Trip Report - Quetico - 17-day solo (Part 2 of 2)
by PineKnot
On every solo trip I’ve taken, I get almost a euphoric feeling when I finally reach the shores of Basswood. Everytime. Even when I’m dead tired. And today is no different. It’s almost 7 pm as I paddle west and near the small island housing a rudimentary campsite. I’m hoping it decent enough for a one-night stay. It’s ok. I’m able to scrape out a small tent pad devoid of sharp little rocks and roots. The firepit needs a little fixing up. But this campsite is surrounded by excellent smallmouth water. I think about fishing for an hour, but I’ve got a slight headache and realize I’m just dang tired. I’m even too tired to have an evening cigar. Fighting that gale-force wind on Sarah along with 11 portages has done me in. I quickly rinse out my socks, shoes, and clothing and hang them to dry, mix a nalgene of vodka/G2, grab some melba crackers, M&Ms , wheat bread, PBJ, etc and crawl into the tent. After pumping up the Exped 7 pad, I lay there for a bit, almost falling asleep. I’ve hungry as heck, but almost too tired to make a sandwich. “Come on, get up, you lazy @#$%”, I tell myself. So I roll on my side and fix up two PBJ sandwiches. Only takes a couple minutes to wolf it down with some swigs from the nalgene. I’m actually feeling cold, even though I’m wearing long pants and my zippered fleece. I change into my sleep clothes, wrap myself into my down bag and quickly fall into a hard sleep for the rest of the night.
Day 15-16. Basswood to Little Merriam Bay
Total Distance – 11.4 miles; 0 portages
View 2011 Day 15 in a larger map
I’m up at the crack of dawn feeling really good. Thought about hanging here today, but as I roll out of the tent, it’s overcast, low stratus, cool, with light variable wind. Seems like it may drizzle a bit. I decide to fish a bit, then pack up and head around White Island and then down to Canadian Point and east to Little Merriam Bay. I gather a handful of the remaining blueberries around the campsite island and add them to my morning cereal. The resident red squirrel chatters at me, telling me I have to pay rent in the form of some cereal, so he joins me for breakfast.
After a mug of coffee, I brew a second and ready the fishing gear and canoe. I find the smallmouth are holding in deeper water away from the shorelines. But they are hungry. I catch a bunch, trying my darndest to coax a 20+ inch trophy onto my lures. But alas, I can’t break that 18-inch barrier on this trip. Even so, Basswood smallies rarely disappoint. They’re healthy, thick and fight like Rocky Marciano.
As I return to camp, I glide near a mother loon with a very young one on her back. Mom can’t move too quickly, and as I near, she raises her head and lets out a sort of worried hoot, perhaps trying to call to her mate for help. I take a quick picture and then paddle on so as not to upset her anymore. She paddles around the corner of the shoreline and I head the opposite way back to camp.
By noon I’m cruising through the channel between Neil and White Islands and continue clockwise around White Island. As I troll along the southwest shoreline of White, I’m feeling the wind freshen from the west. “Just great”, I mutter to myself. Why not. Into the wind all the way to Canadian Point. I lay the paddle down and lean forward to grab my rod out of its holder. Just before I grab the rod, it’d bends sharply. I mean, real sharply. “Holy crap”, I blurt out! This is a big fish. The line is singing as the fish runs for deeper waters to the middle of the channel. I hold on for dear life and click the drag a couple notches tighter. Within a couple minutes, I can finally start to reel line in, but this is a big fish. I’m thinking northern, but this fish is fighting more like a smallmouth. After a good 5 minutes, I realize this one’s a walleye. I finally get him next to the canoe. He’s got two of the three trebles in his mouth, so he’s not going anywhere. I get the camera set up, hoist him up out of the water, quickly remove the hooks, snap the photo, measure him, and ease him back in the water. Takes a minute to revive him, and he slowly swims away. My largest Quetico walleye at 28 inches.
With a moderate wind blowing into me, I decide to forgo trolling and paddle my way down to Canadian Point, stopping at one of the island campsites before the point for a quick lunch. From there, I turn east into English Channel and point the bow directly at Salchert Island. I’m half-expecting I could drift with the wind all the way, but of course, when I get into the southern portion of Big Merriam Bay, the wind is now more from the north. So I paddle to Salchert with a crosswind from the left. “Stupid giraffe!”
