Adventures... West of Quetico
by Bryan Whitehead
The day was drawing to a close, as tents were erected and sleeping bags were spread out. Soon four nylon tents were staked out and ready for the evening. One of the fathers who on the trip, evidently camping for the first time with his teenaged son, went out to the point of the island to try his luck at fishing from shore. We soon heard a shout and found Harl with a beached Northern Pike. If memory serves me correctly, this fish was easily 36". A team of fathers, acting like battlefield surgeons, carefully removed the deeply embedded Rappela from the mouth of the monster, and held him in the water moving him back and forth before finally letting him swim off into the black waters of that lake.
My youngest, who was about eight at the time, watched from the sidelines. He now gazed out at the darkening lake with some trepidation.
The rest of the older kids and fathers set up the fishing gear. Huge plastic tubes of rods and reels of every make and description were emptied and hands were busy setting up the rigs. Tackle boxes appeared out of still more Duluth packs. I carefully assembled my pack rod and took the kid sized ultra light rigs I have recently purchased for my sons and loaded new 4# test mono onto their reels. The leeches were checked and a few of the older boys went out on the dark lake to catch few Walleyes for breakfast.
Darkness came late, but one by one fathers and sons headed off to their tents for a weary sleep.
