Frank Watts with his dog Charcoal who liked to retrieve rocks from the water.  Barbara Anderson was along on this trip but no photo of her has yet been included here.  On our way crossing the lake to the island, we notices smoke coming from the far end of the lake, right where we were headed.  Don thought “his” Indian must have decided to burn down the island.

Friday, May 28, at 8:50 AM  Don, Frank Watts, Frank’s lab dog  “Charcoal” and Barbara Anderson drive north in Frank’s Bronco and Don’s “new” 1985 Suburban with tank trailer.  The skies were clear and hopes were high as we drove north to Cheyenne on Interstate 25.  We stopped at the Flying-J to get gas.  This was where the year earlier that I had discovered that my newly constructed tank trailer was suffering from a severely bent axle.  Now it is only a bad memory, no problems this trip.  We pressed on and stopped for lunch at Bills, Wyoming. Population 5  and site of last years burned up right trailer axle bearing.  Again, only a another bad memory.

We gassed up in Gillette, Wyoming, home of the cheapest gasoline in the country.  Last years hunt in Gillette for trailer parts was only a bad memory.  At this rate, we were going to reach the landing by tomorrow night, no problem!.    The sky grew partly cloudy as we traveled north into Montana.  As we approached mile sign 13, site of our 1988 truck rollover in the middle of the night, when I broke 4 ribs and brought our Canada fishing trip to an abrupt halt, I started to get a queasy feeling in my stomach.   Was the road really that much rougher?  Was the wind blowing that hard?  Man, this road is getting to be quite narrow and the gullies along side the road really deep.  Or am I just reacting to some subconscious fear triggered by the trauma  of that accident?  Yes, I think that is what the problem is.  Slowing down to 45 MPH seemed to make things OK and eventually we got far enough past that spot to resume normal speed.

North of Broadas, Montana we drive through a beautiful high plains ard landscapes.  At Miles City we eat supper at MacDonald’s where the burger taste just like the MacDonald burgers all over the world.  Best of all, they are fast and our progress toward the landing tomorrow night is looking better all the time.  At Sidney, Montana Frank talks me into spending the night at the motel.  We didn’t have a relief driver for both vehicles, so that was a reluctant but logical choice.  We had a good night’s sleep and the continental breakfast after our 5:30 AM wake-up call was pretty good.  We met an interesting fellow at breakfast.  He was a retired Army officer who now worked with homeless Vietnam veterans.  He was on his way to take possession of his uncle’s ranch at “Roads End” that he had just inherited.  Although his adventure into the unknown was quite different than ours, it made us feel a strange kinship to him.

As we traveled under a cloudy sky northward, the unique white crosses along the roadside started appearing.  On a previous trip I had learned that some local church put these crosses at the site of auto accident deaths.  It is always hard to imagine so many deaths on such a quite, empty road.  A group of three here and then four there.  Almost ever curve has a couple crosses.  I always wonder if the highway designers realize the carnage that will congregate about each curve that gets designed into the road?  Are all those curves really necessary?  There are about 50 crosses in the 60 miles to Plentywood.  I missed seeing the cross marked “Mother and “Father”, that is one sad cross.

At Plentywood we gassed up for the last time before entering Canada and their expensive gasoline.  I checked the air pressure in all my truck and trailer tires.  All OK.  Frank borrows my  gauge to check his tires.  After paying for my gas I went over to Frank’s truck where he was putting air into his right front tire.  I looked closer and exclaimed, “Frank, your tires are bald!  We will never make it up 200 miles of rough gravel road on those rejects!  Didn’t I say you needed good tires for this trip?”  “Yes you did, but I was busy and just didn’t have the time to get the new tires I thought I might need” , Frank replied.  “Frank, we are going to have to take that time now and go back into town and buy new tires.  If you think the tires might be expensive in Plentywood, you can’t imagine how much you will pay on the gravel road north of LaRonge”, Don said with obvious irritationinhis voice.
So it was back into town to the Exon station and a couple hour wait for the tires to get procured and mounted..  While waiting, we met the Ron, the retired coach of the local high school.  He had been hired by the state as an inspector of buried gasoline tanks and he was at the station for an inspection.  He told of how the school had just been force to spend $500,000 to get rid of the asbestos in their boiler room.  Ouch.  Further, he told of the trouble he had recently crossing the Canadian border.  The Canadian border guards would not believe that his 11 year old son was really his without documentation and he was refused entry.  We ran into this problem in subsequent years.  Frank managed to leave Charcoals water pan at the station.  We did pick it up on the return trip. 
