THE LAND NORTH OF SUPERIOR<o:p></o:p>

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The summers in this part of the world are much like holidays; they seem to start to late and finish too early.  When I enter my world I try to use each day to it’s fullest.  This is the land north of Superior and you are welcome in it.<o:p></o:p>

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We had pulled into one of my favourite laker places late the previous afternoon.  The skies had either poured rain or blasted heat as a series of fronts moved through.  The camper had been set up in near record time as we dodged the cloudbursts.  The tarp over our outside cook table held off the rain that fell in earnest just as we finished our set up.  The boat was still on top the truck as we relaxed under the tarp and watched the rain pound the lake.  The rain stopped just before ten and the skies filled with stars.  The campfire started easily using tightly rolled up newspaper logs we make ourselves.  After a couple hours, a few Legion sasauges and a relaxing drink or two, the fire was drowned and we all hit the sleeping bags.<o:p></o:p>

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Morning came with a blanket of thick soupy fog.  As I lite the propane burner under the coffee pot I couldn’t see twenty feet.  An hour later the air was still thick as I backed the truck down to the lakeshore and off loaded the boat, motor and the rest of our laker gear.  As I had another coffee we decided to go fishing anyway.  We knew the lake well having fished it for many years.  The initial run across the lake was easy in that I kept my wake straight.  The depth finder told me I was very close to the point where we normally started to troll.<o:p></o:p>

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We followed the eighty-foot depth that I figured would hold lakers this time of July.  Family was coming out the next day so I wanted to make sure we had fish for super in case the fish didn’t co-operate the next day.  Just after nine I shut the motor off in response to ‘fish on�?from my wife.  The big steel wire trolling rod tip bounced as she brought the fish up from the depths.  The beautiful five pounder needed two tries before I got it netted.  Once in the net the hook fell out of the fish’s mouth, any little bit of slack and it would have swam away.   When you fish with a three way splitter, a heavy weight four feet below; and a five foot free line with your lure you loose about 40% of your strikes.<o:p></o:p>

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Once more on the troll following the 80 foot contour I picked up the next two lake trout.  The fish, both in the three to four pound class, were prime fish for a feed.  The fog was still hanging on as thick as ever.  A couple of trolls with no strikes called for the investigation of deeper water.  The one hundred foot depth showed many fish on the graph.  Several larger fish were below a cloud of baitfish.  My rod suddenly jerked repeatedly.  Setting the hook with two hard sweeps, I killed the motor.  From the first it was obvious that a bigger customer had come calling.  The fish took line on two screaming runs and only grudgingly came up from the dark cold depths.  The large net was already in my wife’s hands when the huge leviathan was finally seen.  The fish was twenty pounds or maybe more.  The line went slack, I watched as the hook fell free.  The laker, only about four feet from the surface slowly finned in place, then pointed her nose down disappeared back into her dark cold world.<o:p></o:p>

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We would have released the big lady, even though a friend of ours cans big fish with fantastic results.  She was full without doubt of smelt and had handfuls of fat in her belly cavity and layered throughout her back.  Ten years previously she would have been prime salting fish; before smelts were introduced into the lake either by ice fisherman or through the river system from Lake Nipigon; which was also hosting an annual smelt run.  She had however tested our pounding hearts for almost fifteen minutes.<o:p></o:p>

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After retying my tag line, which was ruined from the hard fight we continued to troll.  With all those stops and starts I wanted to see how good my navigation and sense of direction was.  I told my wife that when the water started shelving up we would be only a hundred feet from an island.  Just as the depth decreased the fog blew of with a breeze, the sun was alone in the blue sky.  We were not even close to the island, in fact we were headed in the wrong direction, and a good half-mile away.  My sense of direction had been totally fooled.  We had been in no danger because of the depth sounder and the fact that we were fishing deep water.  If we had been trying to run shallow waters or island infested waters we would have been in real trouble!<o:p></o:p>

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I do a fair amount of night fishing, usually under good conditions.  You learn to read the skyline to tell you where you are.  That morning the total white out and the complete loss of my directional senses were disconcerting to say the least.  Fog, or other weather, should be respected when you enter the land north of Superior; especially if you are in new waters.<o:p></o:p>