Doubled Up Backwards

It probably sounds fishy to tell a story backwards while reviewing through the events and details that develop its skeletal structure.  But that’s exactly what transpired within this tale!  The script itself ended within the early fall days of 2024.  That particular week we had a partial lunar eclipse on September 17th while in the midst of the Harvest (Full) Moon, which ironically coincided with the Super Moon.  You know, that time when the moon circles closest to Earth and appears larger than usual.  It was then that Cindy and I cooked up the pike I had caught at the end of August.  The tasty fish and pleasant evening was comforting as we ate out on our deck; belying internal stress and sadness.  The following afternoon, after a day with family in the healthcare center, Cindy’s Mom passed away.

A Partial Eclipse Of
The Super-Full-Harvest Moon

A Pike Fillet & Vegetable Stir-Fry Dinner
Out On The Deck

Three weeks prior to that, up beside one of the many lakes straddling the Oneida-Vilas County line in Northern Wisconsin, I tried practicing what my Uncle Bob preaches for filleting a pike.  The meat is sweet, flavorful, and oh so delicious when cooked in original Shore Lunch Breading and Batter Mix.  Some people don’t like to fish for pike because you risk losing expensive lures and tackle with their vicious strikes if you don't prepare with quality equipment.  Others don’t like to fish for pike due to the skeletal Y-bone along each side of their backbone when trying to fillet them out.  I’ve often kept a pike and simply filleted them out - leaving the Y-bones in them.  I don’t mind digging through the bones to experience the taste.  But on that date, with that pike, I watched and re-watched a video I had recorded of my uncle cleaning a pike enough times to make an attempt at cleaning it correctly while removing the Y-bone.

(Click here to watch my Uncle Bob filleting a Northern Pike)

I graded the first side of the pike I filleted with an “A”, but the second side received a self assessed “C”.  I still managed to harvest all of the edible meat on that second side, but it came off in several scrap pieces.  After cleaning the pike I packaged the meat in a zip-lock and packed it in ice for my trip back home and the dinner I mentioned out on the deck a few weeks later.

I had caught that particular pike while drifting in the northeast corner of a lake on which my parents have rented a cabin a couple of times each year since 2009.  They say it's so they can continue to get their “Northwoods Fix” after having moved to Southern Wisconsin from Northern Lower Michigan back in 2001.  As a rule, Dad keeps a detailed fishing journal and wrote about the events from that morning as we fished together.

Captain’s Log:

Wed. 8/28/24

Up at 6:45.  Cool, cloudy morning.  Temp. 60° Dew pt. 54°. Light NE wind.  We got ready.  Mike & I were on the water by 8:00.  We are still using Josh’s bigger, wider 16’ boat with the 25 hp. Motor.  Nice : )  We went to the far NE end of the main lake.  It was calm water, maybe 5 mph wind allowing us to drift and cast along the whole shoreline.  We made 3 or 4 passes of drifting and casting for pike or bass without a strike.  We both used gold #5 Mepps.  Finally I tried a Dardevle, then a #5 silver Vibrax with a red blade.  Nothing.  So we drifted closer to shore [under the watchful eye of an osprey] and went to casting worms and a bobber for panfish.

We caught a few “gills” and I caught a few crappies.  As I was bringing in a bluegill, a big pike zipped in and grabbed it.  Excellent!  The pike must be starting to feed.  Mike grabbed his Mepps and I my Vibrax.  He cast North and I cast South.  Within a couple of casts we both had a pike on at the same time [known as being “Doubled Up”].  Mine made 3 jumps on the way to the boat.  His stayed down.  Both pike ended up coming into the same side of the boat at the same time. 

Mike got a video of them beside the boat.  Then he took our big net and netted them both at the same time.  Mike’s pike had a big head, and measured at 29.5” and 5#.  My pike was 24.5” and 3#.  We dispatched them both, put them on a stringer, made a couple more casts for good measure, and headed back to the cabin.  We were back by 10:30.

CLICK BELOW FOR A QUICK VIDEO OF

DAD AND I DOUBLING UP ON PIKE:

With those two pike on our lines, it made for a fun but hectic few moments.  For that reason, we were relieved when they both threw their lure off while thrashing together in the net.  We removed the lures and untangled the lines before hoisting the fish for a couple of pictures.

