FIRST DAY IN CAMP  - SATURDAY - Fishing Vacation Georgian Bay Fishing Camp

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The first day at the Georgian Bay Fishing Camp (GBFC), Mike, Dad and I are back in Canada.  It's been seven years since we fished in Ontario.  Always went to Wawa, thought we'd try a new area this time.  We were supposed to catch a 10:30 a.m. boat out to the camp.  Luckily, we arrived at the marina around 7:15; and two other guys were waiting to be picked up by proprietor by Dave Buler.  We quickly unloaded, and caught the 7:45 boat.  When the boat pulled up to the dock at Wright's Marina, it was doubtful all of the stuff would fit.  Our pile of gear was three times bigger than the two other guys,  not including the kayak.  In other words, based on the other two guys packing a normal amount, we had enough gear for six guys!  The early start meant we made it to the camp, unpacked, got the boat and were on the water by noon.  By 1:00, Dad had caught a really nice smallmouth bass.  He was absolutely thrilled and we knew it was going to be a great trip.  We spent the first afternoon exploring close to camp, Dock Islands, Islands around GBFC and into Beacon Rock Bay.  Worked hard to catch a few more smaller fish.  Enough for supper.  It was apparent fishing wasn't going to be easy, no fish were jumping in the boat.

It was a real bummer Cousin David couldn't come. We had spent a year talking about him coming back to Michigan.  We had reserved the week at GBFC back in May, and had spent the following months getting pumped about the adventure.  Family illness changed David's plans.  I felt bad about him having to cancel the trip.  I felt even worse about Joyce having cancer and the challenges she would be facing.  This was probably why I just couldn't seem to get motivated to pack for the trip.  It took me a couple of days on the trip to put reality and life sucks in the appropriate place and start enjoying the adventure.   But I still can't tell you how many times I said "this is for David or David would really like this…"

 

Georgian Bay is more spectacular than I had ever dreamed.  Wind swept rounded granite islands, bent and contorted white pine trees growing from cracks in the rock, roots struggling to keep the trees upright.  Glaciers carved out the Bay and left thousands of smooth bedrock islands.  Little soil was left on the rocks.  It looks like someone with a huge sander, carefully worked on the rocks, until there were no sharp edges.  The small, barren islands looked like pillows of granite and basalt, decorated with bands of pink orthoclase and white quartz.  The Outer Fox Islands, Bustard Islands, French and Pickerel Rivers, I had spent so much time studying these on maps, and now I was in the middle of it all. 

 

GBFC consists of a number of small white cabins, spread over the island and connected by boardwalks. Each group of cabins had a floating dock, with room for four or five boats.   Our cabin was near the lodge, utility buildings and the shower building.  Although the proximity to the showers was less of an issue for me.  Two nights ago a renegade bear had went through the camp, tore the trim off the door on the lodge, ripped off the freezer door.  The owner, Dave had waited up the night before with a gun, it was time to deal with the bear, in a Canadian sort of way.  Dave said over the years he has had to deal with a few bears.