A week has passed since I last wrote. I get home from work, and I'm just too tired to sit in front of a computer, since that's what I do most of the day.

But today at work one of my colleagues, Kate, said she recently read this and actually seemed to enjoy it! (Thanks, Kate!)

As I go back to my first entry, I realize that I have not mentioned mosquitoes -- the one thing I dreaded; I hate mosquitoes. Well, Bruce was not exaggerating. I rarely if ever noticed them except for the occasions when we would portage our fishing gear over a narrow, nearly overgrown trail from Bemar Lake to Saganagon, which is a very large lake within the Quetico Provincial Park -- the wildest of the wilderness area. The walk is only about 12 - 15 minutes, but since it's a dense, swampy area, the mosquitoes are quite a nuisance. The only other time I noticed a few mosquitoes around the cabin was at dusk -- from about 8:30 to 9:30 p.m.

Here's a map that may help a little (though the graphic quality is less than ideal and Saganagon Lake isn't spelled correctly). On the far right the dark circle represents the cabin and you can see the dotted line with a canoe graphic that indicates the portage walk from Bemar to "Sag."

I was fascinated by the story of a couple with a daugher who lived here in this tiny cabin year 'round until they had to leave when the area was designated as a provincial park. This is the old, deserted cabin where they once lived and sustained themselves by hunting, fishing and trapping; amazing! The only reason we stopped here was so that we could pull on our rain pants because a shower seemed imminent. But since we were here, I had to hike up and peek into the run-down and sagging shack. Wow! These folks had to be rugged to live in such frightening isolation.

All right. You had to know this was coming; the obligatory "stupid fish picture." This particular walleye was 26 inches long; there were so many like this. But you can't keep more than one. If the walleyes are more than 18 inches long and if the bass are more than 14 inches, you have to release them. At least those were the rules at around spawning time, I guess. In fact, as the week progressed, we really had a hard time catching fish small enough to keep. I know that sounds like bragging, but it's true!

Bruce told me that I had to hold it out towards the camera so it would look even bigger. So of course, I did as I was told. (Most of the time I do what Bruce tells me to do... right, hon?)

I was soon to learn that after Bruce cleans the day's fish catch, two volunteers are needed to do the "guts run." That means that the fish guts and other remains need to be placed on a high rock on the other side of the lake near the cabin. Ross suggested that I should be initiated into this little duty, so he motored the boat, and over we went. The first time I did this, I almost lost my balance trying to tip the bucket up onto the high rock and ended up spilling some into the lake. But the next time, I did better; no guts lost. Then the evening's entertainment begins: the gulls, big turkey vultures, and even a huge gorgeous bald eagle come to fight over the stuff. And of course the eagle is the "top dog"; the other birds are very respectful of the eagle. It's a hoot to watch the scene unfold.

I confess that it's hard for me to watch the fish being filleted, especially when it's evident that sometimes a fish is still alive (barely) on the cutting table. I am such a wuss about these things; I really enjoy meat and fish so I could never be a good vegetarian, yet I hate to see the actual process of killing these lovely creatures.... Just an hour or so before they were swimming around and had no idea that they were about to be fried with a light coating of Shore Lunch.

One night when Dick and I were just about ready to call it quits and head in for the evening, I saw a large dragonfly buzzing frantically in the water near our boat, so I fished him out with the fish net and held him in my hand and as we motored back to the cabin. (Dick must have thought I was nuts, but he was a gentleman and didn't say so.) The dragonfly clung to my hand very tightly, and I shielded him from the wind as we sped home. What gorgeous transparent wings; I could see right through them. Then it occured to me that maybe this was a very old dragonfly and drowning himself may have been his intent. (Like the old stories -- myths, maybe? -- about very old Eskimos that used to deliberately allow themselves to drift away on an ice flow.

When we got back to the dock, I put Old Dragonfly over on one side so we wouldn't accidentally step on him. The next morning before breakfast I went down to look. He was gone.

Writing this blog in retrospect is not easy, because all of my brilliant thoughts are long gone, despite the few notes that I took. But even if I'd had Internet access, I probably wouldn't have posted anything anyway because there just wasn't enough time; the days flew by.

Sunday was a day of extremes.... a big high and a big low. The high was this: I had stayed in to laze around and start on the two books I had brought along. It was early afternoon, and I heard a shuffling noise on the deck. I glanced up and saw what appeared to be the backend of a large, shaggy brown dog. I got up and went to the window; there ambling slowly across the side deck was a fairly large brown bear!

Wow; I've never been that close to a bear -- not even at the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago. I quickly grabbed my camera, and as he passed by the front door I lifted the shade and got a photo of him as he was looking into the window. Startled by a human so close by, he made a bee line for the other side of the deck and jumped off.

