I grew up in the “Tip of the Mitt”; in the Northern lower peninsula of Michigan. Although I no longer live in that territory, the pull to my roots remains. Obviously my heart is wherever my family resides, and the community in which I live and work, but the fibrous genetics that make me who I am were strengthened and nurtured under clear skies, upon sandy soils, within blue lakes, surrounded by cedar swamps and their translucent rivers, and amongst the pungent air of ferns and pines. And so it is these genes that drive me, like a magnet to iron, into the Michigan Northwoods once a year. It’s a few miles beyond the backdoor of where I lived, and a hop, skip, and jump from my soul; the cadence of which ticks steady like an internal metronome.
When my parents retired in the fall of 2001, they made the difficult, but desired, decision to move away from Michigan and closer to their grandkids. That meant that I needed to make the conscious effort to return and immerse myself in those things I still held dear. The first such endeavor was in 2006 when I took what I later labeled as my “Wild at Heart'' solo trip. It rained quite a bit of the time, but I fished, mountain-biked, swam, and had the opportunity to do a lot of reflecting on both my life, and the position within that life - all while camping in the woods.
Two years later I was able to talk three of my cousins into joining me. All of my cousins, on either side of my family tree, have that adventurous flair, but it was Brad, Brian, and Sean that found room in their schedule, and a connection to the rugged side of the outdoors to join me. Since 2008 we have continued to gather together, immersing ourselves among the woods of the North to camp and fish. Remarkably, we’ve accomplished this now for fifteen straight years. As a family growing up, my cousins had often come up with their parents to visit us and enjoy the expanse of what the Northwoods had to offer, but now after many years and experiences, it too has seeped into their DNA.
Typically our camping schedule ran along the lines of: fish, eat, sleep, repeat. In the beginning we drove that routine into the ground, leaving a gaping crater in the Earth. The tendency was heavy on the fishing and light on the sleeping, with meals thrown in haphazardly together when we had the energy. This was due to the type of fishing we did: decked out in waders, hiking miles to where we stepped into the river, and hiking back against a deep, strong current. We wanted to catch trout, and that desire just about killed us by most accounts.
Fortunately, over the years, we figured out what to do and where to go. We’ve never struck it rich consistently, but then again, that’s why they call it fishing instead of catching. Each of us have seen giant fish that we continue to dream about, either because of the experience we had hooking into them, the environs where it happened, or the missed opportunity; the later bordering more on the side of a haunting nightmare.
Brad With A Brown Trout
Brian With A Rainbow Trout
Sean With A Brown Trout And a Brook Trout
Todd With A Brown Trout
Me With A Brown Trout
Those various circumstances tend to drive each of us, but we’re not so shallow that we have to catch big fish to be happy. We’ve been just as giddy catching a soft, smooth, and vividly marked brook trout that fits in the palm of our hand - and releasing it back into the cold water, only to have it stay fining against our boots just above the sandy river bed. It’s the kind of experience that makes you smile, take a deep breath of white pine and tamarack, and appreciate the moments. It’s the building block of what makes the surprise of hooking into bigger fish so memorable.
Often, one of our group members will momentarily disappear, only to show up again with an awesome picture of ancient white cedars, brilliantly green cinnamon ferns, or sparkling limpid water churning over a fallen balsam log. In other words, we pay attention to the details that foundationally make up our adventures.
Over the years, Brad, Brian, Sean and I have scaled down the maniacal tendencies, and have added a lot more time towards the preparation of meals, the out of the way places to swim, and the unique roller coaster trails to run. Each activity is as relaxing in its own way as the rest, although we do specifically kick back from time to time by talking and standing barefoot in a cold, freestone river or reading from a good book under the shade of a needled canopy. Don’t get me wrong, we still head out on extravaganzas that would make the common person whimper softly to themselves while curled up in a prenatal position, but we try to limit these to once a day, and they tend to be centered around experiences that we deem essential; like our day long fishing trip from the cedar grove up through the grassy flats, the drive up onto the ridge overlooking the tag alders and inviting stream below, or the hike into an out of the way locale where we catch, cook, and eat a small fish up off the creek and under the soft needled boughs of the tamarack - savoring the taste of each in more ways than one.
