Tony's First Time
Tony’s First Time
By Tony Binns
Looking down at the natural beauty of Hatchet Lake from the window of a private luxury charter plane feels strangely contradictory. When David Thompson first charted the region during his time with the Hudson’s Bay Company, I doubt that he did it with a cup of coffee in hand, nearly napping in a soft reclined seat. Then again, The Hatchet Lake Lodge, a rustic fisherman’s paradise located on a private island in northern Saskatchewan, is full of surprises. Not the least of which was greeted by a piper in full Scottish regalia as we docked. This was not the last we’d hear from him by the way…the pipes called us to breakfast in the morning and also acted as the dinner bell. I fear the next time I hear “Scotland the Brave” I may have a Pavlovian reaction and begin to drool.
Fishermen are notoriously early risers, so it was no surprise to me that the entire adventure would begin far earlier than most people would care to be awake. Nevertheless, the shuttle to the Winnipeg Airport arrived at the Fairmont right on time and I was on board the shuttle at 4:45 am. Normally I dread a 6 a.m flight, but a private plane, on a private airstrip, and some meticulous attention to service on board made it a different animal all together. I drifted off a couple of times during the flight (thanks to the miracle of leg room) so the two hours went by quickly. Then it was on a boat and ten minutes later we were greeted with the aforementioned pipes and a man in a skirt…and next to him a gentleman named George Fleming.
George is the owner and operator of the Hatchet Lake Lodge and he makes sure he personally comes out and greets his guests. George was born and raised in Scotland, hence the musical accompaniment, but you certainly wouldn’t know it to speak to him. He’s been in Canada since he was 17, so any trace of an accent is gone. He gave me a warm hello, and shook my hand. George is just about as laid back as you would expect someone who lives and works in these gorgeous surroundings to be. He gives off an air of relaxed authority that one usually only sees on a golf course. You get the idea that there is nowhere else he’d rather be. He tells me breakfast is on in the main lodge, and as soon as I’ve settled in I can go grab something to eat. My stomach is finally catching up with the rest of me and waking up, so I’m very inclined to take him up on that. But first, I’m off to my cabin.
The Lodge prides itself on its privacy and an unspoiled nature view and it certainly has that in spades. There’s no commercial fishing, no car access and no other lodges at this spot, which leaves you to enjoy a view that seemed only available to early settlers and trappers. As we walked along the stone path, Hatchet Lake lapped gently on the shoreline, thick with fir and spruce and larch. A few clouds in the sky but they seemed likely to burn off as the day went on. I enquired with Amber, the young college student who was showing me to my room, about the hiking in the area. She assured me the island had a number of great walks and I made a mental note to do a little exploring later as we came up on my guest cabin.
Generally when one reads “rustic charm” in a brochure it’s a red flag. Images of wood paneling from the 70’s and sheets last changed in roughly the same decade spring to mind. The accommodations here actually lived up to the promise of “rustic charm” and went a long way toward restoring that phrase to its former glory. According to Amber, each cabin was handmade with simple tools by some of the local Cree and Dene First Nations people. The exteriors were made from hand peeled locally harvested logs. There was a small porch out front and a few chairs to sit and enjoy the view or chat with neighboring guests. Stepping inside, I noticed there was already a fire blazing away in a wood burning stove. With its big wingback chairs and hand crafted tables, beds and quilts, the room looked like what many a den strives to be but ultimately fails to be. Once again that strange juxtaposition of the untouched wilderness with the hint of luxury comes to mind. I give my thanks to Amber, wash up and head to the lodge for breakfast.
The Lodge is an impressive three story structure, complete with dining area, lounge, weight room, games room and more. I appear to be at the tail end of the breakfast crowd. I’m hungry, but I’m also eager to get going. I have to go pick up my fishing license yet, and meet my guide for 9:30, so I opt for the Red River Cereal. It’s a hot breakfast of a different sort than regular oatmeal. Apparently it’s made up of rye, flax and wheat….the sort of thing your mom told you will “stick to your ribs”. It tastes surprisingly delicious for something that is this good for you. All of my food and non alcoholic beverages are included in my 5 day package, and tempting as it is to stay and sample some French toast and linger over another cup of coffee, I have some fishing to do.
After I pick up my license, (a bit of a line up, but it went quickly) I gather the pole and tackle I borrowed from my brother in law and head to the lobby to meet with my guide, Calvin.
“You Tony?”
“Yes.”
“Good to meet you. I’m Calvin, I’ll be taking you out today. I see you have your gear there … got your license?”
“Yep, all set.”
“Good, here we go.”
Calvin is a burly fellow with a big laugh and an easy smile. I suspect my answer to his next question will quickly cause the smile to fade.
“Done a lot of fishing before, Tony?”
“Absolutely none. I wouldn’t know one end of a fish from another.”
Calvin never missed a beat.
“Head’s the end that has the eyes on it.” he chuckled. “See? You learned something already. Don’t you worry we’ll get you sorted out.”
Although named for the big lake in front, Hatchet Lake Lodge actually services several small lakes in the area, some of which you are flown to by one of the float planes that are standing by. Today however, we are sticking to Hatchet Lake itself. The clouds are burning off and that prairie sky that Saskatchewan is famous for is starting to come through nicely. I pop my rain jacket on my seat, buckle up the life jacket and step into a small aluminum fishing vessel. Calvin wants to know what I’m looking for today.
I shrug and say “Fun?”