Confident that he was safe from a distance, he began to explore the grassy area in front of the cabin and didn't seem to mind when I stepped out and took more photos from the deck. He didn't even become frightened when I called out to him -- politely, of course. The entire time I kept an eye on the door of the cabin in case he changed his mind about tolerating my presence. After 15 or 20 minutes he decided he'd seen enough, and paddled into the lake and swam away.

This was my low point: An hour or so later (after I was sure the bear hadn't returned) I headed to the dock to practice casting. But that was a disaster; I seemed to get progressively worse with each cast. I kept getting the line all scrambled; completely disgusted with myself, I gave up for the day.

When the guys returned, they tried to help me, but after a while, we decided that the best plan was to have me use a simpler rod that Dick had brought along. It's the kind that little kids use when they are just learning to fish -- very humbling. But nevermind; I still managed to catch lots of fish throughout the week and had a splendid time. I definitely need more practice on the casting though.

We got on the road within a half hour of getting up on Saturday, but even so we arrived at our outfitter, Kashabowie Outposts, at 7:25 am, almost a half-hour late. We did the paper work, got our fishing licenses, paid the bills and then helped to load the small float plane, which was an old De Havilland 4-seater. (Did I say "old"? Perhaps "ancient" would be more apt.) But it seemed sturdy enough, and Mike, the cheerful cherub-faced pilot, controlled the plane with a steady hand. Now a ripe old 25, Mike has been flying, he told us, since he was 16 years of age.

I took the front seat next to Mike, and Bruce, Dick and Ross climbed in the second row, and we were off! Small planes are such a delight; since the noise makes it impossible to talk, I savored my own private thoughts as the landscape of lakes, rivers and trees -- endless trees, pines and birch -- slid beneath our view. It was amazing, but I saw absolutely no one on any of those many, many lakes! Where was everybody? I wondered...

Within 20 minutes or so, we landed on our lake, Bemar, and pulled up to the dock where we unloaded our stuff, trading places with the departing group of men. Here we are having just arrived(from the left: Ross, Dick, me and Bruce).

The cabin was tidy and clean, and we set about depositing our gear in our rooms. By 11 am we were fishing, and as luck would have it, I caught two lovely walleyes within an hour or so. (God is good to beginning fisherpersons!)

The rhythm of our days was something like this: up at 8:30 a.m. or so, Bruce would cook a great breakfast, the others of us would wash dishes, and then amble out to the deck to sit a while. Before too long, we'd assemble our gear and head out. We'd fish till about 2 p.m., come back to the cabin for our main meal (walleye or bass with rice pilaf or potatoes, veggies, salad, whatever Bruce had planned in the menu) . Then it might be nap time or reading time, and by 4 or 5 p.m. or so it was back out -- fishing until it was nearly dark at 9 p.m.

Then in the evening we'd have sandwiches with cold cuts and cheese, cookies, nuts, gorp, or whatever other goodies were available. By 10 p.m. or so, we'd find ourselves on the deck, looking at stars and passing satellites, sipping scotch or bourbon or whatever. What a great life!

It's Monday night -- the first day back in the office after getting home. Bruce and I got home at about midnight Saturday after the very long drive; somehow, driving home seemed twice as long as the drive up on Friday, June 9th. But back to the beginning....

Yes, the drive was long, but I was keyed up. The miles fell away as we listened to our favorite CDs and watched the rolling hills of Wisconsin and then Minnesota slip by. Soon we knew we were in "north" country as more and more birch trees appeared and the lupine grew in elegant spikes of purple and pink along the road; more and more "Holiday" gas stations appeared too.

Our destination that first night was the Best Western motel in Thunder Bay. Bruce and the other guys had learned first-hand the dangers of mixing dark roads with wandering moose and deer on that final leg from Thunder Bay to to the outfitter just this side of Atikokan. Several times in the past, they narrowly missed hitting some big ones.

We were glad to crash as soon as we arrived. I was a little concerned that the fishermen (or hunters, possibly) I had spotted in the two rooms adjacent to our would be noisy, so I put in my earplugs. But they must have been as tired as we were. Soon all was quiet, and the five am wake-up call Saturday morning was the next thing I knew....

I've just started to pack: there's the sunscreen, the mosquito repellent (though my husband Bruce swears there are few mosquitos except at sunset), warm jacket, rain gear, gloves, etc etc. I've really no idea of what I'm getting into but here goes anyway. Bruce has raved for years about the glorious wildlife, the scenery, the Northern Lights, the great fishing, and so on. So I guess I'm in.

Dick and Ross claim that they're happy I'm coming along. I am crossing my fingers, and just to be safe, I'm packing some good books and my watercolors....