For Love of Lakes

Shield Lakes Icon

· · 187 · · Shield Lakes Icon Thespectacularfishisamemoryofitspastandavisionfora desiredfuture,anicontostirhumanactiononbehalfofvalued andrelativelyunspoiledBoreallakes. JOHN J. MAGNUSON North of a line from Maine through the Adirondacks west to Minnesota then northwest to the Beaufort Sea, the great ice sheet scraped and gouged the earth’s surface like an unrelenting bulldozer. In doing so the ice laid bare the ancient rock core of the continent, the Precambrian Shield, and gave birth to a vast number of lakes. In the course of several million years of ebbing and flowing across the land, the ice also midwifed the birth of a remarkable fish, Salvelinus naymacush , the lake trout. For two or three million years, the forebears of today’s lake trout moved like summer tourists. They came north, following receding ice when the glaciers waned, then retreated south, east, and west when the ice readvanced. This fish not only inhabits the cold bedrock lakes today, it is essentially confined to them. The greatest density of lake trout lakes on the continent lies along the southern edge of the exposed shield along the Minnesota-Ontario boundary. I learned about lake trout through my studies of tullibee. Both are cold-water fish and often inhabit the same lakes. Unfortunately, my knowledge of these fish is limited to book-learning, futurescapes· · 188 · · gleaned from reading about them in fisheries journals. To understand these bedrock lakes, one must understand the trout. Geri and I have come to Ontario’s Quetico Provincial Park to fill the hole in my understanding through the ground-truthing of direct personal experience. I want to understand these fish and to experience them the way humans have done on these waters for millennia—as prey. Since I never before fished for lake trout, I sought the advice of an expert . Chuck has caught many lakers in a lifetime of fishing. His advice was simple: use a stiff rod with deep-running plugs, and jigs. “Remember,” he said, “It’s May. This time of year they can be anywhere in the water column.” We launch onto quiet water under a cloudy sky at the public access on BeaverhouseLakeinOntario’sQueticoPark.ThisparkandthefamedBoundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness on the American side together protect 2,000 lakes and 2 million acres of lake-studded shield in wilderness status. We plan to travel the lakes in the western end of Quetico Park for nine days. This is an unusual trip for me. Though I always bring fishing tackle along on lake trips, I typically have greater interest in exploration and photography . I usually spend little time fishing and often don’t catch anything at all. This time is to be different. I approach the fishing with as much pessimism as hope. Whether due to lack of skill, lack of patience, or plain bad luck I cannot say, but my past fishing success has been spotty. I have grown accustomed to failure, to even expect it. My hope this time lies in my commitment to persist, to fish constantly, tirelessly. Maybe by the end of our trip I will have something to show for it. • • • We cross Beaverhouse to the Canadian Ranger station for our entry permit and discover the station has not yet opened for the year. Fortunately, a maintenance worker is here tidying things up for the upcoming season. He graciously rummages through desk drawers and eventually finds the proper forms. We return to the water and head east, where a short portage will put us on Quetico Lake. Once on Quetico I waste no time. I reach for my fishing rod and attach a deep-running lure and pay out yards of line. Rod propped against the thwart with my foot, we begin trolling canoeist-style down the lake. The · · 189 · · rod tip vibrates rapidly. All is in order as arms and shoulders fall into easy rhythm. A breeze pushes us gently along. I now notice the rod’s tip has stopped vibrating and its slight bend has disappeared. I reel in a lureless line. I had felt no snag. Had a northern pike taken a swipe and overbit, severing the line? Had a failed knot let a trout escape? Who knows. I switch tactics. Letting the breeze move the canoe into a bay, I begin jigging. In twenty minutes I have a fish on the line. The closer I play him to thecanoe,theharderhefights,swerving,diving,hisblackbackbreakingthe water surface. “That’s a nice fish,” Geri exclaims. “What is it?” “Not sure,” I reply. The fish surfaces again. “Looks like...