Campsite, Perent Lake
It was supposed to be a reunion of sorts. When my eldest son Matt asked me to set up a fishing trip to the BWCA, the telephone call coming in the depths of winter but the trip scheduled for late summer, Matt envisioned all four Munger boys and their old man canoeing down Hog Creek into Perent Lake in search of walleye. Didn’t work out that way. Chris wasn’t able to break free of a prior commitment. Dylan didn’t have the time off from his job in the Bakken. Jack was just back from Basic Training at Ft. Jackson. That left Matt and I.
“Maybe I can bring Adrien along,” Matt said during one of our conversations after deciding, brothers or no brothers, the trip was on. “What do you think, Dad?”
“Chris was up there when he was about the same age,” I replied. Until we took my three year old grandson fishing on Fish Lake a few weeks before our scheduled trip to the BWCA, we considered bringing the kid with. But Adrien’s lack of patience for fishing became apparent after ten fishless minutes in my boat. Spending days tossing worms for walleyes out of a canoe clearly was a few years away for the little guy. In the end, it was only Matt and I who loaded up my Pacifica for the three plus hour drive to Isabella.
Paddling Hog Creek.
There are many fine campsites on Perent Lake, our destintation after a two hour canoe down the fetid, tannin colored waters of Hog Creek. Hog Creek twists and turns, doubling back on itself a number of times, before finally making an inauspicious entrance into one of my favorite spots in canoe country. I had an island in mind for our stay and I hoped, as we broke out into open water after the claustrophobic journey down the creek, that no one was already installed at the campsite.
As luck would have it, the spot I’d hoped to spend time at was open. After setting up our tent, unloading our gear, and spreading out our sleeping pads and bags, Matt and I set out in my battered old Coleman canoe to find fish.
Guide with Perent Lake monster in hand.
Camp landing, Perent Lake.
Tossing nightcrawlers and spinners to the depths, we hooked a few walleye that first night but didn’t keep any fish. Vindicated as a guide, I set up our temporary kitchen at the campsite and made dinner over a single burner propane stove.
“This is pretty darn good,” Matt said, our headlamps illumining aluminum camp plates filled with flavored rice and re-hydrated stew-in-a-pouch.
I smiled, nodded, and slid a fork full of moist beef and rice into my mouth. “I bought the stew five years ago. Checked the bag before taking it with. The stuff’s good for another three years.”
After boiling water and doing dishes, I turned in. Matt stayed up, watching satellites course against the open, starry sky, considering his place in the vastness of the universe. I was dead to the world by the time he wandered into the tent.
Silence. That’s what I heard when I got up to do an old man’s business. Outside the tent, there was only utter quiet. No loon calls, no wolf voices, no throaty frog choruses greeted me as I stood beneath the glittering plethora of distant worlds to ease my bladder.
We fished hard over the next two days, napping after lunch to refresh ourselves for a second go at the fish. The five dozen dew worms I’d purchased at the Minnoette, our local bait store, went fast. We caught walleye (mostly between 12″-14″), rock bass, snaky pike, and the odd perch, accumulating enough walleye fillets for two great meals of freshly fried fish battered in Shorelunch and soy milk. Between meals, we ate well, munching on trail mix, jerkey, apples, and oranges for in-the-canoe snacks. Breakfast was either pan fried tortillas with melted cheese and bacon (the already cooked kind that doesn’t require refrigeration), hot coffee, Tang, and breakfast bars, or hot instant oatmeal and the same condiments.
Saturday morning, our second full day on the lake, we awoke to a front stalled over water. The cold air over the lake mixed with warm upper air to create a massive bank of fog. We considered the beauty of the blanketed land as we waited for the gray wall to lift.
Island mist, Perent Lake.
Back on the water, the day warm and the sky open, we reveled in the steady tug of small but energetic walleye on the line. Catching and releasing fish, Matt and I slowly diminished our supply of nightcrawlers until we’d exhausted the five dozen I’d brought with.
“Should have bought another two dozen,” I lamented, tossing spoons and jigs and other artificials at the now non-cooperative fish. “I’ll know better next time.”
Matt ended up out fishing me on that final day, hauling in a couple of chunky walleye I filleted for supper. He also caught and released a fairly nice pike after a lengthy battle and some significant damage to our landing net.
Matt Munger
Through Sunday morning, our day of departure, the weather held. A rain squall passed through Saturday night but my new tent kept us dry. Plans to hit a North Shore stream and catch a few brook trout to add to the mix fell through because we were out of worms and our stop at the Finland Cooperative for live bait turned up to be a non-starter. With no definite itinerary, we detoured to the Palisades overlook on our way down the North Shore to view the Big Lake.
“I’ve never been up here,” my eldest son remarked as we studied slate colored water from a vantage point high above Superior. “This is pretty cool.”
Mark at Palisades.
Matt at Palisades.
An hour later, we pulled into Superior Shores just outside of Two Harbors and clambered out of the Pacifica intent on a cold beer and a good lunch. We ate overlooking the same mass of blue water we’d left behind at Palisades and talked about the next trip, the next journey, into God’s wilderness.
Peace.
Mark
Mark and Matt, Perent Lake.
