THE LAND NORTH OF SUPERIOR

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Spring anywhere is a beautiful time.  A time of renewal, a time of birth the time of the greening or the north.  Spring also heralds the coming summer.  There however is a season between spring and summer and all those who live in the land north of Superior are very familiar with it.

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It was mid June and we were camped at our favourite river looking for those pickeral we loved to eat.  The night had been a blustery one, heavy wind gusts that wanted to lift our hard top tent trailer of the ground, huge sheets of rain had sluiced off the dust from our trip in two days ago.  Jagged bolts of lightening had pierced the dark; we could have read a book in the camper with ease.  Our two dogs had been nervous in the night and had insisted on bed space, curled tight to us.

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The morning had come with the rain still hammering the trailer and I had had to keep an eye on the coffee pot, I sure would not have heard it perk.  Being long time campers we had books and papers to look at in case the weather wasn’t the best, cards occupied us for a time.  Strange as it seems our dogs who love water don’t like rain, they had been content laying on the beds.  Usually they would have been insisting on going out and exploring the world around us.  As the day turned into afternoon the rain stopped and the sun actually peeked out from behind clouds that still held a real threat.  We decided to go fishing; a couple three pickeral for super would be just what the growling stomach needed.

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After the dogs had taken a quick survey of the area we pushed off.  The twenty horse started on it’s second pull, like always.  We cruised up the river and took the right fork slowing down as we followed the narrow, twisting channel to a large pool just below huge rocks that limited further upstream travel once the spring melt had run off.  At the right spot the anchor was dropped almost silently by my wife.  The dogs knew it was rest time, as we rigged our chartreuse jig heads with medium minnows, they settled down to relaxed alertness.  We were surrounded by waving walls of emerald, the heavy rain had washed the leaves, and droplets glistened in the spying sunlight.  A nice breeze kept us cool as the day warmed up quickly.

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In only a few minutes we had four nice pickeral on the stringer, all in the one and a half to two pound class, perfect eaters.  While I cleaned the pickeral, on a board I carried in the first part of the season, my wife carried on fishing.  She caught a couple more walleye, which we released and then started catching nice perch in the ten inch plus group.  We decided to add some to the cooler that now held the pickeral fillets.  We caught a dozen before we called it a day.  Those were soon cleaned and in ziplock bags, next to the two 2 liter pop bottles full of ice, in the cooler

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It was early yet so we went for a spin up river to see if any other folks were camped ‘up top�?  The dogs took their cruising positions and kept an eye on the river as we followed the twisty turns.  There were no boats at the upper landing, we had the river to ourselves, at least until Friday night.  Missy and Major took a leisurely sniff around the landing while we stretched our legs.  Seems we were getting older and the joints wanted to stiffen up after and hour or two.  The breeze was dying down and more than a few skeeters forced us back into the boat for the run to our campsite.

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Once on shore we were invaded by swarms of flies.  There was no need to discuss things; we had been through this many times during our trips in the past.  With the boat tied and the minnow bucket in the water we made a run for the camper.  There was no hope of cooking outside tonight, the spring fly hatch was under way and they were hungry.  Into the camper went the cooler, a fry pan and the cooking oil.  Inside a ‘coil�?was lite, and within a few minutes all breathed sighs of relief as the trailer’s winged occupants fell from the air.  With the breeze now gone altogether the angry hordes of flies outside could be heard all around.  The few that got in died before they could bother us.

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Later that evening as we dined on golden brown perch and pickeral fillets, along with browned onions, mushrooms and homefries we reminisced about the old days.  The boys had been young and we had camped out of the back of a pickup truck and a 9X12 tent.  We both agreed that this was luxury indeed, though it would have been nice if the boys didn’t have to work and could have been with us.  They would have enjoyed this almost fly free camping.

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There is the fly season, it comes between the spring and the summer.  When you come to the land north of Superior, during the second and third weeks of June, come prepared!