At the border we were asked all the standard questions and we gave the standard answers.  Surprisingly, we were asked to pull off to one side for more “processing”.  The inspector seemed surly and would ask the same question over and over or perhaps in a slightly different manner.  Then he had some new questions we had never heard before.  Have you ever been finger printed?  Have you ever been arrested?  Have you ever been convicted of a crime?   Finally, he asked that we come into the office.
He sat down to a computer and asked about all the items we were taking into Canada.  A new computer system had been installed and he had to figure out what duty to charge us.  When it came to what I had paid for each item, he seemed to want to challenge me (I was supposed to have a sales slip for each item as proof of purchase) and a negotiation would ensue until he was satisfied with the answer.
Now about that lime you have in the trailer, what kind is it.  Gosh, I just knew it as “Hydrated “ line, does it make a difference?  Of course it makes a difference, I have 1 ½ pages of lime listed on the computer and I have to pick one.  I asked  to see those descriptions.  Sure enough there were 1 ½ pages of different kinds of line listed.  Then I noticed that the tariff was the same on ever one.  Pointing this out to the inspector, he randomly picked one and we were done with that item.
Finally he asked if there was anything else to claim.  Actually, I had skipped over mentioning most of the things except those which were obviously in view.  I paused, trying to look like I was thinking really hard, and was just saying I think that is everything.  Frank pops up and asked what about the pipe on top of the truck?  My eyes shot daggers at Frank.  “Yea, what about all that pipe on top your truck”, he asked.  I apologized and said that it was used pipe that my neighbor had given to me and thus I hadn’t mentioned it.  Being used does not exempt it, he had to have a fair market value for the computer and he thought it would be at least $100.  I objected that I wouldn’t pay more than $20 for it.  He accepted that value.
It remained to convert those US dollars into Canadian dollars, calculate the tariff, then convert it back into US dollars.  There were probably 10 cars waiting behind me and Frank now since we arrived there about 45 minutes ago.  I owed $34.  I gave him $35 and told him to keep the change as a tip.  We headed north, probably no happier to leave than the inspector was to have us leave.
High wind made the narrow road a bit hazardous and we had to slow considerably.. The canoe was sliding back and forth in the wind and it required us to stop two different times to tighten the ropes.  The gas station in LaRonge closed at 11 PM and now we were under pressure to arrive there in time to fill our truck and all our gasoline jugs.
At the station a met the Nebraska farmer who I had met last year.  He had purchased a lodge on Wolloston Lake and was just on his way up to open it for the season.  We pushed on to the landing that night and slept in our trucks.  Next morning we drove down the 4-wheel track and Frank even ventured further down a very steep incline that I had avoided going down in prior years.  I followed suit and my brakes would barely hold on the steep slope.  Now I knew I needed a new brake job.  Frank’s move did cut off perhaps 50 yards of portaging so I was happy to find a “better way of doing it”.
The wind was against us going to the island but it was not too strong.  A Few miles down the lake we noticed a plumb of smoke off on the far horizon.  As we progressed, it seemed to Don that it was on line with dancing Loon Island. By the time we were at the Wilson Rapids Bay, Don was convinced his island was on fire.  “My” Indian must have decided to burn me out!!  Rounding the point across from the Campbell River, Dancing Loon Island came into view and it was not burning. The smoke was now obviously well beyond the lake.  What a relief!!  We arrived at the island about 7:30PM. and had plenty of time to unload the boats, cover up our gear, pitch the tents and have some soup for a late supper.  Frank again reminded me of my poor meal planning. 
Next day, Monday, May 31, The smoke was gone.  Frank and I worked together tilting the roof of the cook tent and enclosing the sides with clear plastic.  Barbara spent the day digging a new latrine.  It was 40 degrees and partly cloudy, so it felt good to keep busy.  On Tuesday, Frank and Barbara worked at covering the new latrine with green tarp material while Don built the addition to the cook tent .  This would hold a shower stall and provide storage for fire wood and miscellaneous items.
Finally we went fishing on Wednesday and found it a bit slow.  We had plenty for eating but it have been a bit early for the fish, perhaps they are still spawning?  Thursday we opened the cache, put things away and arranged all the gear in the cook tent.  About 3 PM we were shocked to see smoke again, but this time it appeared to be right over the next hill.  You could see the detail in the billowing clouds and it was terribly menacing.
Our arrival in LaRonge so late in the day had precludes us from getting the radiotelephone from Sasktel.  It was decided too break camp, take the more expensive stuff back to the landing and driving to Southend to consult with the fire control people.  This could have been avoided if we only had a phone!!!
The sawmill was piled next to the shore along with a few other things that might have a better chance of surviving a fire there.  Of course, it could rain hard and then flood all those things, so we seemed to be stuck between two bad alternatives.  The boats were loaded with the most valuable items, like the generator and all the outboard motors and we departed for the landing over calm waters at 7 PM. We arrived at the landing at 10:30PM and had to portage all the gear back to the truck.  My spare 18HP Johnston outboard was getting a lot of portage miles put on it.  We slept in the trucks that night, amongst all the hastily stored gear with Barbara ending up on top of some pretty bumpy stuff.