Chillaxing On A Hot Day
After Running The Trails
I suppose that’s the way of things; to morph and adapt as our experiences necessitate. We still like to push ourselves, but we also like to take in all that the trip can offer in a holistic manner. For this reason, we’ve had my son Todd join us twice, and have talked about having other family members share in our experiences. Our Grandpa Orlo used to head off into the wilds with a core of friends back in the early years of the twentieth century, and now we as cousins are following suit. Our camping trip is the kind of adventure that necessitates sharing; sharing the experiences and environs between ourselves and occasionally with others, either in person or through the stories that get told over and over.
Grandpa Orlo (White jacket & Tie-second from the left) With A Gang Of Friends (1930's)
Perhaps this is why we appreciate our annual trip so much and make the trek Up North to the headwaters of our spirit. It’s become more than a destination, and because of that, I capitalize “Up North” as a proper noun since it has its own specific point on a map in my mind’s eye. And due to our connection to that water, land and air on the map, we return there and back again. Our journey North recharges who we are, to do what we do, so that after a year’s amount of time, we’re ready to do it all again. In fact, we look forward to it.
“It’s always better to embark on a wilderness canoe trip without expectations and enjoy the wonders as they’re encountered.”
(Keane, Leo. “Hiking With A Canoe.” The Boundary Waters Journal, Fall 2021, p. 58.)
I didn’t have many preconceived ideas or notions going into this week’s adventure. I did want to feel the pull of the current against my paddle, pitch my tent on a riverside bank, and do a little fishing in some deep bends and pools. Those seemed like simple enough goals; easily achieved given adequate time within a proper setting; tasks that would allow me the opportunity to wonder at the experiences and things around me. The fact that I experienced a plethora of wildlife and caught my biggest northern pike ever, didn’t do anything to diminish the journey.
I began the excursion Sunday afternoon once I had loaded all of my gear and lashed it down in the front of my aluminum Starcraft canoe. It’s a beast of a thing, but it’s what I have, and as I’ve mentioned before, my Dad found it for me at a garage sale for ten bucks. It’s been worth every cent of the investment, and I’m familiar with how to handle it in moving water despite the fact that it’s fifteen feet long and weighs one hundred pounds.
After floating out from the bank, I paddled the curving bends, occasionally stopping to fish any slower currents off the main channel. I did have a few strong strikes, but failed to make the connection needed to see what kind of a fish it was exactly. I reached my destination spot by 8:00 in the evening. I made a few last casts at that point, catching and releasing both a 24” and 25” pike. They were good looking, strong fish, and it was fun to see them scoot back into the depths of the water.
My First Pike Of The Trip - A 24" That I Released
That gave me little more than an hour to set up my tent and heat up a can of beef stew. To prepare dinner I used a small camp stove set up on the bottom side of the canoe that I had dragged and lurched up from the river; not an easy task by myself. I ate an apple while I waited for it to warm up. With the excess space provided by my canoe, I had the luxury of bringing along a camp chair, and I used it while I ate to watch the sun’s last rays sink into the horizon. I quickly cleaned off the plates down in the sand and moving water and placed my small cooler of food up under the canoe in lieu of hanging anything from a tree and away from varmints. For one, most of the nearby trees were entangled in poison ivy. Secondly it would take a fairly powerful raccoon to offset the canoe. And third, since I’d forgotten my headlamp, Mother Nature was dictating when and what I’d be doing with any available light, and at that time I had none, so shoving it under the aluminum Starcraft was the next best thing.
