“Every bit of water had turned to gold and, as the valley darkened, it looked as if molten metal had been spilled and dribbled over the black velvet of the land.”
-Sigurd Olson - p.#123, Runes Of The North
My second night in the national forest was spent with a family of beavers; 5 to 6 of the rather large rodents if I had counted correctly in the evening’s waning light reflected off the lake. Throughout the ensuing darkness I was serenaded by their moans and whines as they communicated about the best softwoods to gnaw and chew as a food source. Several times I woke and could have sworn they were just outside my tent. Each time I checked, however, I was assured they were still down in the lake, 40 feet away, when they loudly slapped their tails in alarm. The setting for my campsite was like that of an amphitheater; with a small bay at the foot of a knoll rising up off the shoreline and the space I was temporarily calling home. Sounds rising off the water amplified clear and true. A fallen tree trunk just beyond my beached canoe provided a nocturnally safe venue for the beavers to sit and chew nutrient rich bark; systematically turning the branch like one would a cob of corn at a summer’s day picnic.
As the falling leaves of red and yellow could attest to, the Northwoods were deep into the season of autumn. It was perhaps a week out from peak color, but the view from the ridge was spectacular none-the-less, as the morning light slowly built and began burning off the mist.
Looking Down Klondike Lake
I filled my pot with water and made a small fire to begin heating it for oatmeal. Although my previous morning’s breakfast had been a delicious stick-to-your-ribs skillet, I do love hot oats with a smattering of granola, cranberries, and brown sugar toppings; both for its ease as well as its taste. As I ate and looked out over the lake, I noticed that the beavers had departed for the day to groom and rest in the fresh, dry, confines of their lodge across the lake.
Having spent the first couple of days paddling, portaging, and camping my way into this fifth body of water within Michigan’s Big Island Lake Wilderness Area, I made a plan for the day centered around my campsite on Klondike Lake. I decided two main goals would be to fish and explore. They seemed like worthy objectives. First I tidied up around base camp and organized some of my gear. Although the air temperature began the day in the upper 30’s, it promised to warm up once the sun broke through the thin cloud layer. Until that time, I dressed to be comfortable.
 |
| My Campsite And Tent Up On The Knoll. |
Once loaded with a pole, net, and small backpack of fishing gear, I pushed my canoe out into the water, around a point, and into the southeast corner of the lake. While some of the trees were now bare, the birches were golden and the red maples deeply rich. Interspersed throughout the forest's hillside were the dark green boughs of the needled white pines and hemlocks. The view as a whole could have been best described by something other than words themselves; perhaps with fire tipped brushes of a Bob Ross-esque painter. I fished the still waters clockwise around the bay, taking note of the portage trail going even further into the interior and the sixth lake. Unlike the other couple of times that I’d fished on this trip, I came up empty handed. Fortunately the sun broke out of both the slight cloud cover and over the tree line at about that time. As a result, I decided to paddle across to the northeast side of the lake where the sun was shining directly within a gently recessed cove.
The Cove Off In The Distance
I’m kind of partial to open coves or nooks. They aren’t as deeply cut as a bay, and yet they still tend to drop off nicely. Such a nook is a great habitat for bass and pike — with water that can warm while still providing a quick escape into deep dark depths. It’s a habitat for hunkering, lurking, or ambush.
Using a lightweight grappling hook of an anchor I had portaged in from the trailhead, I positioned myself within easy casting distance from the shoreline reeds and the drop-off. Right away I caught two large mouthed bass. The second a nice 16 incher that fought well and already had a fat belly to help through the winter months soon to come. After that I caught so many northern pike that I honestly lost count. They were mostly in the 20-24 inch range and hit with vengeance. It was fun, and combined with the sun on my face, I was feeling pretty good.
That feeling of enjoyment and contentment had at times been muffled on this particular trip. Those different emotions were a strange change of events for me. Typically I’d be excited and grateful for such an opportunity as spending days on end in a wilderness area. And while I was appreciative of the time, gear, and remote backcountry, I had also come in a little more on the side of being nervous and anxious. The fluttering leaves in my stomach hadn’t been enough to keep me from venturing forth, but it was close; touch and go as they tend to say.
Bathed with cool temperatures at my launch two days prior, I had pushed off using the broad tip of my paddle; enjoying the fall colors, solitude, and beauty while assuring myself that everything would be alright. Why the tension in my soul? I do not know! Perhaps it had been the expectations. Perhaps it was the added pressure of needing to be one step ahead of my decision making while paddling on my own; miles from the nearest person. Perhaps it was just life stuff. Either way I found myself harboring apprehension while exulting at the chance to delve further into the area’s lakes and forests than I had last fall.
