Voyagers National Park offers a water-based experience for campers, fishermen, and canoers alike. In total, the park contains a combination of 218,054 acres of land and water across the Northern top of Minnestoa, bordering the Canadian line. This also includes 500 plus islands and 655 miles of shoreline, all of which is accessible by watercraft.
My first visit consisted of a 3-day, 2-night fishing camp trip with relatives on my husband’s side where we literally ate, slept, and fished the entire time.
It was awesome.
We entered at Voyagers National Visitors Center where the endless Rainy Lake centered in the horizon with several boats leaving and entering the public access. Despite the upper 60-degree weather on the main land, the air felt 10 degrees cooler near this particular “mouth” of the lake – the breeze easily cooled me off after loading up the boat. We bundled up into light jackets once we set off, knowing the temperature will drop more as we scaled across the water.
Our ride was relatively smooth even with the wind as we headed to our ‘island’ campsite. The campsite consisted of our own dock, two sand pads for tents, bear-proof food lockers, a fishing bay, and scenic views at every turn.
Upon arrival, fishing quickly became the new mindset as rods were prepped in week-long built-up anticipation. Those excited waves couldn’t reach me though as my mind focused on the picturesque landscape rather than catching a fish in the unknown depths surrounding us. In my mind, trails needed to be discovered and scenic overlooks to be viewed.
I soon came to realize I was confined on the island with fishing fanatics and not much else other than a pole and pillow. And God knowns a pillow wasn’t going to help me catch a good time.
In the end, I re-boarded the boat and learned to fish.
I borrowed a Fenwick rod from my husband and we began patrolling the waters closest to our campsite for areas with underwater drop-offs. Our target fish – the Minnesota state Walleye – I guess, prefers those cooler waters – especially when the 70-degree sun is blaring the surface waters.
For the majority of the trip, a lighted bobber with various baits attached to the hook was readied for me. The bobber floats a controlled X amount of feet (depending on water depth) higher so my hook could graze the lake bottom without hindering my ability to witness the bobber to go under with the slightest nibble of a fish. I instantly struggled with the skill of determining the difference between the rocky bottom from a nibble or from boat movement while still having my hook drag across the bottom. (If it doesn’t, you lose out on catching a fish apparently.)
Instead of fish, I caught a lot of rocks. We all did, actually, for the first night and day.
I didn’t mind the failure at first since I still wasn’t in the mindset to fish. I was bored, honestly, just sitting in a boat all day, only to get out and eat and then repeat. I’d rather be exploring the islands we trolled past; half hidden trailheads sparking curiosity.
However, the day we began catching fish is the day my mindset changed completely. Though I wasn’t the first, my heart still raced at the sound of a reel being rolled in quickly. I’ll be next was my repeated thought as my relatives displayed the small Northerns they successfully caught. Not our target fish obviously; however, the excitement sparked an internal challenge with nature and family to catch a fish.
Soon, my rod became an extension of my arm, my hand – the hook grazing the lake bottom 10 plus below, waiting. The waiting morphed into peace as I became aware of the natural beauty around us, and my place within it. The surrounding water produced small rippled waved whose drops speckled us as it climbed the side of the boat. I became a part of the it too as frogs and loons sang white noise in the background with the cooler lake air keeping one alert on their own line. Time mattered no more.
As the fishing high remained – a new part of myself awakened, even after we braked for a quick supper at the campsite. I anxiously waited to board the boat once more for the night, but we had to wait for a small, spotty rain shower to pass over.
Not long afterwards, we trolled Rainy Lake once more, remaining close to camp in case of another evening shower. We discovered a deeper hole with the help of the boat’s sonar software capabilities roughly 50 yards from out island’s shore and decided to gamble our evening chances there. The cold front helped the fish become more active and hungrier.
Two minutes later the first Walleye of the trip swung into the boat – a 21”. Smiles appeared all around, we found them, and the sonar showed signs of more. We anchored.
I hooked a rock.
Within the next ten minutes, four more various sized Walleyes were caught, with some thrown back due to being in the slot limit.
I repeatedly caught more rocks, becoming quite frustrated.
By this time, the setting sun displayed a blazing orange-yellow as it sat just above the water’s horizon. Distant loons seemed to sing to it as the water quieted, reflecting the sun’s colors beautify across the surrounding landscape. Deep yellows, pinks, and oranges danced upward in the sky, still providing warmth against the cooler evening air.
After a few tips and re-adjusting my bobber to hook distance, I casted once again, bouncing my hook hopefully away from the hungry rocks I’ve been catching all weekend. I focused on the sun’s warmth on my right cheek and my hook grazing the lake bottom below.
Crickets soon created the only sound besides the floating boat.
Eventually, I felt a gently tug on my hook – a genuine one. Not taking any chances, I pulled back after the next tug, hoping to hook whatever curious creature lurked below. I began reeling, and after feeling some resistance, reeled faster. I soon pulled up a small 16” Walleye into the boat, with my heart pounding in excitement.
I caught a fish, I whispered to myself as congratulations were provided. We snapped a couple photos before trying out luck again.
The next fish got away however from my existed reeling and tugging.
Soon, only a sliver of the sun’s glow remained so we headed back to camp. As we gently trolled back, I embraced my new-found enjoyment of fishing.
I had become a fisherman.
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