We drove Franks Bronco to Southend to confer with Dean Cantwell at the DNR.  Our bellies were empty and our spirits were quite low.  A good ending to this trip seemed pretty unlikely.  At the DNR they assure us that there is no problem.  The fire was over five mile from Spalding, they have been observing this fire since it started on May 5 by a bear knocking over a kerosene lantern at an Indian trapping camp.  They knew where we were, they would be flying over our island every day and it didn’t seem likely that the fire could get any closer to us.  We were advised to return to our island, continue or vacation and not to worry!   In the unlikely event of the fire getting too close to us, they would fly in and help us evacuate, even fly us out if it were necessary.
WOW!  Now that is what you call good news!!  Our spirits were immediately lifted to great heights and we could hardly wait to get back to the island.  If only we had had a phone!  We stopped by the only store in town and bought a few fresh food items and scurried back to the landing.  It was way too late to leave for the island, so we spent another night sleeping in the trucks.
Next morning I was awakened by the sound of voices.  We were surrounded by people from Grand Junction who were portaging in for a weeks fishing.  My natural curiosity prompted me to crawl out my warm sleeping bag and venture into the cool morning air.  Down at the landing there was a confused mess of people, gear and boats.  I counted 15 people and was reminded of the one time I had such an armada on an earlier fishing trip.  I know how these things happen.  You invite a friend and then he invites another friend of his and quickly, the trip gets out of control.  The good Doctor from Grand Junction was noticeably avoiding most of the confusion.  A couple canoes were fully loaded and the occupants were obviously anxious to get started.  One boat seemed to be having most of the problems.  The “skipper” was complaining to his friends that he was stuck carrying most of their gear and ALL the gasoline.
My boat had been moved from the prime loading spot where I had left it the night before.  It had been moved to the south side of the landing area and suddenly I remembered that the plug was out of the back of the boat and the observed low transom of the 14 footer probably was the result of it being flooded.  Rushing around the rocks and along the side hill to reach the boat my worst fears were realized.  Indeed, the boat was still sinking and my 10 HP Johnson was about to get very wet.  I jumped into the hip deep water and tried to lift the boat and soon realized that was not possible.  I plunged my arm into the water at rear of the boat and was surprised that my hand found the plug immediately.  Soon I had the drain plugged and just in time.  The transom cutout had at most one inch of freeboard left and I was only moments from having the boat sink.
I hollered out that someone had moved my boat without putting the plug in and that I would appreciate some help to get the boat bailed out before the wind sank it.  The skipper, who’s boat was now located where I had left my boat yelled back that “nobody moved your God Damn boat”.  I told the “skipper” that as soon as I secured my boat, I would be over his way for a discussion.  Meanwhile the good doctor and his British accented friend rushed over to help me bail the water out of my boat.  The doctor was mortified at the situation and apologized profusely.
When the boat was bailed, I thanked the doctor and friend and went over to the “Skipper”.  “You know friend, there is a thing called the ‘code of the north’, and it says that you do not mess with other peoples gear!  If we were 19 miles down the lake and my boat got moves by someone who was careless enough to not notice the missing plug, well my boat could have sunk and  my motor could be dead and I might also eventually die because of being stranded.”  The “Skipper” whined that no one had moved my boat.  At that moment I lost my cool and swore rather loud and menacingly at him.  I had just about run the gamut of my boatswain mate tirade when Barbara and Frank appeared on the trail.  Abruptly, I stopped swearing and went back to my boat.
The appearance of a woman in the woods has the affect of bring civility into ones demeanor.  The doctor came over to the boat and again apologized and we then discussed our mutual plans.  The Britisher asked if Barbara was my daughter.  “No” I replied, “she is the daughter of my wife’s tennis partner.”  “I say old boy, it is a bit irregular, don’t you think” he replied, in an accentuated British accent and a raised eyebrow.
With that remark we parted company.  I was anxious to get going but Frank had a different view of things.  Frank was again critical of my lack of planning for food along the road.  He is correct of course, since my plan is always to stoke up on food when I can and then skip a meal now and then when it isn’t convenient to fix a meal.  Frank on the other hand, while very slim in stature, never eats much of a meal but is always munching and snacking.  “Frank, I don’t understand how you can be hungry!  You ate none stop in the truck all day yesterday.  After a couple hours of portaging  and a three hour boat ride, we will be at the island and it will only take a couple hours to get a meal going.”  “Bunker,  I do not have your reserve of fat to keep my body alive that long.  There will be no portaging until we have breakfast.  And I might add, that for someone who plans every other detail of your trips down to the last nail, you sure do a lousy job of planning the food en-route to the island.”  “Frank, I can’t believe you are really hungry.  If I ate as much as you do every day, I would weigh 300 pounds.”  We returned to the truck for canned fruit, granola bars and candy bars.
