Rendezvous in the Bush
by Jim Carrier
The following morning, Ben and I "washed our spirits clean" around wonderfully remote Camel Lake. We discussed making an impromptu bushwhack over to nearby Hoare Lake. Hoare's reputed olive jar "message cache" and rumor of its lake trout were tantalizing. However, in light of productive bass and walleye fishing on Camel, we opted to conserve our energies for Bushwhackers Jamboree, now only three days away. One highlight from our two days on Camel Lake was our close inspection of a nearby beaver lodge, curiously laced with well-placed, head-sized rocks. How did the rocks get there? Also, this beaver family proved to be particularly garrulous. We heard a racket of grunts, chuffs, and throaty noises emanating from within every time we passed within fifty yards!
On Day Four we broke camp at 8am and paddled east with a brisk breeze at our backs. Once again, the "price" to be paid for paddling beautiful Cutty Creek was the donning of bug nets. We made our way over to peaceful, jewel-like Eag and Cub lakes rather uneventfully. Like Camel, these picturesque lakes seldom see much canoe traffic. Tempted though we were to set up an early camp and try our hand at fishing their pristine waters, we elected to move on. My Internet pal Tripper had riveted my attention upon Baird Lake, which he characterized as "spooky" and maybe "haunted". We were anxious to discover what qualities could possibly make a lake feel that way. We intended to camp on Baird, spooks or no spooks!
The portage into Baird from Cutty Creek was short but tough. It was slick with mud and almost vertical. We gritted our teeth, hoisted and heaved, and gained the top. There, the presence of a beaver dam complicated our put in. Clouds thickened behind us, so we pushed on to a recommended island campsite at the center of Baird Lake. It sat atop a ledge and its approach was from the rear of the island. Once set-up, we paused to admire the great view and the "bowl-like" features of this high-rimmed lake. Sounds of the wilderness seemed to echo from all directions. Perhaps this was the eerie aspect of this neat little lake? Or, could the haunting come in the form of a "monster of the deep" such as the 44+ inch Northern that chased - but never seized - Ben's white-skirted buzzbait that evening? Torrential rains broke soon afterward and we beat it back to camp, empty-handed. Booming thunder reverberated endlessly off of the high cliffs that night, suggesting yet another way this lake might "freak you out".