I Waited 20 Years to Fish This Nationwide Park. It Was Higher Than I Dreamed

This story, “Pike in Chickenbone Lake? I’ll Say!” appeared within the April 1950 concern of Out of doors Life. Chickenbone Lake is situated in Michigan’s Isle Royale Nationwide Park. In the present day, it has two primitive campgrounds on its shores.

Males pay a worth to see the unspoiled and untrod locations of earth. I used to be paying it that July day by clambering over fallen logs, toiling by waist-high thimbleberry tangles, slipping on hidden rocks, and worming across the cluttered edges of beaver ponds. And I used to be toting, bot­ tom-side-up on my shoulders, an inflated ten-foot rubber life raft that made me appear to be an outsized, yellow-backed, two-legged beatle crawling up and down the ridges.

In entrance of me Elis Holmes trudged alongside, selecting out the perfect going, trying to find moose paths that led across the worst of the down stuff, breaking path by the thimbleberries. He carried our fishing gear. Maurice Brandt introduced up the rear, weighed down with cameras and movie. It was arduous, scorching going. It had rained within the morning and the air now was sticky and humid. I used to be moist as much as the belt from the undergrowth, and sweat ran down my face and neck in trickling streams. Mosquitoes, blackflies, and some deerflies stored me obnoxious com­pany below the cover of the life raft. We had left the boat inflated to avoid wasting the tedious job of blowing it up after we reached our vacation spot.

However not one of the discomforts or arduous work of that hike actually mattered. Up forward one other mile lay Chickenbone Lake, a virgin sheet of water locked in primitive wilderness, reached by no path, seen by human eyes hardly yearly, understanding the dip of a paddle blade maybe at ten-summer intervals. Rumor had it that Chickenbone Lake crawled with northern pike and large walleyes. Who would thoughts a portage of a few miles by tough coun­strive with that chance forward?

It had taken me virtually twenty years to realize this fishing journey. Again in 1931 I made an in a single day hike with a companion into the Chickenbone nation. We had gone ashore from a small boat in late afternoon on the head of McCargoes Cove, on the north shore of Isle Royale, a giant wilderness island in higher Lake Superior. We meant to search out out for ourselves whether or not the Chickenbone pike and walleyes we had heard a lot about have been actually there.

Let me clarify that Isle Royale was at the moment — and nonetheless is — one of many largest and most lovely tracts of roadless wilderness left within the mid­western United States. Fashioned by the highest of a mountain vary that juts out of Lake Superior fifty miles north of the Michigan mainland and fewer than twenty miles from the Canadian shore, the is­ land is fifty miles lengthy and about 5 broad. It has greater than thirty inland lakes hidden amongst its rugged ridges and continues to be unmarred by roads of any variety. It is because of stay completely in that wild and unspoiled state, too, for it has been a nationwide park since 1940, and the U.S. Park Service has no intention of ever altering its primi­tive character.

On that 1931 journey, we adopted moose trails in to Chickenbone Lake, carrying a small, early sort of rubber doughnut deflated in a packsack. We camped on the shore of the lake and have been stored awake half the night time by the discordant laughter of loons and the yapping of coyotes on the ridges. Subsequent morning we blew up our doughnut, put our bait rods collectively, and made prepared to check the northern pike and walleye fishing. However alas for the plans of fishermen!

After we have been about to launch the doughnut, we found that we had neglected one little merchandise. Someway we’d left behind on the boat a field con­taining all of the plugs and spoons we had chosen for the journey. We had not a single fishhook between us, and our boat had sailed out of McCargoes Cove the night earlier than and was now past attain!

We spent the day climbing, port­getting older, and floating the rubber raft. And all day we watched with futile and bitter longing the darkish, fertile-looking water, the drowned snags, the rush-grown shorelines that pretty screamed “pike!” at us. Chickenbone and its neighboring lake, Livermore, have been as promising as any waters we’d ever laid eyes on, and we have been powerless to fish them!

That have had rankled in my soul ever since. Finally, Elis and Maurice and I have been on the best way to do exactly that.

Beaver colonies had made a shambles of the higher reaches of the Chickenbone River. We labored our approach round three or 4 ponds earlier than we lastly noticed, by the slim, white birch trunks, the blue water of the lake opening out forward.

Chickenbone is a lonely spot, with the look of untamed and far-off locations about it. Excessive, rocky ridges hem it in, and alongside the shore towering pines look down like sentinels upon its wind-ruffled waters. It’s the sort of lake that belongs the place it’s, within the coronary heart of a roadless island. We discovered the trunk of a fallen pine jutting out into the water and used it as a makeshift pier as we loaded our gear into the doughnut.

