Four Days on Clam Lake: Fishing on Pedal Power

Much Needed

It doesn't happen often as I'd like, but this week I was finally able to get away long enough to enjoy a few days' vacation in the northwoods. It's been a strange summer, an uneasy year all around, lot of changes, lot of passages, and still so much to get done. So while it's true that 'vacation in the northwoods' is a phrase that rarely leads to an unhappy ending, this little getaway was especially needed, and has so far been especially restorative.

I found a great rate on a rental cabin on Lower Clam Lake. Lower and Upper Clam lakes surround the village of Clam Lake. It's smack dab in the middle of the Chequamegon National Forest, which covers nearly one million acres of northern Wisconsin, and seems to have drawn a healthy balance between being friendly to vacationers - and all that vacationers want and expect to do when they come - and the careful preservation of the wilderness areas they come for, but might not go out of their way to preserve without someone setting some boundaries. Clam Lake has a population of 37. Roads are strictly two-lane, and the woods have a way of jutting right up to the shoulder. Cell service is spotty, and that's perfectly okay. There's a sense of remoteness here that evokes a strong urge to submit to something. You want to feel disconnected.

SWEET SOLITUDE - Lower Clam Lake is less crowded than others. The entire shoreline opposite our cabin is devoid of development, part of the Chequamegon National Forest. 

What this area lacks in reliable cell service, it more than makes up for in wildlife; a true northwoods-caliber complement of critters prowl these boreal woods - bear, coyote, pheasant, wild turkey, woodpeckers, owls, ducks, eagles, all suited in one way or another for life in a dense second-growth forest. On Lower Clam Lake, loons are quite prevalent; it might be said they are the resident caretakers of these splendid waters, heard and seen throughout the day and most of the night. And yet, like whitetail deer (also plentiful), spotting one is always thrilling, as though it is the first and last you'll ever see. They seem unconcerned by human presence, and fairly bemused by our activity on and around the water that is their lifeblood. They are expert divers (as opposed to mere dabblers), and this can be disconcerting. One second they're right there on the top of the water, gliding with abandon not ten feet away, the next they've vanished, nothing left but a ripple on the water's surface. And their call is notable not only for its haunting quality, but its volume. The great northern loon is a big bird, with a big voice. Its song is loud and prominent from across the lake, and fairly startling when heard up close.

Then there are the elk - a herd of 25 animals reintroduced to the Clam Lake area in 1995 that now numbers over 150. There are road signs with blinking lights that warn drivers when these impressive animals are present (cautionary above all else; you don't want to hit one of these bad boys - or girls - with your vehicle...), and at the right time of year, the rut of late August and September, you can readily hear the bulls bugling. We're here a bit early, but I've listened every morning nevertheless, feet thrown up on the deck railing of this heavily wooded sanctuary, wisps of steam rising off my coffee in slow undulant columns not unlike those lifting off the glass-like surface of the lake. I've listened very carefully, dove into the holistic silence that permeates the morning hours here. Nothing yet.

NOVEMBER 2006 - While driving on Highway 77 near Clam Lake, Wisconsin, I came across these elk browzing beside the road. Not sure, but this group looks to be two cows and a calf, or maybe a mother and two calves. In any case, spotting them was a real 'Whoa...!' moment. Cow, calf or bull, elk are physically impressive, to say the least. The species was re-introduced to the region in 1995 and the herd has maintained a mostly steady population ever since.

Strange Candy Coating

Though this getaway was needed, it's also felt a bit strange being here. I grew up in the northwoods, barely an hour away actually, but I don't live here anymore, so now when I come, I'm a visitor like so many others. And while fresh eyes enable me to appreciate the natural splendor the way a visitor does, those same eyes are never entirely fresh. The specter of the past is everywhere.

It seems I remember Lower Clam Lake from when I was a kid. I'm sure I came here with a friend's family one time, around the age of nine or ten, and there was at least one Cub Scout or elementary school sleepover on these shores. But it was only those few times. I haven't been back for thirty years, literally (1984 would have been the last possible summer for something like that to have happened), so the recollections, real as they are, are dipped in the strange candy coating of memory that obscures as effectively as it preserves. Traveling around the lake, I keep thinking I remember certain things; become moved by certain visual cues - the power lines that traverse the water near our cabin, certain spits of land, even certain cabins get me believing I was once inside them, or may have gotten yelled at by grown ups for some childish offense, or made fun of for my fish belly, and yet I can't be sure. It might just be the sun and the water, it could be the dreamy sense of timelessness found on a lot of lakes like this...or maybe it's just the beer.

