The clouds did not look very encouraging when dad and I put our kevlar canoe into the water after our first portage. The significant temperature drop, that preceded the clouds, made me wish I had packed my winter sleeping bag. I never thought that I would need it.

After all, it was the the third weekend in May.

If I remember correctly (it was several years ago), it started to snow by the time we had reached our camp site. “Just swell.”, was all I could muster under my breath as I began to unload the contents of our canoe onto the rocky shore. Our cooking fire warmed up our moods as we prepared for and after supper fish.

That’s when we made the right and wrong decision.

As we put our supper dishes away, the warmth of the fire seemed to be more of a draw than a cold north wind and the accompanying blizzard. So, we decided to retreat to our tents for the evening and pick-up on our fishing expedition the next day.

Made sense right?

Apparently, a couple of canoes we spotted across the bay (despite the snow) said differently. For the next couple of hours before dark, we heard shouts and cheers echoing across the water. It was all very puzzling to us from within the temporary warmth of our sleeping bags and fully clothed bodies (later that evening and in to mid-morning the cold got the best of us - but that’s a different story). After a long evening of cold restlessness, we hit the water hard for the whole day.

We caught nothing. The Lake Trout were silent.

There was no lure or bait that we did not try. We even tried where we heard all the yelling the night before.

Nothing.

Let me fast forward to the next day. After another very cold evening, we packed up camp early and headed across the lake for home. We noticed the ‘rowdy’ canoes from the night before had beaten us to the portage. The puzzle regarding the yelling (we had heard) was quickly solved. Both canoes had their limit of huge lake trout.

Apparently, the fishing was phenomenal during that stinking snow storm. The anglers were so excited by the way the fish were biting during the storm - they were cheering and yelling to signify their joy.

“Just swell.”, was all I could whisper under my breath as I stared in amazement at the display of trout before me.

The point of this sad tale should be obvious. There is something about bad weather that drives Lake Trout mad in Algonquin Park. If you can safely fish - Do IT!

Tents are for the weak.

{Photo: Snow Storm - Steam-Boat off a Harbour’s Mouth (1842) by J.M.W. Turner} from BBC

This post from my other blog - Muskoka Outdoors