Since I have spent a fair amount of time over the last 30 years or so pursuing one specie of fish or another, it is only expected that I would have an ‘adventure’ or two along the waterways.
In the early 80’s we lived in southwest KY. It was there that I came to be friends with the first “real fisherman” that I had the privilege of fishing with. What I mean by “real fisherman” is one of those individuals who not only loved to fish, but is very good at it and spent most of his time ‘on the job’. This fellow was a lot older than I was, but we hit it off perfectly. He has been dead now for a number of years, but I think of him often and cherish the fishing outings we shared.
There was one element to out trips that seemed to be a given. Every time me and Kenneth got into a boat on a body of water, we could count on a rainstorm. He blamed the phenomenon on me, saying that I was a “jinx” and could bring rain during a drought by simply going fishing. Of course, I would counter that it was ‘him’ since it always rained when I went fishing with him, never mind that I did not fish with anyone else.
On one such outing we had gone to the Barren River Reservoir in Kenneth’s johnboat. We had about a 5 horse motor on this little boat, which was just fine for the narrow channel up which we were traveling to the spot we wanted to lay out our trotlines. That was his favorite method of fishing for channel cats and it was legal at that time in KY, I suppose it still is, but in MN we have no such ‘freedom’, which is probably good or we would surely have a lot less fish, because a trotline does its job well if properly set and baited.
We went what must have been 3 or 4 miles up the Reservoir when, out of a clear sky, came a thunderstorm. Of course we got wet, but nothing to be concerned about. We went ahead and laid out a few trotlines and baited them. The plan was to go back to the landing and nap until around 10 PM and then run the lines taking any fish we had. Then we would re-bait our hooks and come back the next morning to check them again and pull them in.
Our plan did not work that way due to a mishap with the starter rope on the motor. After we had gotten all the lines out, Kenneth pulled on the starter rope and it came clean out in his hand! No way to start the motor, so we thought at the time. Now I plead ignorance because it was not my motor and I had never owned a boat motor, what we learned later was all to Kenneth’s embarrassment, not mine. At the time it was already nearing dark and we had to cover about 4 miles of water to get to the landing. No oars, only one little “mini” paddle about 3 feet long. We took turns sitting in the bow of the boat and pulling ourselves along the best we could. It was a long pull. Naturally it got dark very quick, but to our good fortune there was a security light at the landing, so we kept the boat pointed that direction and kept pulling ourselves with that little paddle.
We were not able to run the lines that night, so we made the trip back home. I did not have time to go back with Kenneth the next morning to run the lines after he got a new rope in the motor. Our lines however, did their job. There was a half dozen or so channel cats hooked and one of them was over 5 lbs.
After Kenneth got back, naturally he called me with the report on our success. Then he laughed and told me that we were surely a couple of fools for having pulled ourselves miles with that little stub of a paddle, all due to “ignorance”. Then he explained to me that all we would have had to do was pull the cover off the motor and we could have started it with any piece of rope. All boat motors have a knot catch so that you can wrap a rope around the starter shaft and start them even if the pull rope comes out. At least all small outboard motors have such a emergency shaft. I told him that my ignorance was ‘excusable’, but his was evidently from old age and senility!
Incidentally, for those who have never used a trotline, it is a most convenient manner for taking fish, especially in a situation where you don’t have time to fish or in a survival emergency. The makeup of a trotline is this. The mainline can be as long as you want, but ours were around 100’ in length. Most often we would tie one end off on shore to a tree root or some other solid anchor.
Then we would string it out to where we wanted the other end to be. Drop a cement block down to the bottom of the lake attached to another rope, with a gallon milk jug tied on at the surface to hold our rope and line up off the bottom. To this line we would go down to whatever depth we wanted, usually a couple feet below the water, to miss “most” boat motor props in case a boat passed over our trotline. At this point we would tie off our main trotline, whose other end was on shore and tighten up the slack, leaving just enough leeway that we could pull the line up to the side of the boat. Once the main line was in place, we had prepared ahead of time about 50 hooks on short lines. These we would have made up in advance and hang them on the top lip of a 5 gallon bucket so that they would not be in a big tangled mess.