I didn’t sleep great even with temps dipping down into the 50’s because I couldn’t get comfortable still covered in sunscreen. Then there were the barred owls directly above me with their muffled hoots and raucous cackling that they are wont to do. Two different deer came up behind my tent through the grass and announced their displeasure with whistling snorts and hoof stomping, not to mention the wide array of birds that began staking out their territories at first light. In addition, a murder of crows literally pestered a pair of red tailed hawks and it’s fledgling for over an hour. It was a perfect night to lay in the tent and take in all of the wonders.
CLICK BELOW FOR A VIDEO OF THE THE BATTLE BETWEEN CROWS & HAWKS:
CLICK BELOW FOR A VIDEO OF THE MORNING BIRDS:
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I started Monday by reading. It helped set the tone. When I came out, the birds continued their ensemble, now to the steady breeze that was quickly pushing the fog off the water and drying the heavy dew. I grabbed my pole, attached a silver Red Eye spoon I had brought from my father-in-law’s tackle box, and headed for the river. On my third cast I hooked into a 26” pike. It wasn’t a strong hit, but it didn’t leave any doubt as to what it was. I elected to keep this one fish, and set about cleaning it on a nearby log that was under the shade of surrounding trees.
Breakfast & Dinner - A 26" Pike
A campfire felt obtrusive, and too warm, so I again used the small camp stove. I cooked half of the pike for breakfast in my cast iron skillet after coating the meat in Original Shore Lunch breading mix. My mouth watered, and it tasted delicious. I carefully placed the second slab of pike under the remaining ice in my cooler for dinner in the evening.
The afternoon was spent relaxing and doing various things around my camp. While my tent was in the sun, I set up my chair in the shallows of the water and read from a book that I’d bought back in the fall from a cool little bookstore in Waco, Texas where my daughter lives, called Fabled Bookshop and Cafe, and the book was entitled, John Muir: Wilderness Essays. I read for two hours, watching the minnows at my toes as well as other wonders of wildlife surrounding me.
When I read, I often underline quotes that resonate with me. In Muir’s selection entitled, “Discovery at Glacier Bay,” I like how he described his journey by saying, “though hardships were encountered, and a few dangers, the wild wonderland made compensation beyond our most extravagant hopes.” Here! Here! While my camping trip would probably be termed mild in comparison to Muir’s trip to Alaska, I was still out by myself - on a solo mission far from others, and so I worked hard at taking precautions and thinking ahead to avoid having too many unexpected catastrophes. For instance, I always wear my life preserver when I’m in the canoe and I try to have a sixth sense awareness in order to keep track of my surroundings. With these safeguards in place at the forefront, it allowed me to appreciate everything from the large eagle perched and watching over me, to the red, parasitic mites on a harvestman spider (daddy long legs).
An Eagle Outside Of My Tent That Morning
A Harvestman Spider With Mites
When I needed a break from reading, I tried fishing again; this time using a Scum Frog surface lure. The sun was high, and I had two smaller pike nudge at it from behind, and then one very large pike between 30 and 40 inches swung by, pushing water just a few feet from where I was standing. Obviously they weren’t interested in the lure, but I smiled and backed off. I continued reading, now next to my tent in the shade, until I finished the first chapter in my book. It felt good to get back into reading again, and the setting didn’t hurt either!
I knew that if I was going to sleep that evening I needed to rinse off the day’s sweat and sunscreen, so I went over to a different section of the river that was a bit more sandy, and submerged myself by doing a push up. It allows you to do what you need to do without going out deep. Afterwards I took pictures of a few birds around my campsite. When the shade was finally over the pool in the river, I grabbed my net, pole, walking stick, and backpack of fishing equipment and ventured down off the bank.
A White-Breasted Nuthatch Peeking From Behind A Branch
An Eastern Wood Pewee
To begin with, I tried what’s called a Whopper Plopper. It’s also a surface lure that gurgles along on the top of the water. I did catch a nice 24” pike that exploded on it and jumped several times. It was a nice looking fish that zipped out of my hands upon its release.