As I near Salchert, the shoreline, ledgerock, firepit and pine and cedar canopy of my little castaway island come into sharp focus. Nobody in their right mind would think this little egg-shaped island about 40 yards across would be worth the effort of setting up a tent. I’ve never boasted as having a right mind. So even though this island is open to the west winds of Basswood, I say it keeps the bugs at bay. And my small tarp is perfect for a windbreak if needed. I don’t know why, but this site has become my second home at the end of my solo trips. I set up camp, then cruise northward and fish the shoreline as the sun begins to set, stopping in a nice red pine and cedar grove to grab some blowdown and knots for the next two nights. Just before dark, the loons come out in force and serenade me for the next couple hours with their mesmerizing calls that echo all over the lake. The wind has calmed and I’m able to relax in my screen house as the white, yellow, and orange flames send shadows dancing all around the firepit. I think about my boys again and wish they were here. But even without them, this is a night made in heaven.
Sometime later in the wee hours after midnight, the wind decided to blow hard from the west. As I finish breakfast and peer south to the main channel of mighty Basswood, the waves are streaking across from right to left. The sky is clear and deep blue, providing a vivid contrast with the darker blue of the water and the pine-green shorelines. “Man, Bayley Bay must be really rockin’ and rollin’ about now”, I say outloud. I want to head west today to Big Merriam Bay to fish and check out campsites, but there’s no way I’m fighting into this wind as a solo. By late morning, I’m feeling a bit of “island-fever” so I load up the canoe and head around the southern tip of Salchert into Little Merriam Bay, which should provide some protection from the howling wind. I’m glad I did. I find a couple smallmouth holes and the fish have an insatiable appetite today for my white curly tail minnows and a 4-8 foot rattling, suspending jerkbait in a baby bass pattern. I’m in heaven for the next three hours, casting, jerking and catching bass after bass. I cruise between the shoreline of Salchert and a small island. It’s only about 5 feet deep, and as I drift into deeper water, I can see four large smallmouth swimming along in the shadow of the canoe. So cool! I cast my lures and bang, bang , bang. The smallies seem to be everywhere. I lose track of how many I catch, and I really don’t care at this point. Almost all of them are between 15 and 18 inches. But where’s the trophies? 16 days and I’m still waiting for the 20+ incher. That’ll have to wait to next year. Try as I might, I actually get tired of the reeling, so I begin to troll instead, heading around the northern shore of Salchert and up to the NW shoreline of Little Merriam Bay. The wind is still blowing, but this shoreline runs from NE to SW and is actually fairly calm.
As I troll back towards camp, I approach the largest convoy of Merganser chicks I’ve ever seen. With two adults acting as chaperones, 22 of these little brown furry chicks paddle furiously to keep ahead of the canoe. I veer to the left and pass them. The convoy stops, huddles together, and thinks about what to do. A great photo opportunity so I take a couple shots. While I’m messing with the camera, the squadron paddles away from shore to deeper water. Not good! Like a cowboy trying to round up the herd, I dig my paddle in the water and force the little squadron back to the shore where it’s safer. This is so cool!
After promoting my Merganser Squadron ( I am retired military after all) and paddling on another hundred yards or so I get a vicious strike. This fish is really a fighter and when I get him to the surface, it’s a chunky, perfect 18-inch eater walleye. Dinner is served!
I return to camp and spend the bulk of the late afternoon reading and relaxing on the large flat ledgerock guarding the western edge of my island. Puffy cumulus clouds are cruising across the sky as the wind finally starts to wane and shifts a little from the northwest. The rowdy waters of Basswood finally start to calm down with it as the sun begins its descent.
The wind dies enough so that with the remaining bread, Crisco and Parkay Squeeze, I can fry up 4 nice walleye fillets for a couple of fried fish sandwiches. Tasty is an understatement!
It’s a reddish treeline to the west and I enjoy a small spilt-pine fire with a cigar and a couple drinks. The little puffy cumulus have dissipated and it’s an absolutely clear sky.
Around 11:00 as I let the fire expire for the night, I make my way down to the ledgerock next the waterline. I can still make out the treeline on the western and northern horizons. The sky is loaded with stars, and their numbers seem to double with their reflections in the almost calm water. The wind is very light, but noticeable from my right (north). Small waves are still streaming in from the west and lapping gently at the waterline. Basswood continues to fight off nature’s effort to calm her. I gaze at the water and the stars, almost transfixed. I’m tired and ready for bed, but I want to stay here and soak it all in. This is exactly the type of evening that is hard to describe, but those of us who paddle know how it feels. It’s one of the main reasons we keep coming back, year after year. Just standing here, I’m experiencing that feeling of solitude and awe at the vastness all around me. This is nature. It’s absolutely quiet except for the occasional breeze I can barely hear through the pine canopy, and the occasional high-pitched drone of a mosquito. I hear the distant echo of a loon. Was that from Little Merriam or Bayley Bay, I wonder? It’s almost dead silent, but the small waves keep rolling in from the west. They’re still moving pretty good, in spite of the calm and quietness. Pretty amazing. What a fantastic ending to another memorable Quetico solo! My mind says I’m ready to leave after 16 nights, but my heart says I should stay a few more.
