Red Lake: Vacation's Over

By Tom Gray

Tom Randal and three close friends leave on a bucket list dream vacation. Little did they know what is soon to ensue? Once in the Town of Red Lake they quickly attract the attention of four savvy female co-eds, also from the US. After a night of partying at the Hamilton Estate the four weary and hung over men fly out to a remote fishing outpost in northern Ontario. They will spend a week isolated and cut off from all means of communication. After only 24 hours of solitude and sport fishing bliss the scene dramatically changes. The unsuspecting vacationers soon have to band together to survive a whirlwind of natural disasters and ever present wilderness predators. The group is forced to endure to persevere. Vacation's over.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496934437

Tom Gray

Tom Gray is a Professor at the University of Strathclyde, UK.

Book preview

Part One

The Road

Chapter One

Farewell & Good Weather

It was very early, 2:30 AM to be exact, on a Thursday in late July. My bag was packed and fishing gear stowed neatly in the back of my pickup truck. Three of my best friends and I were going on a long awaited fishing trip. No ordinary fishing outing, but a fly-in fly-out week of solitude in northern Ontario. No phones, no girlfriends and no distractions of any kind. There is an emergency CB powered by a solar panel and a battery at the cabin. That’s it. We had booked the trip in February and it was finally time to make the long drive north to Red Lake, Ontario. There we would meet up with Bill Byrd. Bill was a local bush pilot and owner of a number of wilderness outpost cabins on various remote lakes. He was going to fly us about 100 miles north east of the Town Red Lake to the distant gem of the North….Morning Stone Lake. My friends and I had gone to a Fishing & Outdoors convention in Chicago, and after checking out dozens of outfitters decided to make arrangements with Bill and his Lost Horizons outfitting company. It was finally time to hit the road and start our epic journey. I got behind the wheel of my Dodge and away I drove into the middle of the night. Vacation at last but this was going to be an unforgettable saga, as I would soon discover.

I grew up in Chicago, but after a severe auto accident, I moved to west Michigan. I settled down in the country about twenty five miles north of Kalamazoo. After growing up in the Windy City, country living was a welcome change. It had taken me several years to recover and rehab from the accident. I had some problems complicated by a crushed right leg and a broken left ankle. I’m doing pretty well now and operate heavy equipment on the side for cash to supplement my SSI disability. Pain medication is a necessity due to my injuries and working full time is not an option. I hoped someday to get the strength back in my legs that I once had. I missed the sporting life that had been so elusive for the past several years. I’ve been content to party with my buddies a few times a year and wet a hook with them whenever possible.

This trip was going to be nothing but enjoying the pristine beauty of the North Country while fishing northern pike and walleye. I would only have to walk a few hundred feet from the cabin to the boat dock. Bill recommended that we not venture out too far on foot because it was very easy to get lost and disoriented and the terrain was brutal.

My buddies, Walter, Michael and Terry were going to be awaiting my arrival on Chicago’s north side at Walter’s place just off Western Ave and Addison. He lived about 15 minutes away from Wrigley Field, Home of the Cubs. Wally and I grew up on the Southside of town so we cheered for the White Sox rather than the hapless Cubbies. I would make good time driving through the city that early in the morning. Our plan was to leave Wally’s around 6 AM. We were going to drive straight through to the Canadian border. That leg of the trip was about 500 miles and we figured that we could make it in about 10 to12 hours. We would spend the night in the US and exchange some US currency for Canadian bucks. You always get a better rate of exchange at the border. You don’t want to use American Dollars in a foreign country because when you get further into a countries interior, the exchange rate starts to plummet, sometimes right down to one for one. After spending the night in International Falls, Minnesota we would get up early go to the duty free store for smokes and liquor and drive about 200 Canadian miles to the Town of Red Lake. Bill had reserved us a couple of rooms at The Red Lake Motel for Friday night and we were going to meet him at the dock around 9:30 Saturday morning. We figured on getting into Red Lake by 2:00 and we could spend the rest of the afternoon checking out the town and surveying the lucky ladies of the North Country. With any luck we might even get laid but regardless we were going on vacation and being the free spirits that we were; the sky was the limit. Shit….I hadn’t even been on a date in over a year.

I made great time into and through Chicago arriving at Wally’s north side apartment at 5 AM. The guys were waiting and after a few cups of coffee, we loaded up the pickup and headed off towards Wisconsin. Traffic was light leaving the city and two hours later we were just south of Madison, Wisconsin. There was road construction slowing the flow of traffic so we decided to stop for breakfast. We were at a junction of I-94 when we exited the highway and pulled into a Denny’s for a refreshing break.