After switching from a spinner bait with a trailing hook to a #5 Mepps — simply for something different — I hooked into a pike closer to 26 inches. It was strong; diving and thrashing with violent head shakes. I said, aloud to nobody in particular, “And that folks is why I bring along a big net!” As I scooped him up, he threw the lure, but stayed nestled down within the soft rubber mesh. I smiled to myself for a brief second before he launched one last time; up and out of the deep, large hooped net and back into the lake from which he came. I stopped smiling and sat still for a few moments, letting the sun bask. With a shrug of shoulders I took my time to mentally regroup and then went back to the task at hand.
Not long after that, and a couple of fish later, I landed a ripsnorter of a 24 inch pike. Its green body and yellow dashed markings were magnificent in the light! I carefully slipped my fingers up inside the outer flap of its gills, with my left thumb up over its snout, and lifted it up for some great pictures using my phone. There is absolutely no service in such a place — which is kind of the point of being there — but even with the device on “airplane mode” my phone can take great pictures with excellent color and clarity.
It was then that I decided to keep the pike and have it for lunch. I didn’t want it to suffer, so I decided to dispatch it by thumping it on the head. But when I tried, using a pair of multitool pliers that a friend had given me as a gift, the fish jerked and my thumb slid over and into a tooth sticking up out of its jaw on the other side of its mouth. I silently yelped, and proceeded to smack him once again. And wouldn’t you know that the same exact darn thing happened again! Lightning struck twice when I forgot to use my brain. And it hurt like the dickens! I was gripping tight to an angry pike, and my blood was now pooling on the bottom of the Nova Craft canoe.
I sat for a moment and then grabbed a stringer, ran it carefully through the pike’s mouth, tied it off on my seat, and threw it overboard. Because I tend to do these types of things, and fish with teeth are unpredictable, I carry a baggie of first aid equipment. I took out some gauze, wrapped it around my left thumb, and held it tight.
What a beautiful day it was. The sun was shining, the water glistened, and the surrounding hills of hardwood trees were ablaze with color. I spun circles in my canoe; still anchored in the cove. Gradually the pressure reduced the blood flow. I applied a glob of antibiotic cream and two bandages to the slashed wounds and then wrapped athletic tape both up and over my thumb as well as around it to hold it all in place. That procedure seemed to do the trick, so I pulled up my anchor and paddled back to camp.
When you’re camping in the bush, cutting firewood is a constant chore. I had a small pile, but I also knew that I’d need some more, so I set to work. Grabbing my leather gloves and foldable saw, I hiked the nearby ridge. Soon after I dragged back some dead and dried maple, white pine, and beech trees that I cut up into manageable lengths. I cleaned the pike and got two beautiful fillets; cutting both in half to produce 4 thick chunks of meat that I covered in original Shorelunch breading.
For the trip I had brought along my old aluminum mess kit from the days when I was in Cub Scouts. It was light weight, compact, and the perfect piece of equipment for the journey; even at 50 years old! Once the fire was going, I added olive oil and a little butter to the kit’s aluminum skillet to fry up the fish in two separate sessions. To my delight the fillets came out golden brown and tasted absolutely delicious; in fact, they were mouthwatering. I had hoped to have a catch and cook experience on this trip, and while savoring the seasoned fish, it surpassed my expectations!
Once I had cleaned up, I again found myself looking out over the lake. Now what? Should I sit and relax while reading and writing? Should I go explore? I was continuing to enjoy my experiences but still felt an inner pull, or perhaps an inner uneasiness. Since I was already using the evenings within the tent to read and write using my headlamp, I elected to go explore the next lake over. The weather was absolutely gorgeous at that time with warm temperatures and sunlit views, so I decided to take advantage of the situation. I threw the fishing gear back into my canoe and added my small Canon camera on the off chance I happened to see any interesting animals away in the distance.
Shoving off, I rode the slight breeze to the portage. Now as an explorer, and because I had no intention of paddling around the next lake, I pulled my canoe up onto the bank and left it as I hiked up the trail. The forest was much like the area where I had grown up, so my senses were heightened and alert. But not alert enough to prevent me from stepping into some muck up to my ankles in the middle of the trail. Once upon a time people had thrown down sticks and logs to cross thirty feet of soupy soil — but it wasn’t sufficient. The spring water seeping out of the embankment made it tough to walk through. My shoes were now wet and black with silt, so I climbed up onto the steep hill beside me and skirted around the area; hopping fallen tree trunks.