He explains that where we go depends on the kind of fish I’m looking for. The “Big Four” of the area are northern pike, lake trout, arctic grayling and the Canadian walleye. I’ve seen pictures of pike, and I’m not sure I’m enjoying the prospect of staring down the business end of one on my first day. My best chance for a walleye would be to fly to one of the nearby lakes, so not really on the agenda. The arctic grayling is really more for fly fishers, so I settle on the trout. Calvin takes a look at my equipment, and lures. He suggests we make a quick stop at the tackle shop before we take off.
After a brief and somewhat educational shopping excursion (I had no idea I would ever know what a slab spoon was, much less actually purchase one), we were back on the boat and jetting our way to deeper waters.
Calvin explained that it being close to midsummer, the trout would most likely be in the middle of the lake and we would be doing something called “jigging”. I once again flashed back to the piper on the dock, terrifying images of Riverdance in my head. It turns out jigging is a lot easier than it sounds. With a good weight on my line, I drop it down into what Calvin says is roughly 50 feet of water, based on what his depth finder is telling him. Then I sit back and “jig” my line, a quick flicking motion meant to attract the attention of any nearby fish.
I had been so preoccupied with the ins and outs of lines, reels and techniques that only when I settled back did I start to enjoy where I was. No other boats speeding by, no water skiers, no cars zooming around on shore…just the sound of the lake and the birds, with the odd word of advice from Calvin of course. I’m beginning to understand that the point of fishing, as with so many other things in life, is in the pursuit. After ten minutes or so I felt a kind of weight come off me and I didn’t care if I didn’t catch a single thing.
Calvin, on the other hand being the pro he is managed to catch not one but two smallish trout. Although the policy is generally catch and release, Calvin actually kept his fish.
“Lunch.” he said with a smile.
By lunchtime, I myself was troutless but undaunted. I had spent the better part of the morning getting my jigging down, so I was ready to eat. Calvin headed toward land for the legendary Hatchet Lake “shore lunch”. We found a picturesque spot at a little tree lined inlet and went ashore. Calvin went about creating a small fire at a speed that might have even impressed Davey Crocket. Over the fire, he set up a well used wok, and while the oil was heating, cleaned and filleted the fish. A quick toss in some batter, a few precut fries and we were having fish and chips for lunch. The idea of even having such a meal thrown together so quickly was impressive enough…but the fresh taste of the fish, with the smell of wood smoke and the gorgeous lakeside view was incredible. Let’s just say as a guy with British parents, I’ve had my share of fish and chips, but nothing really compared. Like breakfast, the temptation to linger over the meal was great, but I was eager to put my newfound skills to the test.
As the previous spot had yielded no results for me, we went to another one of Calvin’s favorite spots an area of the lake dotted with small islands in the distance and home to few noisy loons. A mere 45 minutes of world class jigging later…
A tug.
Did I imagine it?
No this was a full on pull now. I quite definitely had something.
“Woah! Got one! I got something here!”
“Yeah, that’s something alright.” Calvin said “Just take it easy…slow and steady and you’ll get it in the boat.”
I felt like a five year old. An insane sense of accomplishment for a task that thousands upon thousands do on a daily basis, but nevertheless I was so excited I could burst. As it neared the surface, Calvin readied the net and I could finally get a good look at what I had.
It was sizable, not huge, but I made a mental note to exaggerate when I told the story later. I pulled up a beautiful lake trout, weighing in at a respectable 6 pounds by Calvin’s estimation. I was in love, but our time together was short. The Lodge’s catch and release policy means no barbed hooks, and only 60 seconds between the catch and release phase. It’s a smart, environmentally friendly policy that keeps the lakes well stocked, and sees guests landing bigger and bigger catches. I fumbled with the fish and Calvin grabbed my camera to document my first triumph.
Edwina was placed back in the lake within the allotted time. Was it too early in the relationship to name the fish? Perhaps, but what the hell I was on vacation. I continued to while away the afternoon with jigging, breathtaking vistas and easy conversation. As well as being a highly knowledgeable and patient guide, Calvin was just good company, and it didn’t take long to feel like I was fishing with a friend instead of a paid professional. The day yielded no more fish when we headed back, but it was certainly a memorable one.
The day was bright and sunny, but the spray from the boat combined with the cool northern air (we were after all a mere 100 miles from the Northwest Territories) was putting a bit of a chill on me. Fortunately, the staff had been keeping an eye on the stove and it was burning brightly when I arrived back at my cabin. A shower and a short nap were in order. I awoke about an hour and a half later to the distant sound of bagpipes. Dinner was served.
The dining room had transformed from a charming lodge into a refined and elegant restaurant complete with white table cloths, candles, and an impressive wine list. I sipped at a fine blended scotch and took the time to really enjoy the ambience…here, at last was a meal I could linger over. The dining is all you can eat, with various theme nights. Tonight was chicken night…a juicy half chicken, served with a delicate rice pilaf and fresh garden vegetables. The corn was sweet and tender, fresh on the cob, and the chicken was superb. All of the breads were home made, and I’m told the desserts are too, although I didn’t really save room for any. From my table by the window I could see a float plane land as the sky began to tinge with red, like something out of a watercolor. Dining is as much about the experience as the food, and with the service and the view, the lodge could definitely compete with any restaurant in the world.
After dinner, I explored the main lodge a bit, and came upon a charming lounge area, where people laughed and talked over the days events and told the usual fish stories over games of chess at the fireside. As much as I wanted to share my story, I opted instead to head back to my cabin. Coffee would arrive at 6:30 the following morning, and I had to be well rested.
You see…I had a date with a huge pike I had pre-named Galahad, and I only had 4 days left to catch him. And if I didn’t catch him…well, I’d just have to keep coming back.