Inalienable Right

The cabin we've rented is well situated for providing the kind of privacy you seek from a vacation like this. There is no neighbor on our left at all, the neighbor on our right is separated from us by trees, and the house is virtually hidden from the water. It's located right on the highway unfortunately, but Highway 77 isn't a major thoroughfare, and at night there's barely any traffic. A log truck rumbles past once in a while, disappearing down the road with a bellowing roar that leaves the dark silence gaped for a moment, but that's it. Never anything even approaching a din. Moreover, Lower Clam Lake does not seem to be overly crowded with homes, which makes a huge difference. The shoreline directly across from us is completely undeveloped.

The cabin itself is beautiful. Remodeled in 2009 - as in completely gutted and given a whole new floor plan - it is fully furnished and stocked with every imaginable amenity, all sorts of things you might forget to pack, from pokers for roasting marshmallows to a suitable lighter for starting a fire, to the kind of things you can't easily pack but might miss from home - a microwave, dishwasher, propane grill, washer and dryer, even a Keurig coffee maker. This is not roughing it by any means, but I'm perfectly okay with that. I'm not a traditional, down and dirty camper. I want to be disconnected, absorb the feel of the land and all that; I want to fish and make a campfire and run around barefoot and toast marshmallows and drink some beer and rock the hell out of a farmer's tan when all is said and done (the faded freckles of my gingery youth coaxed from hiding on my upper arms, like summer velvet...;-). But I don't want to sleep on the ground; I'm not at all comfortable sharing space with vermin, and I don't want to have to pee outdoors, unless it's exercising my inalienable right to do so. I like - and really demand - facilities.

LITTLE SLICE OF HEAVEN - This cabin on Lower Clam Lake was completely renovated in 2009. Its west facing deck captures afternoon and evening sunlight splendidly. BELOW: The property is suitably hidden from the lake, while still preserving some lake view.

GETTING DOWN WITH MY DELUSIONAL SELF (IE) - Here I'm pictured next to the three foot musky that I...well, took my picture with. It was hanging on the wall in the living room.

Here and There

Like many rental cabins, this one offers a row boat for use on the lake, as well as a pedal boat. Choosing between the two was not the most savory choice (I'd prefer to have a motor boat at my disposal), and yet, it wasn't a hard choice either. My immediate impulse was to ignore the pedal boat entirely, to man the rowboat and row that sucker until my arms fall off to get where I wanted to go before ever loading myself and my gear into a plastic, blue and white-colored trash can and tooling conspicuously around a lake on pedal power.  But once I got over my self-consciousness, once my legs got used to the exertion, and once I realized my life vest could be a cushion on the hard plastic seats, I found - against all expectations - that pedal boat to be fantastic for fishing along the shoreline, and even into deeper water.

Lower Clam Lake is located in northeast Sawyer County - 214 acres, max depth of 30 feet. The water is not the clearest, but the lake itself seems clean and vibrant, the water constantly on the move, seemingly in the never-ending process of rejuvenating itself in the way good lakes do. It sports the usual complement of fish species - musky, walleye, bass, a variety of pan fish. So far, my luck has fallen on the pan fish side, mostly curious nibbles rather than actually strikes, but I have pulled in a couple decent crappie, so I have no complaints. You can't be at a place like this, where the only thing that breaks the primordial silence is a woodpecker, then a barking dog, then a loon, maybe a gust of wind, and the only-occasional passing of a vehicle on the highway, and really find anything to complain about. Floating on this lake, which hasn't changed much since the end of the last Ice Age, you are here...the rest of the world is there.

I've seen people fish from row boats, canoes, even kayaks, but never bothered to consider a pedal boat anything other than a child's toy, which, when you get right down to it, it is. It seems like something rich people give their kids for their birthdays, something to take up to the lake with them, to homes they own rather than rent. They're sure as hell priced for rich people. New ones range from 600-1300 dollars, and any self-respecting angler will know you can almost get your own boat for that.