A cute young lady escorted us to a table and we sat down, looked over the menu while the server was filling our coffee cups. I knew what I was having before I got out of my truck, but the others were carefully checking out their options. Terry closed his menu and began to undress one of the waitresses with his eyes. That blond over there is looking pretty good right now, as Terry broke the silence. I don’t think she’s wearing panties under that skirt. Mike quickly entered the conversation. You’re full of shit, no panties, not to mention that she’s probably still in High School. You’ve got to be kidding. I spoke up, You just like her because she’s a light weight, nothing like the girls you’ve been slapping around lately. Fuck you Tom. I’ve been hitting the lottery lately and you haven’t exactly been knocking them dead yourself Terry retorted. Walter spoke up, Now boys let’s not argue over ass or this could turn out to be a very long week. So chill, let’s order and get back on the road again. We’ve got miles to drive and hearts to break. Wally and I were 20 year friends going back to 1979 when we were in a rock band for a few years. He was like my older brother and was very astute with the outdoors and survival. Wally was an Eagle Scout and had every merit badge the Boy Scouts of America awarded to their scouts. Shit, when I was a Cub Scout my pack had to perform a short play of sorts. Because of my short stature, I was cast as a little girl. I quit the Cub Scouts and never looked back. That was one of the most embarrassing experiences of my life.

Wally and I started fishing together while we were in the band. Over the years we had developed a rivalry as to who could catch the largest and most fish on every excursion. We were pretty evenly matched, but I’ve got to say he was probably numeral uno on both counts. Wally worked with Terry and I had worked with Michael for the Village of Wilmette, Public Works Department before I was injured in the auto wreck in 1997.

Wally worked at a geriatric rehab facility as a physical therapist tech. Terry also worked at the same facility as an RN. They became friends and Wally had introduced me to Terry back before I was crippled by the accident. Terry was also a recreational fisherman and the three of us would regularly fish the Kankakee River and the harbors of Lake Michigan near Chicago and Evanston. Between the two of them we were covered medically for our excursion. If someone cut themselves, Terry could stitch it up and if one of the gang pulled a muscle Wally was there to work it out. Hell, he had done that many times for me on previous outings. It seems I have a propensity for throwing my back out of whack. He had been a therapist for twenty years or so and he was a fountain of facts and information.

Mike on the other hand was a novice outdoors man. As utility foreman for Wilmette, I had hired Mike for my department. He was a maintenance mechanic and good at his profession. I don’t like to befriend subordinate employees but Mike was very personable and one of the guys I could really rely on within the department. He begun hanging out with us and realized that if he was going to be accepted into our little circle he should take up the challenge of fishing. He did just that and with us seasoned pros to teach him the ropes he learned quickly and became proficient in a short period of time. We needed him to fill out the fourth spot for the trip that required four adventure seeking individuals to book the excursion.

Wally and I brought back packer guitars with for a little after dark entertainment. Mike played harmonica and Terry could croak out a tune when influenced by liquor and reefer. Wally was quite good on guitar and vocals and at one point in the mid ’70’s toured central and western Canada as a folk singer. He and a friend traveled from Sudbury to Vancouver playing pubs along the way. He was very familiar with the geography along the Queen’s Highway in southern Canada. We were good buds and this was going to be a dream trip. We had wanted to do this for years, Wally and I, but we could never attract that third and fourth person to book a trip. Now we had Mike and Terry and our dream would soon be fulfilled. Little did we know how things would be changing in just a few short days?

We ordered, ate and got up to leave, Terry still eying the unsuspecting young blond. Wally spoke softly to Terry as we were leaving I heard you can get laid in Red Lake, the hookers hang out at the park across from a hotel near the city center. Cool dude, I’m going to check it out when we get there. Now let’s get on the road, light one up and get high, Terry mused.

Back at the truck we rotated the seating moving one of the guys up front and the other to the back. The Dodge cab had a bench seat in the back but it wasn’t too roomy and not very comfortable. Everyone was in agreement that it would make sense to ride in the same vehicle and save on fuel costs and avoid getting separated in traffic. I was going to do the driving because I like to drive and with weak and hobbled legs, the back seat was not an option. If I got tired one of the gang would take over. I had driven 600 plus miles on many occasions and this was all daylight driving making it less fatiguing. I had driven 160 miles before the guys had even gotten into the truck. I was ready and excited as we headed up I-94 to the North Country.