Then we would simply tie, very securely, each of the hooks onto the main line about 2 feet apart and in such a manner to prevent them from slipping on the main line or the fish from being about to reach the next hook and make one “big mess”. As we tied on the hooks we would put a live minnow or a chunk of chicken liver, or gizzard, on the hooks for bait. As catfish will come close to the surface in calm water at night to feed, it was an almost perfect set up.
Now Kenneth was not a ’wealthy’ person. So we never even thought of purchasing all those minnows. He knew every small creek within 25 miles of his home and it was there he would go to collect his bait. With a one man seine net attached to two 4’ sticks and a pair of hip waders he would go out into a deeper hole in the creeks and corner a mess of bait in short order. It was remarkable to watch an ‘expert’ dip minnows from a creek. I have tried it, but with limited success, partly because MN does not have the kind of small cricks that baitfish can live in year around like KY. Here any small stream will generally ‘winter kill’, so bait must be taken from lakes or larger rivers. A different process entirely.
It was also Kenneth who taught me the “fine art” of how to properly deep fry fish. His method was simple but almost perfect. His fish batter he would make with a mixture of white corn meal and flour (50/50), adding only salt and pepper. Then he would drop his fillets into bread-bag and shake them up so that there was a good even coating of batter. Then he would wait until his deep fryer, which was filled with vegetable oil, was “smoking hot”, that is the real secret to frying fish. The ideal is that you want the hot oil to immediately seal the outside fish batter and thus prevent the fish from becoming “greasy” which it surely will with low heat, trust me. I realize most people reading this blog will know these details, but in case there are some who don’t I include them. I hate to see “good meat” wasted from poor cooking habits!
Not only did Kenneth use trot lines to catch fish, he also used them for snapping turtles. I don’t know which gave him a bigger thrill, a big fish on his line or a monster snapping turtle. He was also expert at butchering and cooking turtle meat, which, if made properly, is one of the best meats one can enjoy. Unfortunately I cannot remember in detail his method of frying turtle, but I do know, from experience, if not done right it will be like eating shoe leather, but his turtle was as tender as a young chicken, too bad I did not pay close attention to his cooking of turtle meat.
To close this blog, before it rambles on and on, I remember one piece of advice Kenneth always gave me. He would say, “Ernie, if ‘you’ are going fishing, you better have a raincoat and take an extra pull rope for your motor.” Yes Kenneth, I remember your advice.
Showing posts with label adventure. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adventure. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Monday, December 19, 2011
Adventures in the Wilderness
Today while going about my shop work, my mind kept wandering to ‘spring plans’. Not work related plans, but plans for another trip into the BWCA (Boundary Waters Canoe Area), which is a 1 million acre designated wilderness area. It contains thousands of lakes and many miles of portages between these lakes. The charm of this wilderness is that it is a ‘primitive area’, meaning no motors allowed, other than on some of the lakes that border the BWCA. Once you are past the first portages, all travel is either by foot or canoe. Even airplanes are limited as to how high they must be to fly over this wilderness.
Some folks are offended by a designated wilderness that cuts off modern means of transportation. My opinion is that in a country as big as ours, there should be room for everyone to enjoy their chosen sports without infringing on other people. Thus there should be areas where the ‘motor heads’ can take their motorcycles or 4-wheelers and explore the back country. There are state forest trails in other areas that are designated to horsemen, this is as it should be. My chosen sport for such outings is to travel by canoe and portage to reach the deep woods and find some solitude and on occasions, even catch some fish.