Having us each catch a big fish at the same time was the climax to a quick trip Up North to see my parents.  They had the cabin rented for several days, and since I had time available, retirement allowed me the opportunity to join them for two of those nights.  It was the kind of spontaneous autumn get-a-way that keeps you dreaming of time on the water and time with family - especially as the colder months creep closer.

The first night after I had arrived, my parents fixed some hamburgers.  We struck out fishing afterwards, but were able to enjoy a great sunset over still water in a nearby cove.  It took a while to fall asleep that evening with hot humid temperatures; fans in the bedrooms saved the night!

The second day of my visit was a mixture of activities such as solo fishing in the rain, having a hearty breakfast with Mom & Dad, sitting in the back seat while heading to town for a quick shopping trip, and then after a little lunch, Dad and I fished again.  We both caught bluegills and I managed a large mouthed bass that measured just shy of 15 inches before it started raining again.

We fixed the fish for dinner that evening and topped it off with some ice cream at Cathy’s in Saint Germain.  It’s a tradition to go there at least once per visit as it’s hard to beat a night-cap of Moose Tracks or Mackinac Island Fudge.

We all hunkered down that night with chilly temperatures outside that were a 180 degree turn from the evening prior to that when we needed the fans to survive.  The following morning, unbeknownst to us at the time, we’d be busy and doubled up with those pair of pike.

Before I had even headed North to meet my parents, the story actually began with a teacher retiree breakfast.  For years I had pleaded with my former colleagues to keep it going until I could join them for their “Beginning of the School Year Gathering.”  One of the past educators had once commented to my plea by saying, “It’s really not that big of a deal Mike.  It’s just a bunch of old people getting together to eat.”  Ha Ha, That was funny!  I replied that it was important to me, because it meant that I’d finally rejoined the colleagues I had originally taught with back when I had first started my career at Prairie Hill School.

To show their appreciation, they put me in charge of organizing the shin-dig since I had the contact information for the retirees.  There’s nothing quite like being baptized into the fold with a rookie initiation like that!  Regardless, the breakfast food, coupled with a reunion among good friends, gave me the energy needed to drive North and meet my parents at a rented log cabin.  Who knew that 48 hours from that retiree breakfast, Dad and I would be doubled up with a couple of rambunctious pike on a favorite lake!

See you along The Way…

A Few Colleagues After A Prairie Hill School
District#133 Retiree Breakfast

Lessons Learned On The Water

It’s a lake once removed from the one on which we rent a cabin.  My Dad had been there on his own before, but on this day we loaded a canoe and two kayaks for him and me, plus three nephews.  Throughout the week on the main lake we had been catching some fish; most of them okay to decent by most accounts.  But on this newer lake, there was the hope for some pike or muskie, with the prayer that they’d be big.  The lake itself isn’t big water, but it’s water.  And although it's choked full of weeds across most of it, it apparently retained the necessary habitat that warranted an investigative fishing adventure.  It’s a lake that’s bordered by white pines instead of cabins, so it has that going for it as a wild flair.

Myself, Matthew, Max, Rowan, And Dad

After unloading the vessels, and loading up our gear, we split up; going in various directions.  I was in one of the solo kayaks and decided to work my way along the shoreline while casting into the soft stemmed bulrush.  Eventually I fished my way past an inlet creek to the eastern side of the lake.  It was at about that time that I had a big hit on my spinner bait lure; the one with the extra trailer hook that I like.  The fish was strong, fought hard, and when I got it up to the side of the kayak I was greeted with the toothy grin of a 30 inch northern pike.  In the distance I saw my Dad with Max and Matthew in the canoe down by the outlet, and Rowan in the other kayak was on the shoreline opposite from me.  Using my fish gripper, I lifted the fish up behind me and managed to get a selfie with part of it.  I elected to keep it, but without a dispatching club, I simply ran the rope stringer through its mouth and tied it onto the side of my kayak.  It was so chunky that it kept jerking my kayak around while I continued to fish.

Within several casts after that, I had a huge muskie follow my lure.  It must have been between 40 and 50 inches as it slowly cruised under my kayak, turned, and disappeared down into the weeds.  As I was positioned in my seat down next to the water, it was what you’d classify as up close and personal!  I froze, taking short little breaths, and after a brief wait, cast several times in the direction it had finned away, but to no avail.

I fished for a while longer and then got another hit from a pike, this one a 25 inch fish.  Rowan, upon seeing me with some action, paddled over to me and took a picture of me holding it up.

