But fishing the Brule was just a step on the way further north, all the way up to Nipigon. The two of us made it a couple of hours north before we had to pull up on the side of the road for a couple of hours sleep in the back of the truck. After a couple more hours we were back on the road and off. There was a short, unscheduled, emergency bathroom stop along the only stretch of Wisconsin highway without a gas station or rest stop or some kind of bathroom, (not to mention the harsh, scratchy weedy plants that lined the road). Of course my brother delighted in holding out on delivering the toilet paper until my final desperate shrills and I'd exhausted every bush within stretching reach. Clearly he was confident he wouldn't be caught in the reverse situation.
As the sun began coming up we drove through the township of Brule and on to the river. My butt was somewhat raw and shared space in my underwear with an assortment of bark chips, grasses, twigs, dirt and various other sharp and unpleasant materials. But I knew better than to voice one word of discomfort - that would just fuel my brothers sense of accomplishment and probably egg him on to grander pranks. I needed time to plan my revenge first. There were plenty of guys out (mainly in fancy cars from Minnesota). Paul and I hit two spots, one I've fished a lot and another I've never fished. Both spots I fished swinging a spey rod and Paul went with spinning tackle. We worked the water pretty thoroughly and managed only a few small stream trout. However, Paul did agree it is a pretty river and fun to fish, even though there are probably less fish swim in it than fishermen that fish it.
After we'd broken down our rods it was time to break out my first attempt at revenge. My brother likes spicy food and prides himself on "the hotter the better". There's a new variety of Doritos on the marker that are labelled as third degree burn and they are HOT. I opened the packet and covered the label with my hand and let him dig in. He grabbed a large handful and shoved them in his unsuspecting mouth. To this day I can't tell you exactly how his mouth felt but there was several moments of silence and although he kept a stoic face, behind his eyes betrayed the effort he was putting forth to maintain his calm exterior. It was only a few moments before he regained enough composure to casually say "they taste good but they are fairly spicy". He waited just enough time so as to make it seem he was just casually reaching for a drink to cool his thirst but I suspect it was to subdue the last of the flames smoldering away on his tongue. He did reach for more of those chips but certainly they were only eaten a few at a time, and always with an open beverage close by. I turned and examined his face closely. His sly grin admitted I had gotten him but he hadn't cracked enough to give me any gloating rights, but we both knew I'd exacted a little of my revenge.
Paul on the banks of the Bois Brule RiverMoments later we were driving west and before we knew it we were crossing the at Louis River and entering Duluth and heading up the north shore. Although we hadn't been driving long fatigue was beginning to set in and by the time we made it to Tettagouche State Park I couldn't keep my eyes open. Despite a well-drilling rig a few meters away the two of us fell into a heavy sleep for a good few hours. The sun was out and it was quite warm.
Crossing into DuluthThe sun was dipping low in the sky as we pushed the last couple of hours north to the border. The crossing into Canada was easy and the drive up to Nipigon uneventful. We hit the turnoff from the border towards Alexander's Dam and there was some pretty heavy fog, blocking the starlight and scenery. We got to the boat ramp and climbed into our sleeping bags, ready for a decent chunk of sleep for the night.
Mist over the Nipigon
Paul rises, looks around then lights one up
Dead salmon carcasses line the river upstream to the damFirst light came and went without the two of us rising. It was just too cosy under the blankets and things to climb out into the fog and cold. Finally I couldn't take it any more. Paul seemed dead to the world as I got up and rigged up the a two handed rod rigged with classic spey flies. I went upstream and there were gulls, bald and golden eagles everywhere, feeding on the spent salmon carcasses along the shore line. Deep bodied chinooks porpoised in the current but seemed oblivious to my numerous offerings of the fly-clad type. Although I would have been pleased by the unexpected strike of an aggressive salmon, what I was hoping for was an early season steelhead, laker or even a coaster. I fished without success for some time before I saw Paul strolling along the river, spinning rod in hand. We both fished lucklessly for some time before heading back to the ramp and putting in the boat. I'd never been downstream and it was fun to explore the heavy currents and seams. We started to notice a number of the river bends with rocky gravel held significant numbers of spawning chinook salmon up on their beds. We closely inspected a few of these and soon found one heavily loaded with these brutes. Downstream slightly was a sandy section of shoreline out of the heavy current so I pulled the boat in there and the two of us walked upstream to where the fish were in the shallows.
