Swarms of mosquitoes are nothing when you're reeling in giants

So here we are at Bradford Lake.  My wife and I. 

About an hour from Kasba Lake.  In northern Canada situated between Nunavut and the Northwest Territories. 

We had left on the float plane earlier along with our guide and fishing equipment. 

We arrived.  Unloaded our gear.  The bush pilot wished us good luck.  Promised to return for us sometime that evening.  And away he went.  Once out of earshot of the plane’s engine it was deathly quiet. 

Nothing really to worry about.  Since the noise from the plane would likely move the bear, moose, wolves, weasels and other threatening critters away from our boarding area.  While the guide was carefully explaining that to us, I was watching the bush.  Intently. 

We quickly bailed the rain water out of one of the two boats.  Loaded our gear.  Pushed the boat into the water.  Waited for the guide to start the motor.  Climbed aboard.  And held on as the guide moved us away from the shore. 

Only once years ago the motor wouldn’t start.  And we spent hours on shore getting eaten alive by swarms of black flies and mosquitoes.  Eventually the guide did his magic.  And we finally got into the water to do some fishing. 

This time the motor started with several pulls. 

Now it was time to fish. 

But first I announced that I was hungry.  My wife rolled her eyes.  The guide shook his head.  I dove for the food bag.  Located the half dozen oatmeal raisin cookies the master cookie maker in camp packed for me.  It took two cookies until I was ready to fish. 

Meanwhile the guide had moved us to one of two small bays not far from where we had landed.  This is an area of about three acres.  Muddy bottom.  Two to four feet deep.  Old pine trees blown into the water.  Perfect northern pike habitat. 

While I had been eating, my wife had been preparing her lure for the water.  And splash in it went. And boom out of the water flew a forty incher.  Splashed back down.  That scared up more northern pike that made movement across the entire pool.  The place was alive with the sound of northern pike. 

More:Flyout fishing is not for the faint of heart

More:I go to Canada's Kasba Lake for the fishing but stay for the food

As quickly as the water surface came alive it calmed down. 

Except for the northern pike on my wife’s line.  It was large, fighting, swimming.  I could not begin fishing until she landed the fish.  Which she did.  I took pictures.  The guide released the fish back into the drink.  I put the camera down.  And my wife’s lure hit the surface again.  Bang.  Another one.  Forty-five inches this time.  Same scenario.  She catches the fish.  I take pictures.  Guide releases the fish.  Snap onto the water’s surface goes my wife’s lure.  I pick up my rod.  Move it back ready to cast.  And my wife’s line explodes out of the water.  I am happy for her.  Really I am.  But good grief.  Another monster.  Forty-eight inches. 

By now the fish are all on alert.  Attempting to catch more in this small bay would not be productive.  So the guide moved the boat to one of my favorite spots.  The beaver dam.  Across the lake.  Another small bay. 

So I asked my wife.  If I could cast a few times while she rests her arm.  She told me her arm was just fine.  And she cast into the pool.  So did I.  Nothing.  Nothing.  We both cast again.  Still nothing.  Nothing. 

Then the urge seemed to hit all three of us at once.  Pottie break. 

The guide hitched the boat up to the side of the sizable beaver hut.  And out we went.  My wife walked down a path that was a well worn animal trail.  Perhaps beaver.  Perhaps not.  The guide and I turned our heads.  Emptied our bladders.  Soon my wife returned.  Announced herself.  And we loaded the boat again. 

I asked the guide to move the boat to the back of the beaver pond.  I saw a narrow spring fed stream flowing into the pool.  Maybe five to six foot wide with both sides overhung with dense foliage.  The guide agreed.  He raised the motor out of the water.  And used a paddle to move stealthily into position so I could cast into the stream. 

My wife warned me that if my cast missed the center of the stream that I would be stuck in the bush.  I did not miss.  And wham a huge bruiser flew out of the water.  For the life of me I still cannot understand how a fish this size could even turn around in this narrow stream.   But it could and did. 

Fifty-two inches when we finally brought the fish to hand. 

Just for fun I tried the same stream again.  This time I cast further back into the stream.  Once.  Twice.  Three times.  No strike.  But the fourth time.  I nailed the first one’s sister.  Almost identical.  Another fifty-two incher. 

The remainder of the day was equally as good. 

As I think back on it.  I didn’t seem to mind so much the swarms of black flies and mosquitoes.  My attention was on something else. 

Bill Gindlesperger is a central Pennsylvanian, Shippensburg University trustee and founder of eLynxx Solutions that provides Print Buyer’s Software for procuring and managing direct mail, marketing, promo and print.  He is a board member, campaign advisor, published author and talk radio commentator.  He can be reached at Bill.Gindlesperger@eLynxx.com.