Unusual Easterlies

Last week was my annual fishing trip to Lake of the Woods in Canada. For the second consecutive year, the weather tested our mettle and led to post-trip discussions about how much longer old men can boat into the backcountry and sleep in tents pitched on granite outcroppings.

Last year the challenge was frequent rain and a storm that threatened to swamp our boats. This year it was constant cold and wind. I wore every piece of clothing I had for the entire trip, and we never got rained on because it snowed instead. Usually I write in my journal once a day while on the trip. This year I made only one entry all week, as my hands without gloves were too numb to write. For six of our seven days on the lake, the wind came out of the east northeast. Weather out of the east is unusual; weather out of the east for six straight days almost never happens.

Setting up camp in Lake of the Woods’ remote interior means good fishing and welcome solitude. Bad weather has little effect on the fishing and actually enhances the solitude. Most years we have to share the waters with fifteen to twenty other boaters. This year strong winds and whitecaps kept the day visitors away, and we saw only five other boats all week.

I think it is age rather than unseasonably cold weather that is dictating the theme of this blog entry. At age sixty-one, I would have written about catching my first musky or my biggest lake trout. At age seventy-one, I now want to write about sore knees, aching back, and the amount of effort it took to drag myself out of my warm sleeping bag each morning. A person can continue to participate in strenuous recreational pursuits well beyond the age it makes logical sense, and for this I am grateful. My days of contact sports have been over for decades, but lugging a backpack, sleeping on the ground, and filleting fish with numb fingers should be done right up to the end.

I have been back from Canada for two days. If this trip is like the others, thoughts about the aches, the the mishaps, and inclement weather will quickly fade, and only memories of good fishing, peace and quiet, exceptional scenery, and time with friends will remain. I’ll probably write another blog about the trip in a week or two. I do have a fish story to tell.