On a whim, not usually like me, I decided to keep this pike too.  Perhaps in the back of my brain I pictured a family fish fry, since we all enjoy the taste of fish and especially pike.  As I untied the first pike I had caught, and started to put the rope through the gills of the 25 inch pike, the 30 incher jerked and ripped the stringer from my hand.  Like a shot I saw it spiraling free down into the depths, I plunged my hand down into the water and managed to grab the very end of the yellow nylon rope.  With big eyes I looked at Rowan and said, “That was close!”  As I began to run it into the gills a second time, both of the pike simultaneously thrashed.  In the midst of the sudden turmoil within the close confines of the kayak, the wet stringer slipped from my hands again before I could recover!  The last thing I saw was the white bellies of two big pike and the tip of the yellow cord disappearing into the black deep.  I said a few frustrated words and sat there dumbfounded; unfortunately more dumb than founded.  There was absolutely nothing I could do but mutter to myself and stare at the water.  What had just happened?  Two prized fish were on a stringer down on the bottom of the lake and out of my sight.  I felt sick to my stomach.  Feelings of shame, guilt, embarrassment, and frustration flooded over me.  What I had done was so stupid.  I knew better than to have done what I had just done.  I switched out to my Red Eyed spoon lure, with the large treble hook on it, and ran it over and over through the water, hoping against all odds that I’d be able to snag the stringer and bring them back up.  All I could think of was the waste.  Taking something to eat is one thing.  Allowing something to suffer was another.  I felt as if I’d been selfish to think that I would need both fish.  In the midst of my casting and retrieving, two more muskies followed up to my kayak; somewhere in the 30-40 inch range.  They were tauntingly eerie in the way that they slowly cruised past me.

A bit later, when my Dad and the boys paddled up, I recalled the tragedy to them.  Literally as I was in the middle of retelling the details of my loss, the two pike and yellow stringer suddenly surfaced a mere 10 feet off my bow, splashed, and dove back down again.  I continued casting to snag them and hoped they would repeat their performance, but that would be the last I would see of my stringer of pike.  My Dad practically had to pull me off the lake when it was time to quit.  I didn’t want to leave!  As I helped load the kayaks, I rationalized that the 25 inch pike probably had a chance of pulling off the stringer, but there was no way that the 30 inch would.  Either it would stay tangled down in the weeds for a snapping turtle, or somewhere a yellow stringer would soon decorate one of the local eagle nests.  A blue ribbon for a prized find.  Finders keepers, losers weepers.

The rest of that afternoon I was depressed.  I sat on the swing outside of our cabin and talked to my sister for a while.  When it rained briefly, I took a 40 minute nap.  Afterwards, the family gathered at our cabin for a pork roast we had cooked in a crockpot, I read for a spell, and then we capped off our evening with ice cream in the small town not too far away.  It had been a day.

Making The Most Of An Otherwise Difficult Day

The following morning I took a walk down to the public boat launch and back to help clear the cobwebs from my head.  I felt like I needed to do something to get out of the funk I was in after the previous day’s disaster.  After breakfast, a couple of us went on a morning boat ride with my Mom in the resort’s pontoon raft.  While out we saw several eagles roosting in trees along the shoreline.  And then together with my parents and niece Maggie, we drove to a coffee shop where my wife was already working on some school work for her Master’s Degree, before we headed out to a cranberry bog and farm.  It was a great little trip on back country roads where we talked, saved turtles trying to cross on the blacktop, and munched on some of the packages of dried cranberries that I had purchased.

By lunch time my Dad had had about enough.  I think he felt like it was time to get me back in the saddle again and out fishing.  Time was a wastin’!  With the rest of the family busy with their own activities, we strapped his canoe onto his trailer and headed back over to the smaller lake; the scene of yesterday’s accidental crime.

After launching, we worked our way around the lake, pitching various lures to and fro.  Dad worked from the stern and I manned the bow.  Between the two of us and the gunwales, in the bottom of the canoe, was my brand new, rubber meshed, landing net.  It had a big hoop, extendable handle, and was the very one that Matt Nelson (aka: NDYakAngler) uses on his YouTube channel.  It’s nothing more than an Ozark Trail special from Walmart, but I secretly hoped it would help land a big fish!