As soon as we hit the highway Mike pulled out a blunt and lit it up. That loosened everyone up and with CD’s blasting and copping a cool buzz we all sat back to enjoy the ride.

I-94 is a major highway running up central Wisconsin passing through lush farmland, rocky glacial deposits called moraines and beautiful lake land communities. It would take you right into Minneapolis, but we were getting off I-94 at Eau Claire and continuing northwest through Chippewa Falls, Rice Lake, Spooner and into Minnesota near Duluth.

It was a great day to be alive. The morning air was warm and the sun shining brightly. The miles passed by quickly and before long we had reached Eau Claire. We made a gas and restroom stop. We bought some snacks and drinks, rotated seating and were quickly on our way again. I was in the zone. The guys in the back were talking the usual stuff guys talked about when they got together. Hot topics were good looking chicks, recent carnal conquests and of course sports. Chicago is a big sporting city, with two major league baseball teams, the Cubs and the Sox, plus the Bears, Bulls and Hawks. At the moment, getting laid was the bulk of the conversation. I sat back and listened to most of the banter and occasionally made a comment. It was like having two pubescent 16 year old males in the back seat. God these guys are horny I thought to myself. Look out girls here we come brandishing wood and hardy appetites! The dogs of summer are about to be unleashed.

It was about 2 PM and we were just south of Duluth. I had never been this far north in Wisconsin and Minnesota. We were in a very hilly part of the Minnesota when we caught first sight of Duluth along the shores of Lake Superior. Duluth is in a valley with urban sprawl reaching into the hills. There was Lutsen Ski Area off to the northwest along a very high ridge. We were making our way towards the city limits descending in elevation and gradually driving toward the shores of the greatest of the Great Lakes. It was much cooler and over cast near the lake. I had heard that Lake Superior’s pristine water didn’t get above 50 degrees. Duluth was a city once rich with industry and commerce; it didn’t appear to be that way anymore. There were skeletal remains of warehouses and factories along the water front. On the docks there was a large monolithic iron ore transfer station that would off load millions of tons of rich ore into the holds of great cargo ships the likes of The Edmond Fitzgerald that steamed across the Great Lakes to make deliveries to steel mills located around the shores of all five lakes. The water wasn’t too pristine either. It had suffered from pollution, an unfortunate by product of heavy industry. Duluth was now a Midwest tourist destination.

We decided to make a last stop before heading on to International Falls. We saw a Village Inn on the right and stopped for lunch. With our stomachs full our bladders empty and the gas tank topped off we were back on the road now heading back up into the hills leaving the city of Duluth in our wake. Next stop International Falls, the last US town before crossing into Canada. We would bivouac in International Falls for the night.

We arrived in International Falls late in the afternoon. We checked into the Days Inn refreshed ourselves and went out to exchange some currency. It wasn’t a particularly large town. We followed the main road into town and headed towards the border. Downtown ran right up to the border crossing. We inspected the crossing so we would see just how secure Canada really was. A couple of cars passed right through with very little scrutiny from the one lone Canadian Officer. We each had small amounts of marijuana and a few recreational drugs and wanted to see if they were going through vehicles looking for contraband. Now it didn’t appear that they were too concerned, and I didn’t see any dogs. We were good to go!

We turned our attention to the Duty Free Store. There we could exchange money and buy untaxed goods. Cigarettes and liquor were all we were interested in. They did have a limit of two cartons and two quarts. The booze we bought was measured in imperial liters, a full 33.3 ounces of dark amber elixir. Unanimously we chose Black Jack, Old Number 7 for our drink of choice. We also picked up a several cases of beer for the nights party and tomorrow’s ride into Canada. It didn’t take long to gather up the booty, exchange some cash and head back to the motel. We saw a pizza parlor on the strip so we were going to kick back, cop a buzz and order pizza delivered. At least for the moment grabbing some ass wasn’t on anyone’s agenda. I figured that one of these guys would dial up some Spank a Vision, but I was wrong, sex was off the game board…. at least for Thursday night. We partied on pizza, beer and weed, chirping about all the fish we were going to hook. It was a great first day of travel. At midnight we paired off and retreated to our rooms. Yes, we were men; free from the burdens of work, families and daily drudgery. Yes, free men indeed. It was a good feeling we had between us but we would need God’s help in a few short days. How were we to know?

