<body bgcolor="#FFFFFF">
<div align="left">
<p><b>Into Lonely</b><br>
<font size="-1">Jim Jelak</font></p>
<p>Saturday May 27, 2006 </p>
<p>I wake at dawn, anxious to get my trip started. By 05:30 I’m on the
lake, taking the first of what will be thousands of paddle strokes.</p>
<p>A hint of wind blows across the bow of my Prism. I soak in the sights and
sounds of the lake. Beaverhouse. That name conjures up Voyager exploits, a
rich history of native people, fur trading adventure, and a logging era long
dead.</p>
<p>My permit secured, I paddle to the outflow of Quetico Lake as it pours into
Beaverhouse. Wading into the current, I cast a Rapala TailDancer. Chunky smallmouth
and walleye fall prey to my bait. I switch to my baitcasting outfit rigged
with a large black jig and Gulp tail. On my third cast I get a vicious strike
from a thick-backed Northern. It makes three strong runs in the deep blue
pool before tiring, allowing me to gain line. I ease the single hook out of
the jaw of the thirty-incher and release the fish into the flow. </p>
<p>Today I need to traverse the full length of Quetico Lake; I need to get moving.
I slip the canoe back into the water and ease up the flow. The current is
swift but looks passable.</p>
<p>My Prism shoots into the current and I dig with all I have. My canoe advances
but as I enter the confined flow the force of the water pushes my bow downstream,
sending my craft sideways in the current. In a moment I'm capsized.</p>
<p>Shock, then embarrassment wash over me, along with gallons of cold Quetico
water. I float with the canoe a few yards, extend my legs, finding firm bottom.
I walk my canoe to where minutes before it was beached as I fished. All gear
is lashed in so none is lost. Humbled but relieved, I dump the water out and
walk the canoe up to the portage head.</p>
<p>Paddling the narrow channel east towards the main body of Quetico Lake, I
fight an internal battle with myself. “How could I be so stupid? So careless…on
the first morning of my trip!”</p>
<p>The wind freshens and with it carries away my troubles. A 5-rod portage gets
me on the southside of the lake; the peninsula and island south of Eden Island
provides shelter from the northeasterly wind.</p>
<p></p>
<p> </p>
<p align="center"><a href="2.html"><span class="pagenav">Next</span></a></p>
<p align="center" class="pagenav">1 <a href="2.html">2</a> <a href="3.html">3</a>
<a href="4.html">4</a> <a href="5.html">5</a> <a href="6.html">6</a>
<a href="7.html">7</a> <a href="8.html">8</a> <a href="9.html">9</a>
<a href="10.html">10</a> <a href="11.html">11</a> <a href="12.html">12</a>
<a href="13.html">13</a> <a href="14.html">14</a></p>
<p align="center"><a href="http://www.quietjourney.com" target="_top"><img src="../../images/100x200logo.gif" width="200" height="100" border="0" alt="Boundary Waters - Quetico Information"></a></p>
</div> </body>