I have a fond memory that reoccurs whenever I think of trips into the BWCA. It was around the Memorial Day holiday of 1987, that my wife and I took our first real trip into the BWCA. We went as far as a small lake called Koma, which was about a day and a half of travel by canoe and portage. On our first afternoon of fishing, we were out in a light drizzle and as I cast a huge rubber perch replica minnow under the overhang of a pine tree, that had partly fallen over the water, there was a great rapid swirl on the surface and the bait disappeared. In a flash, my line was singing off the reel as the fish made a long run. It was the single largest northern pike that I had ever caught. It was a wonderful battle between me and “Moby Dick”! Landing a 20 pound northern pike in a canoe is a very exciting affair. As is common with big fish, it would not go in my landing net, other than its head. The battle lasted a good 20 minutes or more before the fish was finally worn out enough that I could get my hands on it to “flop” into the bottom of the canoe. Then it came to life again and trashed, flopped and generally made a “scene” fit only for a backwoods brawl.
Such a fish under those circumstances is better released than killed. To start with there was no way to keep it fresh to take to a taxidermist, for it was many days before we would be back in civilization. There was too much meat to eat in a day or so, besides the big fish are not the best eating anyway. So after a couple pictures that turned out poorly, I revived the fish and watched it swim away. That was 24 years ago and I have yet to catch another fish that big, but the memory of such an experience will stick with a fisherman as long as he lives.
I have since made the trip in one day on several occasions, but would hate to think of doing that again! The portage trails in that country are not exactly “walking paths” like you think of in a state park or some such place. The terrain is such that you meet up with low places that can only be described as “swamps’ and other spots that requires you to take off, straight up over slippery rocks, mud and various other obstacles which are prone to ‘trip you up’. Doing this with a backpack or canoe on you shoulders makes the trail even more interesting.
Last spring, me and a friend made the trip into Koma at the same time of year, on Memorial Day. It was a lot different than the ‘87 trip, but also left memories that won’t be forgotten. In contrast to the great fishing that we had in ‘87 that included a lot of fish besides ‘the big one’, this last trip barely provided enough fish of one meal. What makes this trip a grand memory is the “challenge” of it. Rain, wind and waves can make a wilderness trip very ‘memorable’. To be totally honest, I am not sure which memory I cherish the most. Whether catching the fish of a lifetime in my relative youth, or meeting a serious physical challenge in my mid-50’s.
It was almost one year to the day after having a full knee replacement that we made this most recent trip into Lake Koma. Calculating the portages according to the rods listed on the Fisher maps, and considering that each portage is covered 6 times on a round trip, we covered 9 miles by foot from Monday morning to Wednesday evening. Two thirds of which I either had a 68# canoe or a 30# backpack on my shoulders. Besides the work of traveling, we had to contend with serious winds, reports were of steady winds at 40 MPH during part of our trip.
The trip in was not bad as far as wind was concerned. We had light rain, but nothing serious, that was a Monday. On Tuesday we planned to fish and make the return trip in two days, on Wednesday and Thursday.
Things went according to plan for a little while. But by mid-morning on Tuesday we had to get off the lake because the wind made fishing rather miserable and the canoe hard to control. As the day wore on, the winds picked up and the rain started. By dark the winds were in a good ‘roar’. I remember looking the trees over near my tent very carefully that night, calculating whether any of them were likely to reach my tent if they came down. I judged correctly and woke up Wednesday morning to the continued roar of wind, but no trees had invaded my tent during the night, for which I was thankful. I looked across to see if my traveling partner’s tent was still free of treetops and was glad to see that he had ‘made the night also’.
As our schedule was, we were compelled to travel that Wednesday in spite of the wind. The fortunate thing for us was that we were traveling on fairly small lakes and much of it was on a small river, so the wind could only kick up serious waves in a few places. Another helpful thing was that as we reached our last lake, which ran northwest to southeast and was several miles long, the wind was generally at our back. This made a very exciting and easy paddle to reach the landing, that is, as long as we made sure to keep the canoe “upright”. Which we did.