Friday morning and we were up early, anxious to get started on the final leg of the trip to Red Lake. We had a quick breakfast in the motel lobby checked out and put our bags in the back of the truck. We were ready to go, just had to check the oil and fill up the thirsty truck with gas. We made sure that we securely concealed the couple of ounces of pot and made sure no one was holding. The trick to concealing weed was to seal it up in impermeable plastic packets. For that we used a Seal a Meal device. The material that comes with a Seal-A-Meal, for making any shape or sized parcels, is different than ordinary baggies. This material when used to package a substance would completely cover up any scent from whatever you were packaging. With cannabis you have to be very methodical when packing it up. The pungent skunk like odor of weed bleeds through baggies no matter how many bags you use. Not the case for Seal-A-Meal packets. If done right; one layer of film is all that is needed to eliminate any traces of odor. We were all pros at concealment. We all had a Seal-A-Meal and diligently packaged our goodies prior to the trip. I once brought a half of pound of skunk weed back from the west coast on a jet with the goods packed in my luggage. I didn’t expect any trouble at the border, but better safe than sorry.

It only took about ten minutes to travel from the south end of town to the US, Canadian border. I’ve crossed into Canada many times before. This had to be one of the tiniest border crossings between the two countries. There was just a small station house for the guards. There was just one gate and a one lane road through to Canada. It was the same for entry into Minnesota.

We were the only car waiting to cross as we pulled up to the gate. The border officer looked out and saw that we were waiting. He took his time and slowly walked over to the driver side of the truck. I rolled down the window and greeted the officer with a pleasant Good morning sir. He wasn’t too pleasant and immediately told me to remove my sun glasses. What is your purpose for entering Canada he addressed. Fishing trip, sir I replied. And what is your destination? he asked. Red Lake, Ontario I explained. He had a clip board and was going down the list of questions. Are you or your friends transporting weapons, illegal substance or hazardous materials? No sir, we are not. Still there were no other vehicles waiting to cross. OK, turn off the vehicle and everyone out of the truck. With apprehension we complied. The officer turned his head and spoke into the mic attached to his right appellate. Frank, bring out the dog. My heart sank and was beating double time as were my friends, but we were sober and we could deal with this. That was until Officer Frank came round the station house with the German shepherd from hell. The beast was on a short leash, its tongue was hanging to the ground and it was panting like a locomotive. This dog knew what it was doing and I felt terror in the pit of my stomach.

This dog’s eyes were as red as the devil’s dick and I could see ground beef reflected back from its glaring stare. Frank was just barely controlling the creature and kept telling it to heel. It was having none of that and I and the rest of the boys were scrambling for position hoping not to look too intimidated. Wally was his first victim. Hitler, the border agent spoke to this menacing, blood thirsty animal, Check boy, check. To our surprise the canine took a more relaxed posture as he approached. Sniff him boy, get him as Frank conducted the search of the submissive foreigner. Hitler did his thing sniffing his way up and down his victim. Wally was frozen but the dog didn’t set off any alarms and Frank directed him to me for a quick sniff. This dog had the wettest mouth I’ve ever seen on a dog or any other animal I had ever seen. I stood there motionless and let it do its thing. Next one up was Terry. Terry didn’t really like dogs to begin with so it was immediately evident that Terry was almost struck with panic at the sight and near proximity of Hitler. It started sniffing around. It was picking up some kind of scent because the dog was starting to become more aggressive. It kept going to Terry’s right jean pocket. The brutish beast kept nuzzling Terry’s pocket to the point of leaving a large wet spot on his Wranglers. Hitler was becoming very aggressive now and Frank had a hard time controlling the canine officer. Terry pleaded with Frank to curb Hitler; and he did, but that was when the entry officer came over and told Terry to empty his pocket. This could have been the end of our adventure… but it wasn’t. Maybe it should have been.

Mike and I locked eyes; we were thinking the same thing. Did Terry roll one up to smoke after we crossed? I sure hope not. We would know soon enough. Come on, empty that pocket the officer scoffed. Terry reached in and fumbled around for a moment. You playing pool we don’t have all day the cop muttered. My head was about to pop like Mount St. Helen’s. Terry reached out with the contents from his jeans. Some loose change and a Slim Jim wrapper. Hitler could still pick up the scent in that wrapper. The poor thing was whimpering like a little puppy. Hitler loves them Slim Jim’s Frank retorted. You guys look alright aye; we just like to screw with Americans when there’s nothing else to do. Welcome to Canada. We were all relieved and joked around for a moment before leaving. Even the dog had lost all of his hostility once he heard his keeper change his demeanor. There were high fives all around; we even shook hands with Hitler. As we were about to leave Frank came back over to the truck. His name is Adolph, it’s not Hitler, our boss wouldn’t allow us to use that name. We were just messing with you guys a little. No hard feelings now? Have a nice trip and let me give you a little tip. It’s easy to get into Canada, but it’s a bitch to get out, Frank chortled. Mike rolled down his window and offered the men and their dog a beer. Frank replied No thanks, but do you guys have a joint you can spare? We just love that USA grown pot up here. Sorry we replied, they opened the gate and we were now in Canada. We didn’t speak until the border crossing was well out of sight. Do you believe what just went down? Mike exclaimed, I thought I was going to shit myself. We all had that same thought; but we made it through to Canada and things were looking much brighter for us now.

