It’s an old trope — a cautionary tale for every would-be travelling angler. The weather may never be as good as the day before you arrive or as bad as the day you climb into your waders for a 40-minute run across a boreal lake in search of pike. There’s likely some math behind this Murphy’s Law of fly fishing, but it escapes this English major’s limited numerical capacity.

But there is one thing that holds true. Here, on the edge of the tundra, if you’re counting on shore lunch, the backup plan to freshly caught fish, fileted and lightly dusted in flour before being dunked in piping hot oil, is pretty limited. Or, as our Cree guide for the day, a nimble and calculating guy named Tintin, put it, “I hope you like beans.

Fish for your lunch

So, when a sub-Arctic heat wave — during which, much of northern Manitoba catches fire and literally goes up in smoke— is followed by the frigid reminder that, this far north, winter is but a breath away, and the fishing goes from epic to arduous, the need to catch fish isn’t just hyperbole. It’s real. Catch fish, or enjoy a lunch of fried potatoes and disappointment.

An hour before the appointed lunchtime on a far-flung lake reached only by the grace of a bush pilot and his trusty DeHavilland Beaver, the stringer was empty. No fish. And, unless things changed, that meant no lunch. Or, at least, no proper North Woods shore lunch. And if you’re a seasoned pike or walleye angler who frequents the woods and waters along the Precambrian Shield, you understand the potential for true tragedy this predicament presents.

So we fished. Hard.

And winter’s reminder — a blast of Arctic air pushing south across the fragile forests of the north — was brutal. It was downright cold. As Tintin motored the skiff from dependable spot to dependable spot, looking for lunch fish, we were seriously contemplating how to divide up a can of beans, a can of creamed corn and three red potatoes. Among this group, it was tantamount to a Lord of the Flies scenario.

And then, in a modest river outlet, the first pike hit. A short battle ensued (most pike battles are short — it’s not the fight, it’s the blitzkrieg attack that makes this fish so special), and Tintin slid the net under the beefy fish that might have pushed 34 inches. Far from a “trophy,” this lone pike that defied the barometric calculus that put seemingly every other fish in the lake right smack dab on the bottom, was celebrated, perhaps like no other. And then another fish hit.

The mood lightened. Suddenly, it didn’t feel so cold, and the gray clouds weren’t quite so ominous. Through the frigid air, we might even have cracked a grin. Maybe even a joke. Any thoughts of throwing a modern-day Donner Party vanished. We would have shore lunch, by God. And, by the looks of the two healthy northerns bleeding out, shore lunch would be good. Really good.

Photo: Earl Harper.

Catch-and-eat fishing in the north county

Ask any long-time angler who frequents this stunning and lonesome stretch of Canada the two or three things that keep them coming back, year after year (and decade after decade for some), and they’ll boldly declare that a properly prepared shore lunch of pike, walleye or lake trout is among the most delightful meals of all time. I know I wouldn’t argue — it’s a tradition worth keeping alive, and a reminder to any catch-and-release purist that fisheries can be healthily managed and kept in a generally pristine condition, even if we meat-eating humans take a bite now and then.

As Tintin carefully tended to the sizzling filets frying perfectly in a pan placed over an open fire, we watched attentively and, mouths watering, as patiently as we could. The fire helped warm numb toes and fingers. It also lifted spirits. When you travel this far to go fishing, and Mother Nature has an alternate plan, the little things, like warmth and sustenance, start to matter. The initial crunch of a perfectly fried potato or a hot spoonful of canned beans serve as the prelude to the main event — a crispy bite of wild fish that was swimming and literally dying to hit your fly just a few minutes earlier.

I’m honestly not sure if it’s the fish, flaky and tender and fresh from the clean waters of a North Woods lake, or if it’s the event itself that makes a shore lunch so special. I’ve never been on a pike trip to the north where anglers of any stripe don’t share the anticipation associated with a shore lunch. Many times, on lakes where boats head out and disperse across miles and miles of water, they’ll regroup at lunchtime, reuniting guides and anglers, and the guides will get busy, uncovering hidden caches of fire grates and perfectly seasoned cast-iron pans. The filet knives come out, and the pike or walleye, once imposing denizens of their watery domain, become bite-sized morsels of utter goodness that anglers enthusiastically share.

Photo: Earl Harper.

A tradition worth keeping

Maybe, because for most of us, this experience happens but once a year, or sometimes less, it’s the rarity of it that makes it special. And God knows, the aging generation of anglers that head up to North Woods lodges each season can’t be reasonably expected to rely on fish deep fried in a melted brick of pure lard more than a few times every year. But regardless, there’s something pretty primal about fishing for your lunch that appeals to most anglers who ply these cold waters and take enormous satisfaction from chasing and catching pike, walleye and lake trout.

Tradition matters. Just ask the regulars who make the trip to their favorite lodges every season, and are warmly greeted, just like family, by lodge owners and guides who’ve motored them around their beautiful lakes year after year. These homey places tucked into the woods on lakeshores from Labrador to the Yukon offer world class angling — both fly and otherwise.

And the daily shore lunch, where anglers from far-flung places congregate around spruce-wood fire and await delectable morsels of perfectly fried, fresh-from-the-lake fish is a simple celebration of this unique adventure. Frankly, without it, a trip to the north just isn’t the same.

Generations of anglers, many now grizzled and facing mortality by thumbing their noses at it and going fishing instead, understand what these trips offer — the chance to see old friends, make new ones and share a tradition with loved ones who might be along on their first trip to the lodge. That’s what shore lunch is all about.