Two weeks ago I took a hard look at today’s technology. With that in mind, I have a quote.

“Technology…the knack of so arranging the world that we don’t have to experience it.” – Max Frisch

Daniel E. Schmidt, editor-in-chief of Deer & Deer Hunting magazine, wrote the following in the recent Volume 45/Issue 2 of his magazine.

“Hassle-free wireless options are so packed with options these days, scouting has literally become something you can do 100% remotely. We can actually spend less time in the woods and have more success when we do get out there.” Do we really want less time in the woods?

Have you ever thought about the greatest hunting or fishing adventure of your life? I have. Mine took place 63 years ago. It was July 1958. I was heading into my junior year of high school, and John Byron, my brother, would be a freshman. Dad was taking us to Ontario’s Quetico Provincial Park for a fishing/camping adventure.

Dad drove our 1956 Packard Clipper with a 12’ aluminum boat on the roof. We headed north along Lake Superior on Hwy 61 and entered Canada at the Pigeon River port of entry. From there it was on to Kakabeka Falls and what would be the Atikokan Highway connecting Thunder Bay to Fort Frances. At that time chain gangs in striped suits were building the highway to Atikokan, a mining town. I remember stopping for breakfast at a general store-café near Kakabeka Falls. No one was in, and we cooked up breakfast and left a note and money on the counter.

How that low-slung Packard made it along that rocky road remains a mystery, but dad parked the Packard at a fire look-out tower and my brother and I carried the boat and 7.5 horsepower outboard motor to French Lake. With tackle, camping gear, fuel, and provisions, we crossed French Lake and portaged into the much larger Pickerel Lake. Brother John and I were lean and strong, and dad had an adventurous spirit that knew no bounds.

In looking at today’s Quetico provisions, no mechanical devices of any kind are permitted in Quetico. This includes outboard motors or any motorized boat, ATV’s, or chain saws. Barbless hooks as well as artificial lures are required as no live bait is permitted. One enters Pickerel Lake at the Dawson Trail Entry Station adjacent to the Atikokan Highway near French Lake.

Why was this such high adventure? It was total wilderness. In ten days of fishing, we saw no other anglers. We were also without any form of communication with the outside world. Even though I’ve been to some far corners of the world, it was with outfitters, transportation, and communication. There were zero stress factors – even on the Ungava Peninsula where we were the first humans to hunt or fish.

Unfortunately the adventure didn’t end there. While on the lake, with utter disregard on my part as navigator for maps or compass, we became lost when we either passed into another body of water through a narrow channel or portaged across some land. We circled the lake for hours looking for our way out when miraculously a pontooned DNR helicopter landed to check our licenses! We were saved!

I often wonder what would have happened had not that helicopter saved us. On the plus side, we had a lake full of water to drink, and by the end of Day Two we would have been eating raw fish. I can’t remember whether we had matches with us or not, but we certainly should have. Perhaps my ingenious father would have produced fire. A spark from an ignition wire to some gasoline might have done the trick. Perhaps a spark from the axe against flint would have worked. As far as flies and mosquitos were concerned, we had already learned that the insects subsided once total darkness was reached.

Would anyone other than my mom eventually know that we were missing? Even at that, she didn’t know where we were. Was there a ranger at that lookout where we left the car who was aware of our plan and time schedule? I can’ remember. There’s a lesson to be learned here. On the simplest hunts or fishing excursions, carry an emergency kit, and leave an itinerary plan with someone. A cell phone would work, but it was 1958.

90% of our load was gasoline. For food, we carried no canned goods. Groceries included a slab of bacon, cooking oil, potatoes, carrots, onions, powdered milk, breakfast cereal, pancake mix, sugar, salt, eggs, Lipton powdered soup, and Kool Aide. Fish would be our main diet. Other than a few pots and pans, an axe, and a camera, we had a small canvas wall tent and three sleeping bags. Our clothing was Spartan.

Even at my age, I’d go back to Quetico in a heartbeat and paddle a canoe. Our biggest Quetico fish? My thirty-pound northern pike.

See you next week.