Hooked 0403_Hooked 0403- - Hooked Magazine

May Long Weekend Mania!
At a rustic Northern Ontario Bush Camp, the author encountered the worst weather but the best fishing.
BY MORGAN PAQUETTE
As we hit the highway that
day, the bed of our truck
laden down with fishing
gear and duffels, I felt so
pumped. It was opening
day of fishing in Ontario
in 2009. It was the 4th year I had been to
Pickerel Creek Fishing Camp in Northern
Ontario and this time, we had invited
along my friend Mitchell and his Dad.
They were great fisherman and knew how
to fillet fish so we decided they would be
a good companion.
We left the city [Winnipeg] at about
10am and got to the camp at about
5:00pm. We had a good chat with the
lodge owner, Dave and then headed into
our cabin. As soon as we had unpacked,
we sat down and started playing cards. As
I looked outside, we saw snow blowing all
over the front lawn. After a few hours, the
other fishermen arrived. There was
Bobby and his son Christen, Louis and
Sam, and Tony and Nathaniel. After a
few short introductions we hit the sheets.
I slept sound from midnight until
about 6:30 when Louis dragged Mitch and
I out of bed. After waking up, we looked
outside to see the ground layered in
about 6 inches of snow. Grumbling, we
bundled up and started brushing snow off
the gear. An hour later we walked down
to the marina, my dad put the boat in
and we pushed off from the dock, laden
down with gear. The water was pretty
high so we sailed through the water for a
few thousand yards. As the boat reached
the mouth of the creek, the water got too
low and we were forced to push it.
Swearing, my dad stripped down to his
underwear and waded into the water. As
he pushed the boat into deeper water, he
swore like a banshee at the cold water.
When he finally got it into the clear he
hopped on board and was in the process
of drying himself off when he spilled his
coffee over the edge, his only hope of
true warmth.
After we got it all sorted out, we hit the
lake. As we pounded across the calm,
frigid water I was thinking to myself that
maybe this would not be the day to fish.
We got to the creek on the other side of
the lake and dropped our rods, confident
there would be fish sitting in the warm
water of the creek. After an hour of nothing,
and still bitterly cold, we finally got
some bites. Mitchell caught a jack fish
and we caught a few small walleyes and
some really small perch. Then, feeling
lucky, we headed over to Johnny Rock [a
rock that got its name when my dad’s
friend John ran into it with his boat and
flipped over, amidst the yells of his buddies
on shore.] There, we caught a few 15
or so inch walleyes which we added to
the line of pike.
After that, we headed over to the lunch
spot. It got a bit warmer and I practiced
my casting while we cooked lunch. As we
ate, I slipped off my socks and put on my
sandals to let my feet air out as they were
very wet and cold after a long morning in
the boat, which had leaky rivets. After
that, we ate a long lunch. If there was one
word to describe greasy onion rings,
steamy fries, Bush Beans and pike and
walleye after a brutal morning of fishing,
it would be WOW. The warm food stuck
right to the inside of our ribs and soon we
were done.
As the adults had a little lunchtime
nap on shore, I put on fresh wool socks. I
love putting on fresh wool socks at
lunchtime because you feel like a new
man, fresh and energized. As we loaded
the coolers I could not help but notice
that the snow was melted away. It was
definitely getting warmer as we pulled
away from the shore.
We fished offshore until the others left
and then we floated down the spit of land
to the end. We put our rods into the
water and at that moment I began to
work on my technique. My technique is
that whenever we fish, I sleep and then
proceed to catch the biggest fish of a particular
species. As I sat back, the rays of
sun beaming into the water, I could
almost feel the fish coming. About 30
minutes later, I woke up to find no one
had caught anything and I stared deeply
into the water waiting for the fish to
come. After a minute, I saw my rod bend
suddenly, nearly under the boat. I stood
up laughing and let the fish run. After a
minute or two, we brought it in and netted
it: it was a 12 inch perch, the biggest
I had ever caught.
For the next 20 minutes, we all caught
The author with a beautiful walleye
about eight or nine 12 inch perch back to
back. With our chains full of excellent
perch we floated back over to the mouth
of the creek. At first it was the same dreary
results but after a few minutes, I got an
18 inch walleye and a 20 inch pike, a real
fighter despite its mini size for a pike.
Then it was blank again and we spent
the next 5 or 6 hours floating up and
down the spit. At about 4:30, as the sun
began to set on the water we headed over
to the final spot of the day. After only 10
minutes, we started nailing fish again.
Walleye after walleye, perch after perch,
pike after pike, they all came and went.
Satisfied, we headed to the docks and
filleted the fish. Bobby cooked up the fish
well and made a nice pot of soup and my
dad contributed by making a great deer
steak. It was a great dinner and as I sat
back in my chair and the adults went for
another nap, obviously leaving us the task
of dishes.
I knew I had experienced the best day
of Northern Ontario fishing I had had in
my life and may ever have. It was great
because Mother Nature provided something
spectacular out of nothing. The
next day, our last day on the water, we
caught nothing all day, a few small bites
was all we got. I guess it was just Mother
Nature’s way to give someone else the
opportunity we had, and as we headed
home at the end of the weekend, I could
only think what would happen next opening
day. ■
Summer 2011 | HOOKED | 15