Posts filed under 'Sawbill'
Here’s a shot from the three-day trek through the BWCA that I took with Pete & Paul, looking from inside our tent out onto Cherokee Lake. We were so fortunate to happen upon such an incredible campsite, and the night we were there, the stars were seriously so bright that you could walk around the site without a flashlight and still see everything clear as day. It was like one of those classic films where they wash the film in blue light to cheat a daylight scene for night. It was surreal. And after having lived in Los Angeles for over seven years now, where we’re lucky if we can see a star or two on any given evening, I can only daydream about getting back underneath such an amazing canopy of constellations and galaxies as far as the eye can see…
September 20th, 2009
I’ll never forget the day that my dad and I went over to Smoke Lake (that’s my padre fishing in the canoe above). I was probably in junior high at the time, and it was kind of a big deal to me that just the two of us were going to make the trek all the way to Smoke, which involves a decent amount of canoeing and a fairly long portage, particularly in the eyes of a pre-teen. And that afternoon – man, did we find the fish. It seemed like we were getting another Northern pike on the line with every other cast we made, and for a few hours, it was nothing but total bliss. But then of course, there was the one that got away…
I should probably back up and explain my utter passion as a kid for catching Northern pike, aka the water wolf of the Boundary Waters. While most in my family, especially my grandpa, sort of frowned upon fishing for pikes, mainly because their fillets were full of bones, every summer I was on conquest to catch these suckers. I think it all possibly stemmed from when I was four years old, and I somehow landed a pike nearly the size of me while fishing with my folks out by the little island on Sawbill. Northern pike are a beautiful-yet-evil-looking fish with razorblades for teeth, and even a small one will give you a hell of a fight. Plus, pikes can grow to be huge, and I so wanted to catch something big given that there was a annual competition in our family to see who could catch that summer’s largest fish. We literally had a trophy (my dad’s idea), and each year, the person who caught the biggest fish got his or her name engraved on it. You could say that we were a bit of a competitive family. Yeah, you could definitely say that, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t want my name on that little trophy.
So there we were, back in our favorite little bay on Smoke, catching a bunch of pike, walleyes and smallmouth bass – nothing huge, but having a really great time. I was casting my favorite orange floating rapala along the shoreline, and I remember placing the plug into what looked like the perfect spot for a pike to be hanging out in. I reeled in slowly, waiting in anticipation for the violent swirl of the fish pouncing on the rapala. But here’s thing about Northern pike, those bastards are fearless. It’s like they attack the artificial bait, not becuase they want to eat the thing, but because they’re pissed at it. They’re also not afraid to follow the plug all the way back to the boat before striking, and that’s exactly what happened on this particular cast. Just a few feet from the canoe, the fish struck my rapala, viciously pulling my line down into the water. For a moment, I feared my fishing pole would snap in half, but fortunately, I was able to quickly let out just enough slack to keep the pole and line from breaking. And then the fight was on. While I couldn’t see the fish, I just knew whatever was on the other of my line was big. Really big. And there was no doubt about – it was a Northern.
My heart raced with every plunge the beast made to escape, and from the back of the canoe, my dad did his best to coach and calm me down. I knew this had to be the biggest fish I’d ever had on my line, and equal parts adrenaline and fear were coursing through my veins. I just had to catch this fish. And for what was probably only a couple of minutes but for what seemed to last an eternity, this unseen pike and I battled. I could only to hope to wear the fish down enough to eventually bring him to the surface and give my dad a chance to net him. But that chance never happened. The fish made another lunge, this time towards the back of the boat. SHIT – the anchor!!
In all of the chaos of the battle at hand, there was no time to pull up the anchor. I tried my best in that fleeting moment to maneuver the pike back away from the outstretched rope, but it was too late. SNAP. The line went completely limp and just like that, it was all over. Somewhere in the depths of the lake, a giant fish was swimming to safety; the glint of my orange rapala traveling with it until he’d be able to spit it out. And then the tears came. I couldn’t help it – I was devastated. Immediately embarrassed, I tried my best to hide my emotions from my dad, my hands still shaking from the adrenaline.
But my father was very cool about the whole thing. He didn’t tell me to stop crying or scold me for acting like a baby, but rather he shared a tale of the time my grandpa hooked a huge Northern on Alton Lake, so big it seriously wouldn’t fit in the net. That he’d fought it valiantly for not just a few minutes but for at least a half hour, before it too finally snapped the line. My sobs slowly receded and the trembling in my hands at last went away. If it could happen to my grandpa, the greatest fisherman I knew, then I was almost honored to be considered in his company. I now had my own story, which we would be repeated in detail that night to all around the campfire, of the one that got away.
September 19th, 2009
“A lake is the landscape’s most beautiful and expressive feature.
It is Earth’s eye; looking into which the beholder measures
the depth of his own nature.”
- Henry David Thoreau
(from the chapter “The Ponds” in Walden)
September 18th, 2009
I like to refer to this shot as my Massive Attack Sawbill pic. Quite a few years ago, a monstrous storm tore through the Boundary Waters blowing thousands of trees over, including many around Sawbill Lake. Fortunately, we weren’t up there when this happened, but when we visited the campground following the storm, the destruction was very apparent, especially when you were out on the water. The coastline was just littered with trees that had been uprooted by the ferocious winds. It was strange to see the root structures of these giant pines exposed in the daylight, and I shutter to imagine what it must have been like to have been camping out in a tent during such a violent storm.