At about that time I could see a narrow pond to my left. As I continued walking, I realized that the pond was a drainage from Vance Lake that soon appeared on my right. A marsh and old beaver dam separated the bodies of water. Here too was another great campsite. I made a mental note of it for future reference. I imagined being situated 6 lakes into the wilderness area by myself. There was something alluring about that idea, and I was sure that I would solo camp there on Vance Lake at some point, but I also wondered when friends or cousins were ever going to retire so they could one day join me. They’d love the setting and quite honestly there are times when I wouldn’t mind the company. I looked around the site, peered out over Vance Lake, took several pictures with my phone, and then began my hike back; this time careful to avoid the muck trap!
While trudging along in my wet shoes and socks I started thinking about the trip's overall purpose. It had been a great day; a great excursion for that matter — despite getting slashed earlier by the pike. As stated, that had been my own darn fault. It was Wednesday. I had planned on going part way out on Thursday and then complete the task on Friday. I was once again feeling that inner pull, however, and began to think that a Monday through Thursday trip was more than enough. I had camped at a couple of different sites, caught and eaten a fish, witnessed some beautiful scenery, and explored another new area. As long as I could pack up early, paddle and double hike my gear over 5 lakes and portages to where my Jeep was parked at the trailhead — while leaving enough time to drive the roughly 6 hours back home — then I felt like it was worth it. I had completed everything I had set out to do! I suddenly felt calm and satisfied with my decision. I would simply enjoy the rest of my afternoon and evening before heading out on the morrow.
Upon arriving back at Klondike Lake and my canoe, I decided to fish the far north end before returning back to the campsite to cook dinner and sit around a fire. As I paddled by the cove I had fished that morning I took a couple of casts, caught a small pike, and released it back into the water. It’s simple enough; I enjoy catching fish — especially those hard hitting pike! The thing about that species is that they are overtly slimy. It’s both a suit of armor that protects against disease and infections as well as a means to be more hydrodynamic and streamlined. It allows them to be the fearsome predator that they are! Even though I always wet my hands before picking up a fish to minimize any impact on them, I still had slime on my fingers, in addition to the now stinky bandage around my thumb. I reached over the side of the canoe to quickly wash off in the lake. In that split second I went from rinsing to tipping. It happened that quick!
I literally grew up paddling a canoe and later kayaks; logging countless hours on the water, and have never tipped over once. But in that moment, history mattered not one iota! I went from being comfortable and content to slightly panicky and definitely wet.
Some of that afternoon is quite honestly a blur, but I remember jumping over the side gunnel to clear out of the way as water started to pour into the canoe. It allowed me to grab the edge and quickly push it back upright; albeit now with about 8 to 10 inches of water inside of it. I kicked a half dozen or more times towards shore before suddenly touching the bottom with my toes. The lakebed was solid; much different than the lake I had camped on last year that was deep and never sported a shallow section at any point — even along the shore. I slowly walked the canoe to the bushy edge and realized that my new life jacket had worked perfectly. It hadn’t slipped up as the salesperson at Rutabaga Paddlesports had feared. It stayed snug and I stayed supremely buoyant. In other words, it earned its keep and was well worth the small amount I had to pay on top of the gift certificate they had sent me for purchasing my canoe there last fall.
Miraculously everything was still in my canoe; my pole, net, backpack, and camera still in its case. Even the pliers I had just used to extract the hook from the pike’s mouth were still in a side pocket of the pack; although I hadn’t remembered putting them there and feared at first that they were at the bottom of the lake. I threw all of this gear up onto the bushes, turned the canoe over within the water, and then lightly lifted it while flipping it back “right side up.” It was that simple! It’s amazing how easy the process of righting a canoe is when your feet are planted firmly on something solid. In fact, there’s probably a lesson hidden somewhere within that statement. I was also surprised at the relative temperature of the water. It wasn’t as cold as I had feared. I allowed myself to smile at the thought that at least the muck was now washed from my shoes and would be clean once again.
That smile quickly changed when I remembered that my phone had been in my pants pocket! I’m not sure what the actual feeling was right then, but it probably fluctuated somewhere between horror and emotional numbness. I reached down into the water, took it out of my pocket, and carefully placed it in my fishing backpack; right next to the waterproof phone case I had brought along for the trip. The phone spasmodically buzzed for a brief second and then fell silent — never to work again.
With the canoe now floating next to me, I reloaded my gear, and hopped up and into the hull. The paddle back to camp was purposeful and true. Once back, I glanced at the sun. I had about an hour and a half to two hours at best before nightfall. I quickly started laying out my fishing gear and opening any kind of container that needed drying; phone included, even though it wouldn’t do any good. What was to become of all my pictures and videos I had been taking on my phone over the last three days? There were so many great ones! I recalled that the last known picture saved to cloud storage, before I was out of range of any service, was of me in front of Dobber’s Pasties in Escanaba. I knowingly feared the worst.
