Boundary Waters - Three Generations at a Gabbro Lake Basecamp

This would be my sixteenth time up here in the Boundary Waters/Quetico region. On this trip, there would be three generations of the Biernacki family; myself, my son Matt, and my nearly nine-year-old grandson James who would be taking his first trip into the Boundary Waters wilderness. We are taking the same route and paddling the same lakes that Matt and I traveled twenty years ago when I took him up here for his first time. 

Day One: Monday, May 22

Hazy conditions softened the sun. Smoke from Canadian wildfires had drifted south from Alberta and Saskatchewan to take over and dominate our skies. The temperatures were in the upper 70s, somewhat warm for this time of year but especially surprising this year since the winter’s ice had just cleared the Boundary Waters’ lakes only two weeks prior to our arrival. I would later read that this was one of the latest ice-out dates in many years.

Like walking a dog off-leash, grandson James would cover twice the distance Matt and I walked when traversing the long, 200 rod (2/3rds of a mile) portage from the parking lot to the Little Gabbro Lake put-in. He would scamper ahead, double back toward us, off into the woods to the right, then into the woods into the left. It was exhausting just watching him.

At the shoreline, James was excited and eager to get going. But first, we had to teach him about the forest spirits. 

"Many years ago," I began, "the Ojibway people lived in this land of woods and water." I had caught James' attention. "We must please their spirits so that they may look after us and allow us safe passage in the days to come. To do so, we must first give them a gift."

Matt and I took a pinch of tobacco from the tips of our cigar and handed the flakes of leaves to James. "We must sprinkle this onto the water as our gift to them, for tobacco is something they liked."

James turned to Matt. "Is that true, dad?"

"Indeed it is," Matt said as we spread the leaves onto the water. "This is something grandpa showed me twenty years ago and we have been doing it ever since before getting into canoes."

Our gift to the Ojibway.

James landed a northern pike only a couple of minutes after we got underway. He would get $1 from his dad for the group’s first fish. He relished the thought of earning from me $10 for being the one to also catch the largest fish of the group. Soon after, Matt caught a walleye and later, a decent sized pike. 

Later in the day while in camp, just after I complained that poor ol’ grandpa had not caught a thing, I landed a 20-inch, 2-pound pike that I had caught off-shore from our tent site. As of now, the $10 would stay in my pocket, something that concerned James and stirred his competitive juices.

After we settled in, we quickly learned we were not going to be alone. Blackflies and mosquitoes swarmed over us. They and our on-again, off-again bulky headnets would be our unwanted companions for the rest of the week. 

Day Two: Tuesday, May 23

We left camp and headed to the fast-moving waters between it and Little Gabbro to try our hand at some fishing. In the past, we have had good luck in such waters, usually landing many fish. But that was not the case this time around. Back in camp, we fished from shore, lounged around, played board games, and explored the area’s woods.  

I was impressed with James. At first, I thought he was too young for this first trip. His dad, of course, knew better and felt he would do fine given his love of the outdoors. While James didn’t seem to be too thrilled with the long stretches of time in the waves and wind, he was a quick study, learning very fast what to do and what not to do while seated in the middle of the canoe. He was also a quick learner of the new board games we were teaching him while in camp. After only a couple of practice games, he was beginning to master the fundamentals of backgammon and chess. There are adults who have never been able to grasp chess and here, this nine-year-old, was playing competitively with us grown-ups.

As the day grew late, it was Matt’s turn to impress me. His patience and fatherly advice readily and often given to his son, James, was without parallel. Curious James would pepper Matt with questions about all topics, not just those wilderness-related. After I tired of doing so, Matt would also agree to play yet one more game of backgammon or chess with James even though he simply wanted to stare off and enjoy the views and our surroundings without having to think. Even into the evening after we retired to our tents, I could hear from the distance James asking questions and Matt patiently answering them, dispensing advice and wisdom that one day James will relish and appreciate more so than he was already now doing so in these far-northern spaces.