Chapter Two

Canada

Little did we know that we were about to travel back in time to a country blessed with magnificent beauty. We could feel the vibe almost immediately. Right from the border crossing we were in a very heavily wooded forest. Giant conifers of Hemlock, Cedar and Spruce dominated the woodland. The trees were as dense as matches in a match box. Enormous Firs, 200 feet high, rose like the spires on the Chrysler Building. I didn’t realize how many variations there were in the color green. Early pioneers must have envisioned the forest as a Green Hell. From the comfort of my Dodge it was simply remarkable.

Wally, with a nice buzz on reported That looks like the weed we just rolled up. Maybe, but the stuff I brought is as golden as a Yukon River nugget, I replied. How about you Terry, what flavor did you stash away? I brought some blond Turkish hash and Black African Temple Beads. A cheer went up for Terry…. he was the cannabis king of the day. Mike spoke up, Well guys, I have got some shit they call Willie Nelson, in fact that’s what we just toked up. Very good, we all agreed Willie knows weed indeed.

Everyone was high and feeling fine, content to sit back, listen to the stereo and enjoy the wonderful scenery unfolding before our eyes. With a heightened since of awareness brought on by the enriched smoke, everything was even more vivid and beautiful.

We were following the shore line of Rainy Lake. It was cloudy and spitting a little moisture. Hence its name…Rainy Lake. This body of water was large, very large. It took us an hour to circumvent the Great Lake. Its crystal waters drained southwest of Lake Superior. International Falls was separated from Ontario by a rapid out flow from Rainy Lake. Just a boulder congested cascade split the countries giving them an undisputed border. We followed the highway along the lake for miles gazing at the countless islands bays and inlets that glaciers left behind to be filled by the melt waters of the Great Ice Age, some 25,000 years ago. We were on high ground and looking down on the forest. On the far side of the lake, it looked to be as thick as the grass on a golf course putting green. It seemed that you could simply walk across the top of the canopy. Mesmerized by the color, it was mostly a deep shade of blue somewhere between India ink and Aqua blue. The surface varied with cloud cover and sun light shining down on the calm liquid. Then, through the mist, a rainbow appeared spanning the mystical body of water and reaching up to the heavens. This was truly God’s country. Wally asked me to pull into a road side parking area so he could capture the moment with his Nikon. We all exited the truck and as Wally clicked off a roll of film, Terry crawled into the back of the truck bed and came out with a chunk of hash and a one hit pipe. I hate to repeat myself…. but life is good and we partook. After a short break, a few tokes on the pipe and coughing our lungs out, we climbed aboard and continued west towards Dryden, Ontario our next pit stop.

I mentioned before that crossing into Canada is like stepping back in time and it is just that. Even in International Falls there was a pretty substantial population base. Just a few short miles into Ontario and one wonders… where are the people? As you drive down the highway you pass very few vehicles and you can proceed at what ever pace you choose, unlike the rat race that the US interstate highway system is known for. Around us was just forest, countless lakes, rivers and streams. An expanse of green and blue with tiny ribbons of black asphalt and steel railroad tracks, that ran parallel to the roadway, winding its way through the maze. The towns were fewer and spread far apart with virtually nothing in between. It would become even more remote as we ventured further into Ontario.

When I was sixteen…. I traveled cross country from Chicago to Seattle by automobile with two friends from school and an Irish Christian Brother. They were a teaching order of clergy. Brother Tony was a teacher at my high school, Leo Catholic, and was transferred to Seattle, Washington to teach at a new school. He had never driven across the United States and it had been one of his dreams to do so. He contracted a drive away car, an auto whose owner was moving out west and would have someone else drive the distance for him. It was the cheapest way to transport a car city to city. Bro Tony asked me and two fellow student council members to share the ride and share the experience with him. I had never been further out of Chicago than Indiana and Wisconsin so I jumped at the opportunity. Tony was from Spokane, Washington and we stopped there for a few days so Brother Tony could spend some time with his folks. The last leg of that trip was to proceed on to Seattle, but Bro took us on a little side trip that was eye opening and spectacular.

