Love Duck Lake

God Love Duck Lake
Mike, Chris and Dillon were excited about the trip to Duck in search of a few salmon and maybe the rare trout held in its cold clear waters. The trip depends on the depth of snow each week and year. Without snow the truck can make it into the landing at shores edge. With snow it becomes more of a chore, anywhere from fourteen to twenty miles by snowsled, depending on what roads the paper company is plowing.
At 3a.m. the boys had the truck running, I was more for like six or so, but not them, they had to have traps in by sunrise. We arrive at the Old Man’s at four o’clock, just as he requested. This trip was his idea to begin with anyways. He was still in bed resting his eyes when we pulled in.
But he is headed, up the Alligator Road to the Stud Mill, then to the 32-00-00 road where we would park and unload the sleds. All was going as planned.
Sleds were unloaded and the tub was attached to the old man’s four stroke, long track, Bearcat. Dillon was to ride with the old man and Chris and Mike would share the other sled. Up the 32-00-00 (Duck Lake Rd) we went for a day of fishing. The trail or road was in great shape, hard packed and groomed. The old man really liked that four stroke and the way it rode with his two hundred and eighty pound frame. I called him one-eyed Willy, as the old man only had one eye, so he really had no vision. Hell most of the time we were looking around anyway. He scared the hell out of everyone. Before long the old man, who was leading, was really cruising on the straight always. I am leaning toward sixty mph in places, while towing the tub of gear and grub.
We have done this trip hundreds and hundreds of times over the last thirty years, every Friday night for close to thirty years. He knew the trail and road better than anyone. I think he even helped lay the base for the road back when it was a mud run. Cause every time we got stuck he would be the one fetching rocks to fill the holes.
As we came near the Red Rock, about the half waypoint, where the road goes down to Sabao and Nicatous Lake, there is always a YesMa in the trail. By now the old man was putting distance between the sleds.
As we rounded the corner it looked like a bomb went off. There was food everywhere, bait buckets in the woods and two poor Jiffy Augers in pieces; the tub was twisted around a Maple tree, but no old man. Pretty soon we see the headlights of his sled coming back down the trail.
There is pain and suffering to be explained, see the old man didn’t own anything but the food. Damage so far on this trip, six dozen smelts at $8 a dozen, two augers, traps, the tub and grub.
The old man was quick “dam pin let go on the tub”, he gruffed. Dillon chimed in as he picked up the parts of his Jiffy, “don’t think speed had anything to do with it, especially be air borne over the yesma, do ya”? The answer was quick and sharp from the old man “nope”.
We gathered our goods and repacked. Upon reaching the lake, it was nice to see an old friend at an icehouse who was kind enough to let us borrow his auger for a few holes.
This is a typical trip to Duck and Murphy’s Law is always with us. The old man’s brother, Joe, vowed many years ago never to go to Duck Lake again, it was just too costly.
Our trips involved countless flats, blown transmissions, shocks, trailers coming unhooked and passing us, motors falling off boats, transoms ripped off, lower units destroyed on rocks, atv’s and boats bounced off the trailers, close calls with loggin trucks, broken springs, motors and at least two front pumpkins while pushing mud. Not to mention the times we have been stuck or struck by lighting. God we love Duck Lake.