After we shoved away from the snag, a pair of loons midway down the lake burst into wild, mirthless laughter, as if deriding human fools who would come thus far for slightly fishing. Then we heard a shrill, harsh scream overhead, and down from one of many tall pines plunged a giant white­ headed eagle, to circle over our raft and cry his resentment at our intrusion.

I’ll keep in mind that scene for a very long time. I used to be on the oars of the dough­nut, and I let it drift with the sunshine wind whereas Maurice and Elis selected their lures. We, in fact, wouldn’t be the primary to study what kind of fish lurked in that darkish water; the lake had been fished earlier than. However by no means continuously and never in latest occasions. As far as I might study no person had laid a line over it in per­haps a dozen years. Few males ever get to fish such water. I sat there within the drifting doughnut and mentally picture­ graphed the pines and birches, the sur­rounding ridges, and the lengthy level di­viding the 2 wishbone-shaped arms that give the lake its title.

Then Maurice snapped a gold-and­-silver wobbling spoon onto his chief and we have been able to fish. I labored the doughnut inside casting vary of a sunken cedar log that lifted skeleton branches above the water.

Maurice laid his spoon shut in. A patch of emergent grass grew a few yards out from the cedar snag. He dragged his lure abreast of it and there was a sudden swirling commotion. We noticed the pike lance out from the grass and strike with a savage fury that automobile­ried fish and spoon to the highest collectively. The fish latched on on the floor, in plain sight. Then it bent like an oxbow and plunged in a headlong rush.

That pike was not massive — hardly greater than three kilos — nevertheless it was all metal and brawn and combating coronary heart, and it by no means let up for a second. It bucked and hammered and rolled and slashed, boring time after time for the underside or the shelter of the snags farther inshore. Maurice is cussed when he has an excellent fish hooked – likes to slug issues out at shut quarters. He yields line re­luctantly or in no way, and he places his gear to a extreme check. This pike ruffled his mood with its lunging rushes, and so Maurice actually lowered the growth. He had horsed it as much as inside two oar lengths of the raft and was hanging grimly onto the reel deal with, once I heard a startled grunt from Elis after which a quiet announcement: “I acquired one too.”

At that very same prompt I spotted I had forgotten to maintain the oars going, and the wind was carrying the doughnut swiftly in towards the snags alongshore. We had fairly a vigorous time for just a few seconds. A rubber raft rows with the perversity of a bull calf led by the tail, however I labored us out away from the shoals as quick as I might. Elis gave his fish line and let it mess around, in order to maintain the decks clear for Maurice. Then swiftly Maurice didn’t want working area any longer.

His pike made a swift, powerhouse dive below the raft itself and wrapped the rod across the facet of the doughnut so arduous that the inflated rubber cylinder thrummed like a drum. Then the arched rod sprang straight, and pike, spoon, and chief have been gone collectively.

Maurice managed a rueful grin. “Properly, I had enjoyable with him anyway,” he declared.

Three or 4 minutes later Elis introduced his fish alongside. However at shut vary it confirmed clearly it wasn’t able to be boated, so he yielded line and let it make just a few extra runs to work off the remainder of its power. When he lastly led it again to the raft it got here alongside docilely, thirty inches of lean and ugly­ wanting pike, displaying its lengthy white stomach in abject give up.

They Wouldn’t Be Horsed

It value Maurice three extra good fish to persuade himself that the pike of Chickenbone wouldn’t be horsed. The primary of the three acquired what it needed ten seconds after it struck, when Maurice insisted on snubbing it up brief with a decent line. The pike went deep at the hours of darkness water and tore the hooks out of its lengthy, lean jaws in a slashing show of guts and energy.

The second got here to the highest solely a few yards from the raft and threw the spoon with a rolling, thresh­ing twist of its complete physique. The third adopted the sample set by the primary; it smacked the rod down arduous towards the raft and went away with the spoon with out even pausing.

Maurice revised his ways after that. The subsequent pike he hooked he handled with the respect due a fish with homicide in its coronary heart and rockets in its tail. He performed it, craftily and warily, and made out all proper — however I misplaced it for him. He had led it as much as the raft after a scrap that was brass-knuckle and knee-in-the­ groin stuff all the best way, and wheedled it in the place I might attain for it. The pike appeared subdued and able to come aboard. I slid my hand down the road and lifted, however even earlier than the fish left the water I knew our judgment had been unhealthy. It doubled up like a metal spring and when it uncoiled my enamel rattled. That one lunge was all it took. The pike went freed from the hooks as in the event that they have been bent pins, and celebrated by kicking a gallon of Chickenbone Lake into my face with its tail.