(NOT SO) CHEAP PLASTIC - Ranging in price from 600 - 1300 dollars (pretty steep for something I can just about carry on my back) a pedal boat can't help but fall under the category of 'rich person's toy'.  But wait....

Moreover, let me be very clear, this thing can't do what a motor boat can do. Not having motorization makes it difficult to explore other parts of the lake - get out of your cove, as it were - and when the wind blows (as it was this morning), you will soon find yourself fifty yards away from where you started, left with the task of pedaling your way back, against the wind that took you there. Given there are relatively few homes on Clam Lake, I didn't fight it, just sat back and let the wind serve as my trolling motor, drifting several hundred yards down the shoreline and casting as I went. On a more crowded lake, where an etiquette regarding your neighbor's space can (or should) arise, I could not have done this.

But I won't lie: that pedal back was a bitch.

Short of some kind of motorization however, I would far and away choose a pedal boat over a row boat. The vessel is relatively quiet, easily maneuverable, and has an ingenious steering mechanism. A single lever controls the rudder - up for starboard, down for port - and does so reliably. I could easily imagine a cheaply made version failing just as reliably, but mine never did. It can glide over shallow water and make its way through the weeds that plague lakes this time of year (Clam Lake being no exception) with no incident of tangle. The only thing that's gotten tangled up so far is the mooring rope; it slipped off the bow and got wrapped up in the paddle blades. I spent a good ten minutes bent overboard, in the water up to my shoulder, feeling around the blades, blindly trying to figure out how to get it untangled...which I eventually did.

And will in the future certainly tell the story of this 'rescue' to whoever will listen. ;-)

HILARIOUS ON MANY LEVELS - It's kind of a Fred Flintstone affair to get anywhere, 'clear across the lake' probably isn't going to happen unless you're a triathlete, and let's face it, there's just a Wes Anderson-style silliness to the visual of me puttering around Clam Lake in my pedal-powered 'Aquatoy', but I have to say, short of an actual power boat, this vessel is superb for fishing along the shore line, allowing hairpin turns when and if necessary and quiet navigation through shallow waters.

We could not have custom ordered better weather: three calm, warm and dry days that have seemed nothing less than gift-wrapped. Facing the prospect of leaving tomorrow already feels like a permanent goodbye, though I'm pretty sure it won't be. Maybe we'll come back next summer, maybe for a full week.

I can rest assured, at least, the lake will be just as we left it.

2014 off to a good start; hooking bass without my perch

Until this week, the spot I normally fish on the Chippewa River has been under 10 feet of water rushing swiftly toward the Gulf of Mexico. Lots of snow and a rainy, cold spring made sure that phenomenon (which places Eau Claire, Wisconsin under a fairly frequent flood risk) lasted well into May.

A spate of dry and warm(er) weather allowed the river level to recede, and though my 'spot' - that is, the chunk of old city concrete atop which I stood and cast out for Big Missy last summer - is still under water, there is at least a place to stand and cast out, whereas two weeks ago the water level was halfway up the bank.

It was strange, actually: I could see my chunk of concrete just under the surface of the water; last summer when I was here, it was part of 'terra firma', a place I could get to. But now, it is no longer part of my domain.  Later in the summer, the hotter and drier that it gets, the river will shrink further and my perch will likely be there again. But for now it remains a restricted area, and that alters my choices and course of action. And that gets me thinking about the relationship we have with the land beneath our feet, and how throughout history, our evolution as a species has been affected tremendously (sometimes irreparably) by the presence or absence of water. The story of the American Indian leaps to mind; if there had not once been a land bridge across what is now the Bering Strait, connecting Russia and Alaska for a relatively short time in history, indigenous ancestors would not likely have found a way to get across from Asia. The entire 'new world' might have remained completely isolated for a lot longer than it did, altering everyone's history.

The fishing was good. It was warm, and sunny. The river current was still pretty strong, which made retrieval awkward, but the bass were begging to be caught in a way that, I got to admit, I haven't often experienced. They kept smashing my lure (a trusty old spinnerbait, with a grub trailer), time and time again, and putting up a hell of a fight for their small size, as they're known to do.

Great way to start out the 2014 season. Though still no hat cam! ;-)

SMALL BUT SCRAPPY - This little guy did everything he could to not be taken. He was one of several bass begging to be hooked on the Chippewa River recently, but coming out of the water with a typically bad attitude.