Day Three: Wednesday, May 24

Matt had a difficult night’s sleep last night due to the 30-degree overnight temperatures. His summer weight bag wasn’t cutting it. Tonight’s forecast called for the same. So, we headed west to our original portage and retrieved from the car his winter-weight bag. We turned this journey into an exploration of a part of the Boundary Waters we had not seen before. The bays and inlets to the north as well as another portage into the South Kawishiwi River system yielded some more fish but none that would allow one to claim the largest fish prize.

We talked with other canoe-trippers who were tackling these same waters and portages. One group (like us consisting of a grandfather, adult son, and grandson) were on their own journey of discovery. For them this was not a fishing trip (they carried no angling gear) but instead a simple trip of exploration of different lakes, rivers, and campsites.

The easterly winds picked up considerably as the day progressed. It was these winds that we would have to paddle into to make it back to camp three or so miles away. Gusts and whitecaps made for slow progress despite the hard paddling, grinding, and hard digging to make headway. At times, water was coming in over the bow of the boat. James was getting nervous and didn’t care too much for this rocking and rolling. I wasn’t at all calm myself. Matt did a great job of steering from the stern of the boat to prevent us from getting turned and possible swamped from a broadside hit of the growing waves. To somewhat relieve the hardship, we would paddle from the lee of one island or peninsula to the next, minimizing the number of long paddles over the open and exposed expanses of the lake.

Tired and weary, we safely made it back to camp by late afternoon to relax and recover. While sitting around the fire, I asked James if he was enjoying himself on this canoe trip.

“I like the fishing and the playing the board games,” he quickly responded.

“What about this canoe trip don’t you like?”

“The canoeing,” he said. “I don’t like the canoeing part.”

Day Four: Thursday, May 25

It was very cold again last night. Temperatures were just above freezing. It was my turn for a poor night’s sleep due to the cold, even with my rated sleeping bag. But, the morning dawned beautifully, bright and sunny, with the relatively light and warming winds pushing away the smoke and haze of the previous days.

The day’s journey took us to the far southeastern corner of Gabbro, up through the rapids into Bald Eagle Lake, and then a portage northerly into Turtle Lake. Along the way, we stopped for lunch at a campsite that Matt and I had stayed at for two nights 20 years ago.

Back then, we arrived late after fighting strong headwinds all day and found this site to be the only one open and available due to the then late summer popularity of the area. No sooner had we set up our tents that we heard a “hello?” from two canoeists, like us a father and son, who had paddled up to our shore. They too had fought the same winds we had and could not find a site to camp at this late hour. They wearily asked if they could share our site. We readily agreed and happily obliged. Afterall, it is a brotherhood out here and we all help each other out whenever one can. In the growing dark, while we played cards and board games, we learned that the father was a writer and reporter for his newspaper back home in the Gary, Indiana area. Two weeks later, he sent us a clipping of his story about his father/son wilderness canoe trip and mentioned Matt and I by name, sharing with his readers how we provided help and relief in their time of need in this remote corner of northern Minnesota.

Taking a break at "Twenty Year" camp.

There was no one needing our help this time around though. We trekked across the portage and into Turtle Lake where were greeted by two men having their own shore lunch at a nearby campsite. As we paddled past, one of them, as he walked to the shoreline toward us, said, “Boy, I sure wish my grandfather took me on a trip like this when I was little!” We exchanged pleasantries and as we paddled away, I thought, man, I am really getting old if this gentleman found it easy to properly assume and identify me as a grandfather.

Further north on the lake, we paddled and drifted in and around bays and islands while trolling our spinner lures topped with plastics. In short order, I landed a 27-inch, 4.5-pound pike, tying my record of largest fish caught last year. This was later topped by a behemoth of a pike that attacked my lure, bending my rod to near the breaking point, peeling off the line while it made deep and long runs. While it tried to shake the hook, I was retrieving the line and trying to re-set the reel’s drag to give me some more heft but not so much as to allow the line to break. James deftly helped me land the fish as I brought it to the side of the canoe using the large net we had brought with. This monster weighed in at 11 pounds and measured 35 inches from nose to tail. Not only was it the largest of the fish we had caught on this trip, it was the largest I have ever caught using a rod and reel.

