of the Woods and the Sabaskong, a place called Hay’s Bay, where Bill had once fished with an Indian guide. They were also surprised that a dense growth of tall reeds completely hid the entire mouth of their magic river. Actually, the stream had become much wider at the mouth, and had they tried to find it from the lake, they would never have even suspected their magic river was here.
“Know wonder nobody has found this remarkable stream from the lake,” Bill smirked, glancing over Dave’s shoulder at his map. “If you look at where we’re standing, they’ve only marked a small line on the map, which would have never even suggested there was a river here.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Dave whistled. “Those damned map makers sure missed this one. I just can’t believe it,” he scowled, marking a compass direction on his map. “I’d guess we can get back to our camp by walking at about 110 degrees,” he explained, pointing out the direction they’d need to take. Folding his map he tucked it safely back in his vest pocket. “I’d estimate we have about five miles to go, and if we can stay out of that dense underbrush, it’s probably about an hours walk as the Crow flies.”
“Well let’s not fly,” Ed chuckled, walking toward their first camp site at Split Rock Falls.
As they walked at a rather fast pace, every so often they’d chase up a deer or some other animal, and the frightened animals would all run about fifty yards and then suddenly stop and turn to see who these strangers were that had invaded their peaceful surroundings.
“It looks like we can have fresh venison if we want,” Dave grinned, still hiking at a rather fast pace through this primitive and untouched forest, stopping only to confirm his compass direction from time to time. As they came closer to the campsite, the brush once again became much thicker, which was a sure sign that they were getting near the Split Rock River. Finally Dave spotted their tent, which they’d only missed by about a hundred yards, which was a big relief. After a short rest, and lunch, they started the horrible ordeal of repacking and reloading the boat for their short trip to Hay’s Bay. Since the wind had picked up and was from the southwest, they would be protected by land almost all the way, so their overloaded boat wasn’t in any great danger of capsizing in those larger waves they could see off in the distance in the open waters of the Sabaskong Bay.
As they motored along the shoreline, Dave said. “I think we should do some serious fishing tomorrow.”
“Fishing,” Ed choked. “What are you talking about?”
“Yes fishing,” Dave repeated, once again looking at his map. “Just a few miles to the southwest is a small Indian reservation, right on the eastern shore of the open water, and I think we should check that out before we start making any noise looking for gold. I suspect these are the same Indians that chased my fanny out of here last year, and I’d like to see just what’s going on at that reservation anyway. Maybe we can see if they really make their living fishing or not, and just how busy they are this time of the year. Once we’re aware of their daily routine, we’ll stand a far better chance of not being chased by them. If we can prevent any contact with them, it certainly would be to our advantage. Don’t you agree?”
Both Ed and Bill stared straight ahead as they thought about what Dave had just said.
“Yes, you’re probably right,” Bill finally agreed. “But just what is it you’ll be trying to find out?”
“Well, if their tribe is netting fish every day, they sure aren’t mining gold, and chances are they won’t be chasing us off their plantation if they’re fishing. If we know when they clean and deliver their fish, or when their cooking, or drying their nets, or whatever they do on weekends and windy or rainy days, we can change our schedule accordingly, can’t we?”
“I see what you’re saying,” Ed smiled. “You know, I love to fish anyway, and I didn’t bring these binoculars along for nothing.”
Bill was pleased by how well the Islands were protecting them from the wind, as they wove their way from channel to channel, finally reaching the small entrance to Hay’s Bay. And after a great deal of searching they eventually found a perfect landing spot behind a natural rock cove that completely hid the boat from anyone that might be motoring along that shoreline. Then just above this boat landing, less than a hundred yards from the shore, they found a perfect campsite that was surrounded by tall pines, where they’d be well hidden from view as well as the wind, and it was also very close to their magic stream.
“I believe this is only about a quarter of a mile from where we’ll probably start our search for gold,” Dave explained.
Just to the southeast of their camp, was a high cliff where they could overlook the entire area and the large peninsula that separated this bay from the much larger open waters to the south. The open water area was so large they could not even see the other side of the lake, and that was where the majority of the Indian netting took place. Although Bill had watched the Indians fish in the Sabaskong many times, the winds were far more dangerous there than the steady rolling waves of the larger open water to the south.
After a brief rest, it took much of the remaining day for them to unload and set up their new campsite.
“We’ll need to chop some dry fire wood,” Dave explained. “And if we use dry wood sparingly, and cook over hot coals, we shouldn’t be sending up too many smoke signals. I also suggest we keep our campfires small, so they won’t be spotting our fire at night.”
“Okay, I’ll be your man,” Ed snickered. “We sure haven’t been getting enough exercise lately,” he groaned, as he grabbed his ax and went to search for a good dry tree trunk to chop at.
“Hey Ed, you can use this canvas to cover the wood when your finished,” Dave laughingly shouted, tossing a tarp in his direction.
Bill had already started gathering rocks to build a large fireplace that would shield the fire from the wind and hide the flames at night.
“I’d guess we have enough water to last us only a few days,” Dave said. “So we’ll probably have to fetch some fresh spring water from our aquifer in a few days.”
“I bet that spring water is as pure as you’ll find anywhere, but just to be on the safe side we should probably use some of our water tablets,” Bill explained, placing one large shelf like rock on top of his fireplace.
Later that night, when they were finished with all their chores, they celebrated with some cold beer, and Ed prepared a large sirloin steak with fried potatoes, which they’d brought with them for this very occasion. Then after dinner, they watched the Northern Lights dance across the sky as they visited about how they’d start by first trying to pan for gold. It was very late when they finally crawled into their sleeping bags, and much later in the morning when they finally awoke to the persistent sounds of a woodpecker rapping away on some distant tree.
As they stretched their tired muscles they could see it was going to be another beautiful day, and as Dave poured his freshly brewed coffee they chatted about the beauty of this new paradise they’d found, and how they’d casually catch fish today while they’d watch the Indian’s work habits from a distance.
“If we catch some Walleye today, we can probably store the filets in plastic bags in that cold water, rather than pull an ice chest up into the tree every night.” Dave explained.
“Oh I forgot to tell you, there’s an outpost lodge near Split Rock, where we can buy ice if we need it,” Bill said. “They cut lake ice all winter long up here, and bury it under sawdust in
