matt says the same thing. “Just think, we could be sitting under a leaky tarp trying to keep a smoky fire going with wet wood”. Yes, they were great times but now we have all those things plus a comfortable bed, a warm cabin, and cold beer. Great times and great memories.
He is a life long resident of Michigan with an equally long love of fishing, hunting and the outdoors.
He and his wife have lived happily on a small piece of land in northern Michigan for the past 30 years.
They retired a few years ago and Jim spends most of his free time trying to get caught up on all the home improvement projects that he should have done on his days off instead of hunting and fishing.
He will likely tell you that he never tires of sitting in the deer woods where all of the worlds problems are easily solved.
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