Day 17. Little Merriam Bay to Prairie Portage
Total Distance – 5.1 miles; 1 portage (Prairie Portage)
View 2011 Day 17 in a larger map
Morning breaks clear with very little wind. For the first time in any trip I can remember, I don’t feel like fishing the morning of my last day. Instead, I finish the last of my cereal and coffee and get ready to head back to Prairie Portage. It’s just over 5 miles, and if I troll along the way, I give it two hours. As I exit the southern portion of Little Merriam and turn west towards Bayley, I can’t believe the wind is actually pushing me east! I say to myself, “I’m still not going to thank you, you stinking Quetico giraffe”! I arrive at Prairie Portage in a little over an hour. As I paddle down Inlet Bay, an eagle soars over my canoe and lands on a nearby pine on a small island. I turn towards him, and as I get close, he spreads his wings and leaps into the air.
A few minutes later, a couple of deer also want to wish me a safe drive back to Ohio.
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I hit the beach at Prairie Portage, spend a few minutes with the rangers, and carry my canoe and gear up the hill. I’m early and wait about 20 minutes until I hear the drone of the towboat that’ll take me back to the La Tourell’s. Music to my ears! As I’m towed across Sucker, Newfound and Moose, I think this is the first time there hasn’t been a big west wind. But I’m thankful for the tow anyway
FINAL THOUGHTS.
Long-Distance Solo. This loop was just over 100 miles. Adding in the fishing and a couple of day trips, I figure the total was about 130 miles. That’s about my max I guess. I lost 19 pounds during the trip (173 down to 154). But I feel fit and stronger. Another reason I love longer canoe trips.
Solitude: Saw several groups between North Bay and Shade on Day 1, paddlers on Kahshahpiwi on Day 3 and on Sark Day 4, one canoe on Cutty Creek on Day 5 and one on Camel on Day 6. After leaving Camel I would not see another paddler until Day 14. A truly wonderful solo experience.
Portages. A total of 51. Death March was easily the toughest and longest. I won’t do it again solo, six very hot and sweaty hours. Other portages completed in order of difficulty: Yum Yum, Boggy Portage (unnamed to Grey), Camel to Veron, Point to Nest, steep uphill (Side to Unnamed). Conditions were relatively dry. Horseflies were the biggest nuisance.
Campsites. Favorites in order were my little castaway island near Little Merriam Bay that nobody in their right mind would stay at, Suzanette, Burt, and McIntyre. Anyone reading this, you’ll definitely like the last three.
Fishing. Slower than I’m used to, but still caught many fish and the five main species: smallmouth, largemouth, walleye, lake trout, and pike. No trophies though, although the 28-inch walleye on Day 15 was the largest I’ve caught in Quetico. I usually fish the morning of my last day. But on this trip, I just didn’t feel like it. I just wanted a relaxing morning where I could break down the campsite and paddle to my exit point. Maybe it was because I had already fished for over 2 weeks straight. Maybe because I hadn’t caught anything of major size. Maybe it’s a sign I’m getting old. I just don’t know. Have you experienced that on the last day of a trip?
Wind. In a word, weird. Never consistent. Cloud cover was common. And the midpoint of the trip had this hazy look for a few days that seemed to turn the fish off a bit. I paddled a counterclockwise loop starting from the south. I was into the wind every travel day until the day I exited. I’ll never again leave a tobacco sacrifice or pray to the damn Quetico Giant Giraffe for the rest of my life.
Gear. I really liked my new Montbell ultralight down bag. And the Mombasa screen tent (I won’t leave home without it anymore). And the tomato powder and powdered peanut butter (great weight savings). And my 9-foot carbon shaft yak paddle from Spring Creek (thanks again, Jimbo, for the referral during Copia). I used a $25 propane/butane Primus stove for the first time and loved it (could get 5 full days per canister). Lastly, I’m a believer in the Steripen for solo trips from now on. It worked great, until the batteries ran out due to my miscalculating how long they would last. DOH!! At least I was cognizant enough to have iodine tabs as back-up.
Take care, and safe travels to each of you.
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