When we left Spokane we didn’t go west towards Seattle but instead we went north up past Grand Cooley Dam and into Alberta, Canada. We traveled into Canada following the Spokane River. We connected with the Queens Highway and proceeded west to the coastal city of Vancouver. The point I’m trying to make is that when we crossed into British Columbia it was like going back in time to the frontier days of the old west. Vancouver was on the other hand quite the cosmopolitan hub of the Canadian West. The city was vibrant and colorful. Rich in ethnicity much like Chicago. It was a city of bridges spanning the inter coastal waterway. In the back country there was nothing in ’76. We stopped at a general store for gas where there were hitching posts outside for marshaling horses. Most of the goods inside were stored in crates and barrels, to be measured out in ounces and pounds by the store clerk. The store had an open top cooler for soda pop and an assortment of canned goods on shelves behind the counter. The only thing that was contemporary was the gas and diesel pumps for fueling the few cars and trucks that would venture past. This time around there wasn’t quite the same cultural shock, but I couldn’t help but reflect on my past experience. Canada is very large in terms of square miles but the population is so spread out that only a few threads of asphalt connect the entire country. So fresh and so clean is this land.

After leaving Rainy Lake behind, we were nearing the town of Dryden. The landscape was changing. The forest was now giving way to pasture and small rocky farm plots where their inhabitants appeared to try to sustain some food crops. There were also a few Christmas tree plantations. We were still surrounded by water, only this time it was mostly small lakes, ponds and streams. I’m sure the stream we were following flowed right through the town of Dryden.

The guys and I were anxious to get out of the truck as the hash smoke had us craving food. We decided to stop for lunch and gas as we closed in on the first real town we had seen thus far in Ontario. We were going to have to watch for a turn off to the right when we drove through Dryden.

Someone from the back seat motioned to a diner coming up on the left and we all agreed to stop. From the outside the diner looked like an elongated Air Stream camper trailer, with windows. I had seen a few of these old diners before although they were pretty much extinct in the lower 48 states. Diners had given way to fast food outlets. Today’s diners were just throw back novelties to a time when people would actually stop for a meal, instead of going through a drive thru and eating on the run. I pulled into the parking lot and the adventurous band of merry men walking tall went inside and headed straight for the restroom.

Relieved and hungry we all sat down at the counter. The diner was long but narrow. There was a row of booths by the windows and a row of bar stools with a counter separating patrons from the smoky grill. Burgers, club sandwiches and fries were the table fare of choice as we gave our orders to the lone grill man. With the buzz now forgotten we craved meat and carbs to appease the beast within. Except for the grill master the place was devoid of human habitation. A strange silence filled the room. Except for the sizzle coming off the grill and fryer and the muted sounds emitted from the old Philco Radio, no one spoke. Here you go mates the man behind the counter spoke as he served up a cache of fat laden sandwiches. Some more coffee boys? he spoke again and we all nodded as if one. Where are you headed? It was pretty obvious that we were not from around here. Wally replied We’re headed up to Red Lake, about how far is it from here? The man’s shirt had the name Gary stitched across the pocket. About 80 or 90 miles I reckon. You guys must be going fishing if you don’t mind me asking. Yes we are I replied flying out of Red Lake in the morning to Morning Stone Lake somewhere in the bush. Gary spoke The roads come to an abrupt end north of town. There are a few two tracks but they really don’t go anywhere. I think the local teenagers drive up those trails to get a little, if you know what I mean. There’s a little saying we have up here, Gary continued, Hey, hey first of May outdoor screwing starts today, he ended slapping the counter and laughed a bit. We joined in and he continued, Outdoor season is short and sweet, we have to move it in doors by October. This year it’s been very hot and dry, unusual weather for this part of the world. By the way where are you guys from? Terry blurted out, Chicago. Gary responded, I was in Duluth once but never to a big city like Chicago. Aren’t there gangsters and killers running that city? One from Chicago gets use to that question and in a way they do, it’s just not exclusively Italian mobsters anymore. Mike spoke up No that’s just a bunch of bull shit from the past. But was it really BS? There is a little dirt in every corner and that included Chicago.

