Much of Northern Manitoba experienced early ice-out in 1980 and in early June a float plane carrying Charlie Pace, Matthew Guido, my nephew Chris Carr and I touched down on the surface of North Knife Lake, 600 air miles north of Winnipeg. It turned out to be a fisherman’s dream as the action grew hotter with each passing day.
The afternoon of our last full day in camp found us drifting a quarter-mile upstream on a sluggish river. Gilles Lord, who served as camp manager and guide, had pulled a jumbo northern from this spot a week earlier.He now referred to the place as “Hog Alley.”
We were casting spoons when Chris pointed to a surface disturbance a considerable distance away. Charlie and Matthew were in another boat close-by. They too had seen the commotion atop the water. “What s going on over there?” I asked, motioning toward the surface activity. “Otters” Gilles answered. Due to the distance from us it was hard to make out details, yet there appeared to be several of them. We would soon discover they weren’t otters at all.
Early that morning we stowed our gear in two boats before embarking on a twelve mile boat ride to a place called mid-camp. Along the way we motored into a shallow bay, stopping long enough to catch a few lake trout for lunch. At mid-camp Gilles needed to unscrew plywood covers from the window frames. During the winter one or more black bears had entered the cabin through the windows and devoured everything in sight, including plenty of canned goods. For good measure the culprit bit clean through a cooking pot. The only thing that survived was a can of aerosol bug repellent.
After a lunch of lake trout fillets we motored into Gilles hot spot, a widening in a narrow river that emptied into North Knife Lake. As we drifted closer to the previously mentioned surface disturbance we discovered the “otters” were actually tails - very large forked tails. What’s more, they would point straight up into the air for second or two before sliding below the surface. But another would take its place. There was always two or three visible, literally pointing to the sky. They were huge lake trout!
A school of big lakers had invaded the river to gorge on tullibee, a variety of whitefish. Matthew was the first to hook up. The arch in his fishing rod and line steadily peeled from his reel signaled a big fish. Whatever was on Matthew’s line never jumped, it just bulldogged, hugging the river bottom and giving up line grudgingly. Because Matthew’s reel was loaded with 8 lb. test line, it was nearly an hour before a monster lake trout was visible in the gin clear water.
Hog Alley lived up to its name on this day, yielding some mighty big fish, with Matthew Guidos lake trout earning him a listing in the 1980 edition of the Manitoba Master Angler Awards, provincial annals celebrating trophy fish.