27-inch, 4.5 pound northern pike.

35-inch, 11 pound northern pike.

As we made the long paddle back to camp, I overheard James behind me lament to his dad on how it was now likely he would never be the one to catch the largest fish on this trip and as such not win the $10 prize that he had been coveting all week. And then later, after presumable making the calculations to salvage some of the prize money, he said to Matt, “Dad, what if we team up and if either one of us catch a larger fish than grandpa’s we can split the $10?”

“We’ll see James. We’ll see. That 35-inch pike will be tough to beat though.”

Day Five: Friday, May 26

Like the dusks of previous evenings, the dawns also brought out the black flies and mosquitoes. They were especially vicious today, swarming us by the hundreds, perhaps the thousands, vying and competing for a taste of blood from any patch of exposed flesh, all while we swatted and slapped as we tried to drink our coffee and eat our breakfast. And you want terror? Just imagine the conditions further back in the deeper woods where certain contortions need to be performed while having to conduct one’s morning business.

We paddled toward the lake’s northern bays and inlets, fishing along the way. Just when the way appeared to dead-end with swamp and brush, we were instead pleased to see a small stream meandering its way through from the lake’s headlands. A serene paddle through the boggy vegetation, marshy scrub, and willow brush that predominated the wetlands adjacent to our route allowed for a quiet and peaceful time that we all relished and shared.

While this was prime moose habitat, our hopes for a sighting did not come to be. But the area was full of painted turtles, many of which were sunning themselves on the mud banks or peaking the heads above the water line only to quickly submerge as we passed by. James used the net to land one of them which then scampered about the bottom of the canoe while we admired its brilliant array of multi-colors. What would just be a simple pleasure to you or I was instead an event that made a 9-year-old boy very happy.

While off to the southern side of the lake to fish the inlets and streams located there, we passed two men fishing in a nearby bay. They, like us, had been out all day fishing and exploring. After exchanging pleasantries and fishing tips, I mentioned the late afternoon hour.

“We’re going to head back to camp. It’s about that time for some needed adult liquid refreshment.”

“No doubt about that,” came the response from one of the men, the one with a long white beard. “Although our wives, who we left back at camp, probably have since drank all of ours!”

Day Six: Saturday, May 27

We didn’t want to leave. But schedules dictated otherwise. We broke down camp, secured the gear in the canoe, and slowly headed back toward the car. A lone bald eagle looked down upon us from his perch high above as we made westerly progress. A paddle downstream through the small rapids between lakes hastened our advance despite our wanting the day, and our trip, not to end too quickly.

We passed a campsite where the two men from yesterday and their wives were fishing from the shoreline.

“How was the whiskey last night?” I called out.

“Wonderful!” the long-bearded man called back through cupped hands. “The wives left plenty for us. And I slept like a baby!”

At the portage, we hefted our gear and headed up the trail toward the car. Matt and I showed our weariness under the weight and the distance needed to be covered. James, like at the outset earlier in the week, was still full of energy and would take off ahead of us.  After turning at a bend in the trail, he would be standing there with a “what’s taking you guys so long” type of look.

We hungrily downed our traditional post trip steak dinners once we got back to town. I opened my billfold to give James $5, one half of the biggest fish prize, for there was no way I would have landed that pike had he not help with the landing net.

“So, did you enjoy the trip?” I said as I slipped him the money.

“Yes, I did. Can we go again next year? Can grandma come with too?” he asked eagerly.

“Well, we’ll see. Grandma is not a fan of the bugs. I don’t know if she’d enjoy this.”

 He thought about this for a moment. “You know, grandma’s cool,” he said. And after another moment, he added, “And you’re cool too, grandpa.”

A music video (music by The Kinks) of this trip is at the following link:

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