We thanked Gary for a great meal and left him a nice tip. We paid our bill and exited the friendly confines of the shiny silver diner. Gary went out to the parking lot for a smoke. He spoke once again before we got to the truck; Thanks a lot guys. Stop in on your way back through and update me on the fishing. I turned around and replied Sure Gary, we’ll see you next week and hopefully we’ll have a good fishing report for you, take care. We shuffled the seating arrangement once again and we were gone. One more fuel stop and we were soon through the town of Dryden. There it was; the turn off junction, Red Lake Road….turn right. We turned right on to the two lane highway. Red Lake Road was definitely a secondary road. There was a very narrow shoulder and I was careful to keep my eyes on the road. Of course, we stopped for a smoke at Perrault Falls. I didn’t see any signs of a town but there was a small parking area at the base of the falls. We got out and checked it out. Mike was quick to roll one up so we sat in the grass shaded by a huge maple tree and stared out at the turbulent cascade. I was ready to pull out a rod and start fishing, but as yet we had not procured Ontario fishing permits. The water below the falls looked like it could be teaming with a number of fish species but we had to wait. After all, we were going to be the only anglers on the entire Lake. Although it was tempting we would have to wait. Terry on the other hand unpacked a rod tied on a Devil Spoon and cast out into the current. Wally spoke, Hey numb nuts, you’re going to get nailed by a conservation officer for not having a license. It will probably be a $200.00 citation. Don’t worry about it. We haven’t even seen another car on this road Terry replied. No sooner did he reply when he shouted out I got a strike, fish on! After a minute or two he realized that there was no fish on and he had just snagged the bottom. Shit he exclaimed; that’s my favorite spoon and I don’t think that I have any option but to cut the line. It must be wedged in the rocks. Our gear was set up for sport fishing. The reels were strung with just six pound mono filament line. The only way he was going to save his lure was to go in after it.

The stream was flowing very fast, below the falls, so Terry tried to slowly dislodge the precious Dare Devil. Snap! The line went slack and it looked like Terry’s lure had found a new home. It was not going to make it all the way to Red Lake in Terry’s tackle box. It found a home in the turbulence at the bottom of Perrault Falls.

After a few colorful expletives, Terry started to reel in the fishing line. And as if Wally was psychic, who do you think pulled into the roadside rest area? You guessed it! A young, no nonsense Ontario CO greeted us. This could get bad in just a few minutes.

The young man stepped out of his dark green truck. Automatic weapon on his hip and a badge on his chest, he walked down to join the rest of us where we were gathered. I’m Officer Brady and will you please display your Ontario Fishing License. Mike spoke up Sir we don’t have licenses yet we are going to get them in Red Lake later today. Brady said Well you can’t fish without a license and it sure does look like your friend is fishing. Terry’s fishing line was taught and it sure looked like he was fishing. But Terry surprised us with his explanation of the situation. Sir, I’m not really fishing. I just let the line out without a hook and let the current take the line so I can reel it in and get the twist out of the line. Casting lures without a swivel on your line as I do causes the line to twist and weaken. We stopped to stretch our legs and I figured as long as we were here I’d get the twist out of my line. The officer spoke again Alright, pull it in and let’s see what we’ve got. Terry reeled in the line and of course there was no hook on it. No hook not fishing the CO explained. You’re good to go but don’t fish without a license or you will be cited. Thanks sir, have a nice day and we will get the proper permits when we get to Red Lake I replied. That’s the only town between here and there where you can get proper licenses, so do it right or don’t do it at all. Have a safe and pleasant vacation in Ontario Brady responded. He turned and walked up the ridge to his truck and as fast as he arrived he was gone. Wally said to Terry, I tried to warn you, but at least your quick thinking saved your ass. Well done. Escaping another near miss, we dashed to the truck and resolved not to stop again until we arrived in Red Lake. We dodged another bullet this time, but how many bullets were still in the chamber? We would soon find out that nothing turns out like it should. Back on Red Lake Road we chewed up the miles passing through little hamlets with names like Ear Falls, Bruce Lake and Snake Falls. There ahead was a road sign, Slow Down…Entering the Town of Red Lake. We made it!

Chapter Three

Red Lake

We passed an air strip on the outskirts of the city limits. I hesitate to call it a city but it was at least as big as Dryden and it had an airport. The air strip was small, but there were two runways. I guess the planes take off and land depending on the direction of the wind. I bet it blows like a gale in the winter time. There was no tower; at least I didn’t see anything structural with any kind of elevation and just a small building that probably served as a terminal and a group of aircraft hangers.