After working our way from one side of the lake to the other several different times, and drifting in the slight breeze, I had a solid strike between mats of underwater foliage; in what appeared to be a deeper channel.  The fish swung our bow around, made a run, and then double backed under the canoe; with the sound of my pole’s tip slapping underneath us as the reel drag whined.  My pole was aimed out over the port side of Dad’s olive green, 14 foot Wenonah, but my line and the fish were somewhere over off the starboard.  The canoe spun under finned propulsion as Dad tried to guide us with his paddle.  Gradually I gained an advantage, saw it was a muskie, and managed to scoop it into my net on one of its numerous passes.  It was my third muskie in as many years at that point, but the first in my net.  Dad handed me his fish gripper so I could hook it onto its jaw, lift it, and have him take my picture.  It was a great scene and a great memory that would now be etched into my brain.  Who would know that somewhere in the waters behind that awesome snapshot, two pike were probably tangled in the weeds down below the surface?  I extracted the lure, eased the great fish into the cool water, and released the gripper; working its body back and forth until the 39 inch muskie slid off from my fingers.  A fish and experience like that helps to ease the pain of a mishap.

For the next half hour or so we continued to fish.  Dad caught and released a small pike and I had a trailing pike and muskie; neither of which were interested in actually hitting my lure.  We headed to shore, packed up our gear, and drove back along the dusty two track road; smiles etched on our faces.

That evening, with our family gathered around, we had an excellent dinner of tacos before several of us headed out for a sunset pontoon raft ride.  We had an osprey and eagle fly overhead and were able to get a great picture of them both.  The capstone of the evening, however, was the loon that surfaced as we slowly motored with hardly a ripple.  It was only 10-15 feet off the side of us, and actually made its wild tremolo call several times with us right there next to it.  It was exhilarating, and each of us found ourselves in awe of the spectacle.  It’s a sound that encapsulates the Northwoods.

So too the Northwoods can be an opportunity to catch a big fish.  Having a Northwoods experience as I did, surrounded by the actual Northwoods, is memorable.  It brings clarity as to what really lurks in the deep.  Being blessed with the encounter of a muskie, after such a heavy loss and painful learning experience, is nothing short of a gracious gift.  It’s one of the many lessons I’ve learned while out on the water.

See you along The Way…

____________________

Morning At The Cabin

An Osprey

A Bald Eagle

Dad

Mom

A Loon

Of Jungle Rot And The Esox Lucius

Remember campfire songs of yesteryear?  Nonsensical lyrics that concluded with the phrase, “Same song.  Second verse.  A little bit louder and a little bit worse!”  It was the kind of activity that easily whipped kids up into a frenzy as the song progressed.

  It was sort of like that for me as I hit the same river as I did last week, but this time with my friend Andrew.  Originally there was to be one trip with four of us.  Some bad, inclement weather changed things up on us, however, so one friend had to drop out, and while the other two still were able to go, it required two different dates and two separate trips.  It was actually my wife Cindy who said that I had the time, so why not just go twice in back to back weeks.  I didn’t question it, and the rest (as they say) has become history.

Andrew’s only two years older than my own son and less than half my age.  In fact, his Dad and I actually attended the same college together for a couple of years.  But since Andrew joined our teaching staff four years ago, he and I have hit it off.  Over the course of this last school year we’ve probably run a couple hundred miles together throughout midweek runs.  You tend to get to know one another when you’re running and talking to someone on a fairly regular basis.

Cindy again provided the necessary driving for us and our gear to be dropped off.  The weather over those two days was humid and borderline soupy; closer to what one might affectionately refer to as, “Jungle Rot.”  And while jungle rot may perhaps happen more to a person’s clothing and shoes under such conditions, it’s probably not far off from the truth of what could happen to a person’s own body if left unattended for a long period of time.  Still, time out on a river’s wilds is time out, and one doesn’t complain when subjected to such circumstances.  In addition, it was supposed to rain.  While planning things out the night before over a phone call it was Andrew himself that quoted me directly saying, “Like you’ve always said Rhines, you can endure anything for 24 hours.”  Yesh!  You can’t back out of anything after apparently saying something like that.  While I’ll admit that I don’t remember the exact time or place I said that, I won’t deny that it sounds like something I’d utter offhandedly; being mindful that real-life situations do exist that nobody wants to experience.  This adventure, fortunately, was not one of those situations.

