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For me and some of my buddies it’s what you don’t see now, I mean right now in the waning of summer that makes this the best time of the year for camping. From the very beginning where we put in we no longer suffer with full parking lots at every coveted bwca entry point. Paddling away from shore less folks are stroking like mad to get back to civilization and away from the summer of bugs. No pardon me’s, at the portages.

Little fish have turned into big fish. The red in the thermometer is not trying to shoot through your face. There are less sandaled feet and more hiking boots tightly laced. All the verdant scenery is still there and the water can be just as unpredictable in terms of waves, but quite a few lakes now you can have all to yourselves.

Campsites become easy to acquire. Nobody is getting sunburned because by now there all suntanned. Bald headed moose just three months ago are now velvete’d moss tattered monsters. Anybody and everybody say’s I saw a bear. The word cub, is gone again until next spring.

Glass flat bays of spring are now burgeoning with large pond weed. Paired ducks have become flocks and it makes me want. Nobody is wearing a light shirt around the campfire at night any more, no it’s not fall yet, but a chamois shirt, sure feels good.

Spotted fawns, a lone loon baby and leeches for fishing have come and gone.  It’s back to basics with a jig and minnow, contact with the bottom. Fish are on the feed bed. No more plucking one off this point or that. You can sit on a school and keep your tip up and hit lips until YOU decide its time to quit. It’s not the opener, but it is the big fish, fishing season.

Not too many of us take our fishing license out during the season to see what kind of value we have achieved over the few months of actual open water we have to fish. That paper you bought doesn’t track your success. The last time many of us looked at it, it was just a piece of potential. Well the potential is now for a wall hanger and the best part is they keep getting bigger until ice up.

Words like hot chocolate start creeping into breakfast when not two weeks ago it was who wants the last of the juice.  Ice, in the cooler, melted in hours not more than a month ago.  You flip the lid in the cooler now, there maybe be less, but its not water in a bag, the block might have shrunk, but at least it’s still in the there.

The trout whisperer


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