We arrived back at the island by 3 PM and it took the rest of the day to straighten out the mess we had created leaving the island.  Sunday we finished the cook shack annex and started to dig the large hole under the cabins central foundation.  The smoke seemed to fade away and what the DNR had told us seemed to be correct, nothing to worry about.
Monday morning we fished after which Don took a nap.  Frank and Barbara continued digging in the large foundation hole.  Digging a large hole on this island is a considerable chore.  First you have to clear off the moss and a layer of soil to the depth of about 12 inches.  That is when you hit the permafrost and the area needs to have a chance to thaw.  A pool of water forms.  You can continue digging after the water disappears but now you are digging in sloppy wet soil.  Additionally, there are a lot of roots to contend with when digging in a forested area and it is made even more difficult by the large number of rocks encountered.
Frank started to install the kitchen sink that had ridden north on top of his Bronco.  Someone at the border had remarked that unlike most people, this guy did have the kitchen sink along with him.  Don and Barbara started to assemble the saw mill.  The day was clear and 80 degrees.
Yellow pollen covered the calm waters of the lake Tuesday morning.  Don explained that it was Pollen from the Spruce trees.  It disappears when the wind comes up and many years you only see evidence of the pollen burst on the sandy beaches.  It seemed a good day to go fishing, so we did that.  It looked like we were going to have a storm so we returned to the island just before the rain started.  Frank continued work on the sink and pitcher pump installation while Don and Barbara finished erecting the saw mill.
On Wednesday we tried out the saw.  On the first cut Frank asked if the saw should be elevated from the plank it just cut before returning the blade to the other end of the log in preparation for the next cut.  Don said it wasn’t necessary and started the saw moving back to the starting position.  The blade promptly jammed, came off the drive wheels and broke.  Don was more than a bit embarrassed.  From then on, after making a saw cut, we always raise the blade a bit before returning the blade to the starting position.
It seemed like a good time to go fishing.  We tried the reed bed without luck then moved on to the Campbell river.  Only one walleye wanted to bite there.  At the Interim lake we found what we were looking for and caught about 20 walleye in a shot time.  Supper was great but we didn’t finish it until 11:45PM, just as the sun was fully set.
Thursday was leaving island day.  We were up at 6:30 for a big breakfast of eggs, bacon and pancakes.  There was a limit of 21 walleyes to clean for taking home.  The fish box was removed from the lake onto the beach.  Going home gear was staged on the beach and a long list of items hidden in the usual spots.  Our 4 boats were lightly loaded and readied in the usual train for negotiating our way back to the landing.  We departed the island at 11:30 AM with a light following wind and arrived at the landing with our light load at 1:35 PM.  By 3:25 we were on our way home in Franks Bronco, leaving the boats at the landing, motors hidden down the bay and the Suburban in the woods.
A stop was made at Brabant Lake to ice the fish.  The young couple who had taken over the camp there last year seemed a bit “down”.  The local gold mine was closing indefinitely and the northern mine was having a four week shut down.  The truck drivers were demanding discounts for their meals and their modeling efforts seemed to be going much slower than they had planned.  It isn’t easy being an entrepreneur when you are the only employees.
Our drive south to LaRonge was interesting.  Don grew up driving on gravel roads in Iowa, where you drive down the middle of the road except when you approach at blind hill or curve.  That is when you slow down and move to the right side of the road.  Frank didn’t agree.  He likes to go about 15 MPH faster than Don but all the time on the right side of the road.  Canada drivers seem to agree with Don because the obvious path on the road is down the middle except when approaching hills or curves, then the track mostly disappears.  We are still good friends but have not yet agreed on how to drive on gravel roads.
LaRonge was reached at 8:30PM where we took Barbara for a quick tour down main street and then had hamburgers at the Family restaurant.
The drive back to Boulder was uneventful except for a near accident south of Miles City, Montana.  Don was driving early the next morning during a moderate rain.  He had slowed to about 50 MPH.  Frank’s windshield wiper blades were shot and the visibility was streaked.  Suddenly the wiper blade swung and there standing in the right lane were a group of deer.  Don swerved one way then the other way.  Miraculously, he passed deer on both sides of the truck but managed to miss all the deer.  Don was very glad he had slowed down.
Don returned north in the Sentra with Dewayne.  In a last minute decision, Jay decided to go along.
See green log for much detail on this trip.  More later.