Last year, my good friend Kevin Poore self-published a novel he’d written called Alex W. Bland: Another Bedtime Story for Grown Ups. It’s a contemporary, anti-corporate take on the Alice in Wonderland story, and for the project, Kevin solicited artwork and illustrations from his many artistic friends to accompany each chapter of the book. The novel is quite a trip down the rabbit hole, and the above photo fittingly appears in “Chapter 5ive: Advice from a Caterwauldo.”
September 17th, 2009
It was on this great big boulder over looking Alton Lake that I took a knee and proposed to Kim almost seven years ago to the day. I was so poor working as a set production assistant at the time that I couldn’t even afford a ring, so I asked for her hand in marriage using the diamond necklace passed down from my great Aunt Agnes. Fortunately, material nonsense like that doesn’t matter to Kim, and she said YES!
Earlier in the evening, before I popped the big question, I knew the stars were aligning for me to take the plunge when Kim somehow caught a gigantic smallmouth bass, larger than any I’ve ever seen netted up at Sawbill. If you asked Kim today how big the fish was, she would probably hold her hands out like she is in the above pic, which I took a few years ago when we paid a visit back to our special boulder.
September 16th, 2009
“For me, a landscape does not exist in its own right, since its appearance changes at every moment; but the surrounding atmosphere brings it to life – the light and the air which vary continually. For me, it is only the surrounding atmosphere which gives subjects their true value.”
- Claude Monet
September 15th, 2009
This shot of Sawbill Lake is particularly special for me. While it’s probably been over a decade since I took the pic, I’ll never forget that morning – getting up at the crack of dawn and going out in a canoe with my little sister, Whitney. The lake was eerily fogged in that morning, and the water was so still, you could have easily imagined walking across it. And besides the sound of our paddles in the calm water, there was hardly a sound to be heard. It was such a beautiful moment reserved only for those willing to get up so early, and oh, what I wouldn’t give to be back there in that canoe right now.
It was up in the Boundary Waters that I think I first got the bug for taking pictures. Year after year and summer after summer, I would return with my family to these cherished lakes, and over time, I found myself trying to take better and better photos of the beauty to be found up there. And while I was crazy for catching fish (and we certainly did a lot of fishing), I also noticed that I was becoming just as interested in “catching” a good pic to bring back home. So in no small part, I know I owe this place for having been the catalyst for my first creative love.
The above photograph also means a lot to me because it was one of my first images that I ever had blown up and framed, which I gave to my Grandma & Grandpa Kielhorn. I cannot think of Sawbill and of the many, many trips I’ve taken there without thinking about my grandparents, and specifically my grandpa. Always in pursuit of finding the fish at just the right time of day, he would so often wake me up in my tent from a deep-summer-vacation-sleep, and the two of us would go out and see if they were biting. Some of my fondest memories of my grandpa are those early morning fishing trips – just the two of us out on Sawbill and not a soul in sight.
In the past couple of years, unfortunately, both grandparents have passed away. I guess that’s just life, or as Kurt Vonnegut might say, “So it goes.” I miss them both terribly, but it at least makes me happy to know that for the last several years of both of their lives, this photo was proudly on display in their bedroom. That everyday, my grandpa would wake up and that this would be the first image to meet his day. That maybe this photo might just make him think of those early morning fishing trips, and perhaps even put a smile on his face.
September 14th, 2009
Fun fact of the day: the Boundary Waters Canoe Area that straddles the United States – Canada border is nearly 2.5 million acres in size. At least that’s what I read on the internet, so I’m guessing it must be true. Either way though, it’s pretty big.
Above, a dead tree pokes out of the water of Sawbill Lake.
September 13th, 2009
Eight years and a few days ago, I took my two great friends, Paul & Pete, on a canoe trip in the Boundary Waters of Nothern Minnesota. For those that have never been to the Boundary Waters, just imagine a lush wilderness with thousands of lakes and streams, and hardly a touch of human influence to be found. Things like motors and glass bottles are strictly forbidden, and you can forget about getting a cell phone or wifi signal. To go into the Boundary Waters is to consciously decide to unplug from all of that and to just embrace nature. It’s truly an amazing place. For three fantastic days, we canoed and portaged between a dozen lakes, camping out under the stars, and it remains to this day one the best trips of my life.
The reason I’ll always remember exactly when we went on this camping trip is that a few days after we returned, 9/11 happened. It’s strange to contemplate it, but if we had decided to go on that voyage just a handful of days later, we would have returned to society to have found that the world had changed in our absence. This had to have happened to a decent amount of people, for as we were returning our gear to the outfitters, many groups were just about to embark on their own trips. And I can only imagine what it must have been like for them to have found out such unfathomable news when they returned.
As coincidence would have it, my little brother and a few of his friends are up in the Boundary Waters this very weekend on camping trip of their own. Happy Birthday, Dane, and here’s hoping the world doesn’t change all that much while you’re gone.
Btw. – The above pic was taken on a timer with the camera propped up precariously on a rock just above the stream.
September 12th, 2009
Sawbill Lake in the Boundary Waters of Northern Minnesota – my favorite place in the world.
Up until a few years ago, I’d gone camping here every summer of my life. Literally. My grandfather found this slice of heaven on earth a half century ago, and every year he brought his family back. So too, my parents brought me before I had even enjoyed my first birthday.
I have so many stories and just as many photos from Sawbill, and both will be sure to follow in the weeks and months to come. Tomorrow, my folks are heading up to the Boundary Waters for a week’s long vacation, so I dedicate this pic to them. Have a safe and wonderful trip, Mom & Dad, and don’t forget to pack your camera!
July 25th, 2009