A small stream tumbles into the main river
A bald eagle watches onAs it turned out the crystal clear water was deeper than we thought and the fish were in at least 60cm (2 feet) of water. It was difficult to get a good drift or cast so as to get out offering close to the fishes mouth. While I swung streamers out in the current, Paul focused on the spawning fish. It was his first time fishing to salmon of any sort and it wasn't long before he was hooked in to his first. Unfortunately it, and the next few, liberated themselves before coming to the net. Finally though he got a spawned out hen to the net. She was dark and in poor condition, as well as being one of the smallest fish on that stretch of gravel. Still, it was Paul's first salmon and all of the fish in this river are wild and many generations removed from stocked fish.
Sorry to say it Paul, but that is one crusty salmon!The salmon were dark and clearly the run was winding down. Although there was probably a few fresher fish around that might eat, by far the majority of the run were intent only on spawning or spawned out and just waiting (and hoping by the look of a few of them) to die. They seem to be tough to kill on this river as it is the only one I've caught a fish with it's eye already pecked out by seagulls. We fished until lunchtime and then decided to give it up. We only had the day and there was other sights I wanted to show him. There was no point wasting our time fishing to stale chinooks all day. We took a few photos of the spectacular landscape and ate a lunch at a peculiar diner in the township of Nipigon before arriving at our first stop, the Jackpine River. We walked, chatting, joking and searching the pools, tailouts and runs for fish. There was no sign except a few of the dead pink salmon on the banks, remnants of those that had choked up the stream when I was there only a few weeks before.
A typical view into Nipigon Bay
The Jackpine RiverAs the sun got lower we gave up on the Jackpine and there was one place I really wanted to try. I read about it but the last time I was here the wind and waves were too much to make it practical but the wind was dead calm and it was still warm enough to give it a try. The gravel river itself doesn't really provide much of a fishery but at the mouth is a vast, shallow sand flat. These flats attract cruising pods of steelhead, lake trout, coho, pink and king salmon as well as coasters. In many ways it's similar to a type of fishing I grew up doing in Australia and I wondered if Paul would enjoy it equally. When we got out on the water the sun was setting and throwing a brilliant orange and red sunset. I had a great time wandering around on the flats, scanning and casting for those cruising fish. Paul and I stayed close enough together to talk and laugh (mostly about the fact he was losing feeling in his hands and wondering just how cold they had to get before frostbite set in) and it was really a good time. We had a great time but did we catch any fish? No, but would I write about it here if we had??????
Just me on the flats
Paul enjoying himself
A pair of Aussies in CanadaAs the sun set it did get cold, especially as a slight land breeze set in from the north. When my feet were numb in the waders I headed out to where Paul had long since taken refuge. We headed back to the truck, recovered the landing net I'd left along the Jackpine River and headed back for the border. We arrived at the border late and weren't really in the mood for problems. But, as luck would have it, the bored American border guards decided to make us come inside and answer a heap of questions while they searched the truck and boat. Paul swears it's because my long, unkempt hair and beard made me look like a drug lord and by the way they singled me out for most of the questions I think he might have been right. Luckily for us there wasn't anything problematic for us to be found and we got on our way.
Unfortunately for us though that wasn't the last of our dramas. I somehow let the fuel level get low on the truck and, knowing the north shore pretty well, decided I could make it to the next small town. As it turned out there was no gas station at that town so I had to hope I'd make it all the way to Silver Bay. Well, we were running on fumes when we made it and finally saw a gas station. We both sighed a huge sigh. When I got out I discovered it was not pay at the pump and the station was closed. I said a few choice words and we headed into the little town in search of another one. We found one and it was pay at the pump and out nervous laughter rang out. It nearly turned bad when my Cabelas card was denied. As it turned out the people at Cabelas had cancelled it because it had some charges from Canada and they cancelled it as a precaution. But at the time I was one unhappy camper. When the second credit card worked Paul and I were both silent and the sound of the pump filling our tank with fuel was music to our ears.
Coming into "the cities"
Crossing the Mississippi and on to the last stretch of the driveWe still had five hours of driving to do and we had to take two or three sleep stops on the way so we could make it back to Plainview so we could pick up the kids and head over to a waterpark in Wisconsin Dells, and from there, jump off onto the main fishing trip of Paul's visit.
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