A 24" Pike Caught & Released Using The Top Water Lure: "Whopper Plopper"
Knowing it worked, I switched back to the silver spoon I had used that morning after retying a fresh fluorocarbon tippet onto the braided line. On my next cast, I caught a smaller 20” pike that had a large wound across its back where something big had bit it. I let it slip back down into the water after unhooking the lure. I cast several more times before I had a sudden and powerful hit. It never showed itself on the initial strike, but the upheaval of water that pushed to the surface when it turned sharply back into the depths, created a large mound of churning water. I held on tight. Even with the lure lodged in its mouth down below, there was no doubt who was in charge. Power like that in a big pike is impressive if not downright spooky and humbling.
It made several different runs, dragging line with it each time, and surfaced more than once too; dancing on its reddish fins. As the pike tired, it came closer to my legs in the shallow water; its great tail measuring cadence back and forth all the while sizing me up with its eyes.
The next few moments were a bit of a blur. With one hand, I plunged my walking stick down into the mud, pulled out a mini bungee cord, and strapped my phone to it while adjusting the setting to a 10 second timer. I planned to get a selfie picture of this fish.
Next I used my net, scooped up the fish, grabbed my multi-tool and tried extracting two of the three large barbs from the treble hook that was just inside its mouth - next to the teeth that were about the same size. I had a bit of trouble getting a hold of them, so I reached down, released the bail on my reel to give my line some slack, and carefully grabbed the pike by its jaw. I’ve seen it done before, studied how it’s performed, but had only once before tried to hold a fish this way. Teeth, barbs on the hook, and unbridled power have a way of making you tentative. But I wanted to try to do it right instead of always having to use a gripper.
The pike was a picture of patience, eyeing me the whole time. As I now held it by the jaw in one hand, I grabbed a hold of each barb with the tool in the other hand and actually had to break two of them off the lure itself before it came easily out of its mouth. There was no blood, and there was hardly a mark on the pike. I measured it against my pole, hit the button on my phone, and posed for one picture. However it turned out, it would have to do - hopefully capturing the moment!
I waded out to shin deep in the river, lowered the pike, moved it back and forth once or twice to work water through its gills, and then with a monstrous flick of its tail, it swung and pushed off; not out into deeper water, but it actually doubled back between my ankles and the shoreline, pushing a wave up over my gear and dousing it. From there it simply, and slowly, finned back into the pool and out of sight. It was as if the giant fish was saying, “Thank you for being gentle and working quickly, but take that!” It was my biggest pike ever at 35”; two inches shy of the next eyelet, and five inches beyond the last measured mark of fingernail polish on my pole. I was elated! It was enough!
I cooked up the second half of my morning’s fish for dinner that evening and was in my tent and sleeping bag by 9:00. After reading a few pages of the next chapter in my book, by the sun’s final light, I grew tired and was asleep by 9:30. What a day it had been.
On Tuesday morning I waited as long as I could to pack because of the heavy dew covering everything, compiled with the lack of a breeze to help dry things out. I started packing around 8:00 and had everything ready by 10:00. I had to skip breakfast as I needed every minute to paddle the several miles to where my wife agreed to pick me up at noon. I took a long swig of water, bit off a chunk of cheese, and set forth.
Maneuvering around hidden logs, rollers, sweepers, and any amount of dead-falls was a perfect way to end my river expedition. I was dog tired as I pulled the canoe up on the bank a few minutes before 12:00, but it was an exhaustion born of adventure. What had started out as a trip without a specific schedule, led to the wonders of life and its unexpected experiences.
See you along The Way…
“Why do I go? Because the wilderness reminds me of my place in the world, points me to one who is greater, and in the end, recharges my batteries.”
(Wilson, David. “Why I Go.” The Boundary Waters Journal, Winter 2021, p. 83.)
PICTURES OF THE WONDERS I ENCOUNTERED:
A Common Snapping Turtle That I Scooped Up With My Net
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