Shortly after Rabid's brief moment astray of his typical hard hitting head smashing power metal music, we agreed to troll westward in a closer proximity of the camps. The mid to late afternoon bite completely disappeared and I quickly discovered the challenges surrounding the concept of down rigging as my setup hung up on bottom. It isn't easy to negotiate wind with an ailing motor while aptly monitoring a fish finder while adjusting a manual down rigger. Throw in constant badgering by the brotherhood of two and the inevitable happened. However, being an expert in retrieving hung down lobster gear, I was able to free the gear and save myself the embarrassment of being the second victim of a major fishing gear dismissal. By that time, I had lost my interest in attempting to score the lake trout especially when trying to battle the elements that were against me. So I took the time to once again document the Rabid Outdoorsman hard at work while his brother took on a lake trout.
Our evening found little wind and the first night excitement of any outing adventure. With the boats tied to the dock, fire pit blazing, and the elder sportsman in full control of the eatery, the night moved into something quite amazing. Loaded with smoked trout and salmon, a spread of processed meats and cheeses, and sharp pickled dilly beans, I found it absolutely impossible to even contemplate the main course. Meanwhile, my great friend Rabid managed to devour all offerings like it would be his last meal. The night moved on with some drinks and a continual barrage of teasing and slightly expanded storytelling or shall I say nut busting.
For my final installment, high winds, zero bites, and closing on one memorable trip.
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