We hadn’t paddled for long when we pulled off the main channel and into a jungly, backwater bayou.  It wasn’t deep, but when the sun chose to show itself for a brief period of time and help bake things a bit, it looked both inviting and promising.  Fish were indeed surfacing around us, but we didn’t hook into anything but submerged logs.  After some time, we decided to exit the sloughlike area so I paddled slowly while Andrew switched up his lure.  As we approached the divide where the main currents of the river started, I put down my paddle and cast up alongside the bank using my trusty old #5 silver Mepps spinner.  What I got in return was a chunky 30.5 inch pike.  He fought, and pulled, and was magnificent.  He did have a few war wounds on him, whether from an eagle or bigger fish I do not know.  Andrew took a quick picture for me and then I slipped the pike back into the water.  While it would have been nice to have had the pike for dinner, we still had a ways to paddle, and oftentimes it’s just as rewarding to get a picture, return them to the water, and know that right now that fish is somewhere in that river hugging a bank, with its toothy pike grin, waiting to zip out after some unsuspecting prey.

A 30.5 Inch Pike
Caught & Released

We continued onward at that point, and although we did stop to cast and fish one outside bend, the clouds were returning and billowing and so we pressed on towards our goal, hoping to set up camp before any rain started.

By 5:30 p.m. we had our tents up and quickly set to work to gather firewood so that we could get it covered and keep it dry.  Then we went fishing.  Although we didn’t catch any fish per se, we did snag into some underwater structure that we decided to take care of.  While Andrew hung onto his pole; attached to a lure that was attached to a “lure eating tree,” I went back to get my canoe.  Unfortunately in dragging it past my tent, I bumped it against one of my frame poles causing a slight tear that I’ll have to repair later.  It happens, even when you’re trying to be careful.

We spent the better part of the next hour dragging sticks, branches, and logs out from one particular hole, all while dancing around a rather large fishing spider that was literally running across the surface of the water.  It was large enough that it actually made paddling noises and created a wake while scurrying for the grasses on the nearby bank.  It was really cool, but I won’t lie that it also gave you the heebie-jeebies.  Once we had finished, we were soaked between the slight sprinkle, sweat, and water flung up onto us from the river.  In addition, I thought that I’d be nice and tidy things up by rolling one of the large branches further up onto the bank.  What I got in return was a branch, weak and muddy from being submerged for years, that snapped and whipped black muck across my legs, shorts, arms, face, and my bright yellow Joe Robinet “Exploring” T-shirt that I’d gotten for Christmas.  Perfect!?

Back in camp, Andrew worked on cutting up our food for dinner while I tried to coax the fire to life.  It was slow going with the damp air, but eventually our two paths converged and we set the food in the coals to cook.  I then promptly grabbed my towel to try to clean up before the jungle rot truly did set in on me.  Fortunately the river water was relatively warm, so I was able to perform a submersible push-up in a shallow, sandy section of the river, clean off, and avoid a catastrophe!

Back at camp in cleaner clothes, I realized to my disdain that I had forgotten the ketchup; a staple for most tinfoil dinners.  Luckily the food was delicious anyways, as well as necessary, to replace the energy we had been burning.  While it did sprinkle and rain off and on, we managed to miss the outright thunderstorms that went racing through to our South, and so I was able to read a couple of short stories from Patrick F. McManus before we tucked away for the night.  I had started the tradition with Justin the week before, only this time I read “Skunk Ladder” and “Mean Tents.”  I felt like they were relevant.  I concluded the evening in my tent by again reading a chapter from Sigurd Olson’s book entitled, The Lonely Land, but not before having to help along a giant wolf spider next to the zippered door of my tent.  Apparently it had wanted to join me inside.  I thought better of it, however, and encouraged it on its way back into the grass.

I woke early, but managed to fall back to sleep a bit longer before getting up and continuing to read; all to the sounds of the birds and last night’s rain dripping off from the trees.  I reread a section from The Lonely Land when in 1955 Sigurd Olson and 5 of his buddies paddled canoes down Saskatchewan’s Churchill and Sturgeon-Weir Rivers, following the ancient trail of voyagers and Hudson Bay’s fur traders.  I love the section where he details how at the base of Trout Lake Falls, three of his companions hook into three monstrous pike all at the same time; each fish weighing in at over 20 pounds.