The biggest challenge that day was on the portages. During the night of ‘raging wind’, many trees had come down over our portage trails, making a stiff legged fellow really struggle to climb over them with a canoe on his back! I remember being stopped at one spot, stupidly looking at this tree that was over the portage and trying to determine if I could get my ‘bum leg’ high enough to clear it, all the while I had the canoe on my shoulders that I was afraid to set down because I did not think I would be able to get it back up if I let it down. It is very funny now and was “somewhat” funny then, but I am glad there was no video camera rolling while I stood there, like a frozen stump, staring at this tree, which was not in a place that I could go around it, due to huge boulders on each side of the trail. It reminds me of an animal in the headlights, they are blinded and stand still as if they cannot decide the best course of action. That is how I felt looking at this obstacle of a downed tree. When I finally came to my senses and realized that every second I stood there with that weight on my shoulders, I was using up valuable energy that I needed to clear that tree, I executed my plan of approaching it in such a way as to swing my ‘bum leg’ up and over the tree first and follow it with my good leg, to my relief the plan worked, but it is one of those memories we create when we get out of our normal routine and go off on some adventure, if that qualifies as an ‘adventure’. That too is a relative term, depending on what stage we are in our lives. What can be called an adventure at ‘late mid-life’ might not qualify as such for young folks. One of my favorite quotes on the term “adventure” came from Louis Lamour, he defined ‘adventure’ as a romantic name for “being in a lot of trouble”. I have thought of that definition many times and it never fails to cheer me up whenever I have gotten myself into a difficult situation.
Now we are making plans for another spring trip into the BWCA. So far, we have not been as ambitious in choosing a route that requires a lot of portaging, and as long as I am the one packing the canoe, we aren’t going to either! Not yet anyway.
Some folks are offended by a designated wilderness that cuts off modern means of transportation. My opinion is that in a country as big as ours, there should be room for everyone to enjoy their chosen sports without infringing on other people. Thus there should be areas where the ‘motor heads’ can take their motorcycles or 4-wheelers and explore the back country. There are state forest trails in other areas that are designated to horsemen, this is as it should be. My chosen sport for such outings is to travel by canoe and portage to reach the deep woods and find some solitude and on occasions, even catch some fish.
I have a fond memory that reoccurs whenever I think of trips into the BWCA. It was around the Memorial Day holiday of 1987, that my wife and I took our first real trip into the BWCA. We went as far as a small lake called Koma, which was about a day and a half of travel by canoe and portage. On our first afternoon of fishing, we were out in a light drizzle and as I cast a huge rubber perch replica minnow under the overhang of a pine tree, that had partly fallen over the water, there was a great rapid swirl on the surface and the bait disappeared. In a flash, my line was singing off the reel as the fish made a long run. It was the single largest northern pike that I had ever caught. It was a wonderful battle between me and “Moby Dick”! Landing a 20 pound northern pike in a canoe is a very exciting affair. As is common with big fish, it would not go in my landing net, other than its head. The battle lasted a good 20 minutes or more before the fish was finally worn out enough that I could get my hands on it to “flop” into the bottom of the canoe. Then it came to life again and trashed, flopped and generally made a “scene” fit only for a backwoods brawl.
Such a fish under those circumstances is better released than killed. To start with there was no way to keep it fresh to take to a taxidermist, for it was many days before we would be back in civilization. There was too much meat to eat in a day or so, besides the big fish are not the best eating anyway. So after a couple pictures that turned out poorly, I revived the fish and watched it swim away. That was 24 years ago and I have yet to catch another fish that big, but the memory of such an experience will stick with a fisherman as long as he lives.
I have since made the trip in one day on several occasions, but would hate to think of doing that again! The portage trails in that country are not exactly “walking paths” like you think of in a state park or some such place. The terrain is such that you meet up with low places that can only be described as “swamps’ and other spots that requires you to take off, straight up over slippery rocks, mud and various other obstacles which are prone to ‘trip you up’. Doing this with a backpack or canoe on you shoulders makes the trail even more interesting.