The terrain had been changing since we drove through Dryden and started heading north to Red Lake. The impenetrable forest of lush conifers and the legume filled pastures were giving way to hardwoods, scruffy brush and patchy turf. It seemed that everything grew out of limestone and sand. There were some lime and sandstone buttes the rose up from the ground but they were few and far between. The further north we drove the vegetation was sparser and weak in appearance. The trees all seemed to lean to the east probably due to the prevailing westerly winds. This was rough country. The glaciers must have scraped away most of the top soils and left very little organic material behind to nourish the flora. I have always been interested in geology and interpreting what I had read with what I was seeing, explained a lot of things pertaining to how the regional land masses had formed and the transformation that shaped and sculpted the present day continent we inhabit today. I wondered what it would be like to spend the winter up here. Everything must be covered in snow and ice for seven or eight months of the year. It was only 2:30 PM and there on the left was the Red Lake Motor Lodge. A cheer rang out as we pulled into the parking lot. Slowly we drove over to the office. There was a canopy for patrons to park under while checking in. We all got out of the truck to stretch our weary muscles and Wally and I went in to take care of the business at hand. There was the sound of a lone saxophone playing an old jazz tune. I recognized the song…. someone was playing Lullaby of Broadway.

The clerk’s name was Trudy. She was an older, gray haired woman with a warm inviting smile even as she continued to play the sax. I just love to pucker up and blow when I get the chance, if you catch my drift. She spoke, Good afternoon gentlemen, can I help you? Yes ma’am, you can I replied. Wally jumped in and spoke, as Trudy placed her instrument on a stand. Bill Byrd made reservations for us…two rooms one night. Let me check the book and I’ll get you registered in a jiffy she replied. Jiffy, I hadn’t heard that word used in conversation in a long, long time. Did you say one room or two, I’m asking because Bill reserved only one room for your party. This weekend is Red Lake’s Norseman Celebration and we are fully booked, in fact there aren’t any other rooms available at all in town. Don’t you worry though the rooms are quite large and equipped with queen size beds a refrigerator and a microwave oven, cable TV and I’ll fix you up with some extra linen and towels. Once again….another slight problem had entered the mix but what the hell it was only one night. What else could go wrong I thought? Trudy asked May I have a credit card and I also need one of you fellows to fill out the registry. Here you go Trudy, I assume you’ll take my Visa Card I replied. Yes, we sure do she answered. Trudy ran the card through the scanner printed out the receipt and gave me a pair of door lock cards. She concluded with Thank you Mr. Randal I hope you and your friends enjoy your stay in Red Lake. Also….there is a very nice Bar and Grill right up the street from us. Good food, cheap drinks and a lot of friendly young ladies, especially because of this week’s Norseman Festival. Wally and I tipped our caps and thanked the effervescent Trudy as we turned and exited the premises. You play a mean horn Trudy I reiterated. Just sharpening my chops for the festival, I have a gig this weekend with the local jazz ensemble Trudy replied. Thanks guys.

Mike and Terry were standing next to my Dodge. Terry spoke What took you guys so long? Wally replied We were talking to the clerk, Trudy, and she was all but willing to pass on information that might make our stay a little easier to cope with. Mike cut in, Wait a minute; what are you trying to tell us? I spoke Well it’s like this. Bill only reserved one room for us, so before you start giving me a pile of shit over that let’s just go inside, have a cocktail and a smoke, freshen up a bit and kick back for an hour before we unleash ourselves on the local population of Red Lake. Hey it’s only for one night and by the way….I’m sleeping with you tonight unless you get lucky. Lucky! What are you talking about? Terry asked.

I got back into the truck drove it to parking space in front of the room I just rented, turned off the engine, unlocked the door, walked in and fell across one of the two queen size beds inside. The guys were right behind me and Terry was now questioning Wally about our conversation with Trudy but Wally was going to make Terry work hard for the information and just kept stringing him along. Mike, the quiet one brought up the rear guard and closed the door behind him. Trudy was right. The room was large.

It was now close to 4:00 PM. Wally called Bill to let him know that we had arrived in Red Lake. Bill wasn’t answering so Wally left a voice message and told him to call us at the Motor Lodge with directions for our early morning flight out of Red Lake. Bill was going to meet us at 9:30 AM. The plane was at his home on the lake. Trouble is we didn’t know where Bill lived. We really didn’t have to worry about it because we had Bill’s number and he had ours