Andrew and I came out from each of our respected tents by 7:00 and had our camp packed away and covered in a tarp by 8:00; just as the rain started again.  We grabbed our poles and waded through the tall, wet grass to the river.  We were soaked before we even saw the water.  Not much luck was had, other than a 20 inch pike that I caught and released, and so after a while we went back to cook our skillet during a break in the rain.  Again Andrew cut up the food while I worked on the fire.  It needed encouragement to get started.  We both laughed that at least it was only affecting the two of us.  If we had been cooking for the entire Gulo Adventure Clan of teaching colleagues, there may have been mutiny due to the time it took to get anything resembling a consistent flame started, let alone a breakfast cooked.

Andrew Fishing In The Rain From A Sandy Point

The Bald Eagle In The Dead Tree
Showed Up Three Different Times
To Look Out Over The River & Our Camp

Afterwards we fished a nearby hole again, but this time from a different vantage point.  As I stood back and watched, Andrew used a top water rubber frog, working it from the far bank out over the pool, amongst the dimpling raindrops falling upon us.  After a spell he started seeing action.  Three different times a big fish took a swipe at his lure, but each time the hook was set it would pull out from the mouth of the fish, keeping us from seeing exactly what it was or its size.  Actually, on that final third strike, the hook was set, but unfortunately his line snapped and both the fish and lure were never seen again.

With permission, I stepped forward and cast a few times to the pool before concentrating on a drop-off from the bank on my right.  About the second cast, I felt the push of water that I mentioned in my last blog entry, and so I turned to Andrew and quickly said something to the effect that he should watch because something was coming.  It came alright, but by that time I had almost reeled the lure to the tippet of my pole, and was running out of room.  Sure enough the strike came, but it missed, turned, and disappeared back along the bank.

No mystery as to what it was.  By its Latin name it’s known as Esox lucius.  Esox refers to a large, long nosed, freshwater fish of the Northland.  Their body is torpedo shaped, long, and perfect for their predatory tendencies.  Lucius can mean light, but in this case it more closely refers to a wolf (wolf in Greek = lukos).  This explains why a pickerel, or pike, is sometimes called a water wolf.  Once you see the voracious teeth you’ll understand.

Regardless, on my ensuing cast back to the pool I rendered nothing.  Next I split the distance between the pool and the original bank.  This time the Esox pike hit hard and solid.  My pole was doubled over and the fish raced around in the water around my legs.  In reality, it was a hot minute.  I decided I wanted my fish gripper to grab the pike by the jaw, but it was attached to the backside of the backpack I had on, and I couldn’t quite reach it.  At the same time Andrew was both choosing and tying on a new lure while simultaneously receiving a call from a school he had recently applied to North of Milwaukee.  Andrew had resigned from our school this spring, became engaged, and was stepping out in faith hoping to hook a job teaching band this fall near the area his fiance’ Meg had already found a job.  Was he receiving an acceptance call?  Was he getting the job he had interviewed for?

I interrupted the moment by calling out, “Andrew!  Can you get that gripper off my backpack?  I’m a little busy here attached to this pike!”  He shook himself back into the present, ran over, and got it for me.  I probably should have just lifted the fish with my hands, but I also needed my pliers to get the hook out.  I clipped on the gripper, snapped the line and extracted the hook of the Mepps from the pike, all while Andrew took a few pictures for me.  I then ran the pike back and forth through the water, forcing fresh water through its gills until it pulled from my hands.  It swam three or four feet away, sat there fining for a few minutes, and then pushed off into the pool.  While standing there in the falling rain, all I could think about was that the moment had been awesome.  The pike had measured at 31.5 inches and had a wide back that would have been hard to even get my hand around.  Esox lucius indeed!

A 31.5 Inch Pike
Caught And Released

I checked my own phone at that time and saw that Cindy was starting out to come pick us up.  It was almost noon, and we were still nearly an hour’s paddle away from the take out area.  Eek!  A miscalculation on my part!  Andrew and I quickly grabbed our poles, launched the canoe into the river, loaded our gear, and started paddling; all in a process that took only 30 minutes.  Not bad!

The skies continued to drizzle, but the scenery was great regardless.  We came skidding up to our designated spot by 1:30.  Cindy pulled in at that time as well, in my old silver Jeep.  We loaded the canoe and gear, and then headed home; none the worse for wear after quite an adventure.  And what an adventure it was; a memorable one forever embodied with rainy-humid weather practically leading to jungle rot, and the ever surprising Esox lucius.

See you along The Way…

-----

PS - And that afternoon Andrew found out that he had gotten that job!  Congrats friend...

Drying Out My Gear (Back Home)
And Preventing "Jungle Rot"