While I did take off my life jacket to let it begin drying, I left everything else on; although wet, I was at present warm enough. I grabbed my saw and went back to cutting up more wood before starting a fire. After adding to the stack, I went up to my tent. Fortunately I had a couple extra layers of long sleeve shirts I could wear, but with my only pair of pants now hanging in the branches of a white pine, I put on the running tights I had brought to use as a thermal base layer if needed. It completed the unusual ensemble but more importantly it worked to keep me warm.
I cooked a quick dinner of a brat and allowed myself the simple pleasure of hot cocoa. While tipping and getting wet was slightly embarrassing, very humbling, and a hassle, I felt as though I had done everything as well as possible following the mishap and was now dry and safe. I had learned a lot about both myself and how to handle what could otherwise be classified as a scary situation. In addition, there was no way those clothes would dry overnight with temperatures beginning to fall into the mid 30’s, but if they could at least stop dripping, they would be a little less heavy when I packed out the following day.
I cleaned up my gear, hung my food bag from a hemlock back in the ravine, and got in my tent to hunker down by 7:30. I had some reading and journaling to do on all of the day’s activities, but not before standing on the shore and watching the beavers return with new branches to chew throughout the night. They didn’t slap their tails in alarm this time, and although they did watch me, they went about the business of slipping up onto the sunken tree trunk — which allowed me to take a couple of pictures using the Canon camera that remarkably came through the tipping ordeal unscathed.
Throughout the night I woke every couple of hours in anticipation of the first rays of dawn and putting the hammer down to start home. Twice I looked out and spotted within the beam of my headlamp a crazy snowshoe hare making a guest appearance as it hopped around in the nearby bushes with its large padded feet. Each of the other times I stirred and heard noises it ended up being the beavers again. I was beginning to feel like we were becoming good friends; those large, brown eyed, flat-tailed rodents and me. It was like they were making sure that I was either doing okay or at least not doing anything else ill advised. Perhaps the whole “eating branches” thing was an incognito cover-up to look inconspicuous while keeping one eye glued to how I was doing. There’s something reassuring about having some mates to share an adventure with; even with our lack of direct vocal communication. Still, I did talk reassuringly to them whenever they cruised near the campsite’s shoreline.
The following day I woke early, skipped breakfast to pack, left a message on the remaining firewood for the next camper to pay it forward while enjoying the Northwoods, and paddled out to the trailhead. Cruising into the thick fog under the rising sun was surreal, but was also vintage Klondike Lake. Especially surrounded by the golden glow of the rustling yellow birch leaves.
See you along The Way…
 |
| I Camped Under This Massive White Pine. |
 |
| I try To Always Leave A Pile Of Firewood For The Next Camper. |
 |
| And I Typically Leave a Message With My Symbol & The Phrase: "Pay" It Forward. (Instead Of "Pass" : ) |
 |
| Morning Mist As I Began My Journey Home. |
 |
| The Golden Glow Of The Rustling Yellow Birch Leaves On Klondike Lake. |
 |
| The Sun Upon Coattail Lake (Where I Had Camped My First Evening). |
 |
| The Portage Down Into Mid Lake. |
Epilogue:
I learned a lot on this trip; what to do and what not to do. Oh, and what to do when you don’t have a choice and life simply happens…quickly and without warning despite your best intentions! Somehow you problem solve and put one foot in front of the other — or put another dip of the paddle into the water and pull yourself forward.
Once I was back to the trailhead with my gear piled beside the Jeep Liberty, I ate a couple of hard boiled eggs that I had saved, changed into some extra clothes I had brought along in the back seat, and then began loading up my equipment. But, not before running into the BassBros YouTubers who were themselves preparing to paddle into the wilderness area for a few days. It was fun to talk to the brothers and share experiences while looking over a map of the area. It would have been an epic ending to my trip to have gotten a selfie picture with them, but, well — without a phone it didn’t happen. Ha Ha, next time! The cool thing is that they traveled to some of the same lakes and sites that I had, but in an opposite order. You’ll have to check out the great video of their trip at: 3 Days Canoeing the North Woods Wilderness. Thanks for the couple of shout-outs guys!
On my way home I made a return stop for a U.P. pasty at Dobber’s. As I've written before, I just love those meat and veggie pies with their flaky crust; especially fresh and warm. The quick stop also allowed me to use their land line to call my wife and tell her I was coming home a day earlier than originally planned. Three hundred and fifty miles from the trailhead and after a long day, I made it back to our house by 7:00 p.m. Which meant that at about that time, 5 lakes into the Big Island Wilderness Area, the beavers were going back to work and gnawing on sticks for the evening.