“Look,” Maurice remonstrated, “I don’t need assistance to lose ’em. I can do this on my own. You two guys coach and kibitz and inform me to play ’em extra, and once I lastly get an excellent one alongside­ facet you go and switch him unfastened!”

“You land your individual any further,” I retorted, wiping my mouth and eyes dry.

Elis had three within the boat by that point. He was dealing with them rigorously, however at that he had misplaced as many as he had landed.

Pike Lurked Below Each Snag

It’s arduous to search out phrases to explain the fishing we had within the subsequent couple of hours. Pike have been lurking below each snag, in each patch of grass, beneath every clump of lily pads, alongside the mar­ gin of each rush mattress. Not singly, not a lone fish right here and there, however in packs. Lean, darkish shapes-hungry, savagely desperate to pounce upon any meals that moved inside killing vary. They got here two and three collectively out of the tiny coves and weed pockets, looking down our spoons, hanging with cruel fury. They have been untutored wilderness fish, reckless and unwary, understanding nothing of hooks or traces, understanding solely methods to strike and combat, methods to lunge on the lure and rake it with their lengthy enamel, methods to buck and battle for his or her lives as soon as they felt metal barbs of their jaws.

There have been not often greater than three or 4 casts between strikes and there have been locations alongside the shore, the place snags lay thick or grass beds offered cowl, that despatched a fish out to every forged as certainly because the spoons touched the water.

Typically we fought two pike simul­taneously, one from both finish of the raft. Greater than as soon as they contrived to tangle the traces collectively and one or each went free within the ensuing mix-up. Again and again we watched massive fish fol­low the lure out from shoal water as we retrieved, not fairly making up their minds to take it, mendacity sinister and vengeful-looking a rod’s size from the boat after the spoon had been lifted from the water. After which we’d drop the bait again in entrance of the fish, dan­gling it on a foot or so of line, and twitch it below their noses till we tantalized them into smashing at it. It appeared as if the sight of a morsel of meals unable to flee was greater than they might endure!

Then, midway down the brief arm of the lake, Maurice hooked a fish that behaved otherwise. It fought arduous, nevertheless it was extra canny and fewer reckless than the northerns. It rolled and twisted on the road, with out the headlong rushes we had come to anticipate, like a small-mouth bass making a stand deep down. Maurice lastly introduced it shut and we noticed a heavy-bodied, golden-brown fish, shorter and extra blocky than a northern pike, turning again and again within the water. We knew then there have been walleyes within the lake too.

They have been feeding near the highest in that one space, most likely over a sub­merged bar or deep weed mattress that we couldn’t see. We let the raft drift, for­ getting in regards to the northerns for a couple of minutes, and went after the walleyes.

They confirmed solely reasonable curiosity in spoons, so we switched baits. I had an oddity in my sort out field, a slender pike minnow coated with real frog pores and skin, that I had carried for years and by no means used. On a hunch I snapped it on the chief. It lured a five-pound walleye on the second forged, one of many few occasions in my life I’ve coaxed considered one of that tribe into hanging at a plug. We took six of them in half an hour, all good fish, earlier than we drifted past their feeding floor and went again to north­erns for livelier motion.

In two hours we boated twenty north­erns and walleyes. We stored just a few of the large ones, plus the smaller ones that have been hooked deeply sufficient to fill the icebox aboard the Sally Ann, anchored down in McCargoes Cove. The remaining we returned to the water. We stored no ac­rely of these we misplaced however in that two hours the three of us should have hooked and fought a minimum of forty fish.

When the solar was solely an hour above the western ridges we packed the doughnut by the thimbleberry thickets and over a low rise Livermore; the place we fished a brief part of shore. The snags have been thick­er, and the pike greater and hungrier­ if any fish could be hungrier than these in Chickenbone. For an hour we re­turned northerns to the water as quick as we caught ’em, and that was about as quick as we might lay our spoons within the water.

Learn Subsequent: Gollywompers: A Secret Previous Bait for Large Bass

It’s an extended journey again to McCargoes Cove from Lake Livermore after solar­ down, with fishing gear and cameras and a doughnut to tote. It was virtually darkish after we got here out of the timber and noticed our cruiser mendacity at an outdated pier. The final mile had been a tough one, as we stumbled over logs, clawed by brush tangles, and felt for the path underfoot, whereas the raft on my again minimize off the little gentle that lingered within the sky.

However it had been value it. A person has to pay a worth to see the spoiled locations. And when he finds on the finish of the path what we had discovered that afternoon no portage is simply too lengthy, no load too heavy. Such fishing as that’s value no matter it could value!