Last spring, me and a friend made the trip into Koma at the same time of year, on Memorial Day. It was a lot different than the ‘87 trip, but also left memories that won’t be forgotten. In contrast to the great fishing that we had in ‘87 that included a lot of fish besides ‘the big one’, this last trip barely provided enough fish of one meal. What makes this trip a grand memory is the “challenge” of it. Rain, wind and waves can make a wilderness trip very ‘memorable’. To be totally honest, I am not sure which memory I cherish the most. Whether catching the fish of a lifetime in my relative youth, or meeting a serious physical challenge in my mid-50’s.
It was almost one year to the day after having a full knee replacement that we made this most recent trip into Lake Koma. Calculating the portages according to the rods listed on the Fisher maps, and considering that each portage is covered 6 times on a round trip, we covered 9 miles by foot from Monday morning to Wednesday evening. Two thirds of which I either had a 68# canoe or a 30# backpack on my shoulders. Besides the work of traveling, we had to contend with serious winds, reports were of steady winds at 40 MPH during part of our trip.
The trip in was not bad as far as wind was concerned. We had light rain, but nothing serious, that was a Monday. On Tuesday we planned to fish and make the return trip in two days, on Wednesday and Thursday.
Things went according to plan for a little while. But by mid-morning on Tuesday we had to get off the lake because the wind made fishing rather miserable and the canoe hard to control. As the day wore on, the winds picked up and the rain started. By dark the winds were in a good ‘roar’. I remember looking the trees over near my tent very carefully that night, calculating whether any of them were likely to reach my tent if they came down. I judged correctly and woke up Wednesday morning to the continued roar of wind, but no trees had invaded my tent during the night, for which I was thankful. I looked across to see if my traveling partner’s tent was still free of treetops and was glad to see that he had ‘made the night also’.
As our schedule was, we were compelled to travel that Wednesday in spite of the wind. The fortunate thing for us was that we were traveling on fairly small lakes and much of it was on a small river, so the wind could only kick up serious waves in a few places. Another helpful thing was that as we reached our last lake, which ran northwest to southeast and was several miles long, the wind was generally at our back. This made a very exciting and easy paddle to reach the landing, that is, as long as we made sure to keep the canoe “upright”. Which we did.
The biggest challenge that day was on the portages. During the night of ‘raging wind’, many trees had come down over our portage trails, making a stiff legged fellow really struggle to climb over them with a canoe on his back! I remember being stopped at one spot, stupidly looking at this tree that was over the portage and trying to determine if I could get my ‘bum leg’ high enough to clear it, all the while I had the canoe on my shoulders that I was afraid to set down because I did not think I would be able to get it back up if I let it down. It is very funny now and was “somewhat” funny then, but I am glad there was no video camera rolling while I stood there, like a frozen stump, staring at this tree, which was not in a place that I could go around it, due to huge boulders on each side of the trail. It reminds me of an animal in the headlights, they are blinded and stand still as if they cannot decide the best course of action. That is how I felt looking at this obstacle of a downed tree. When I finally came to my senses and realized that every second I stood there with that weight on my shoulders, I was using up valuable energy that I needed to clear that tree, I executed my plan of approaching it in such a way as to swing my ‘bum leg’ up and over the tree first and follow it with my good leg, to my relief the plan worked, but it is one of those memories we create when we get out of our normal routine and go off on some adventure, if that qualifies as an ‘adventure’. That too is a relative term, depending on what stage we are in our lives. What can be called an adventure at ‘late mid-life’ might not qualify as such for young folks. One of my favorite quotes on the term “adventure” came from Louis Lamour, he defined ‘adventure’ as a romantic name for “being in a lot of trouble”. I have thought of that definition many times and it never fails to cheer me up whenever I have gotten myself into a difficult situation.
Now we are making plans for another spring trip into the BWCA. So far, we have not been as ambitious in choosing a route that requires a lot of portaging, and as long as I am the one packing the canoe, we aren’t going to either! Not yet anyway.
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