Tag Archives: fishing

Christian, Uncategorized

Miracle at Arrow Lake

Leave a comment

A miracle that saved at least two lives undeniably.

When I was a young man, countless hours and many months of planning went into the annual fishing trips. Two to three week trips were normal in May for the walleye open in Northern Ontario Canada; always looking for the trophy fish. The same thrill and anticipation was felt for the opening of Smallmouth Bass on the July long weekend.

One friend and I were hard core fishermen. We went despite any weather or circumstances in life. No was not an option. We had even gone out in mid November when everything was frozen except Lake Superior. We placed fishing before everything; over major family and friends’ events because our desire for the “Isa Hauki” * (literal translation: Father Pike – general meaning the grand fish of any species).  To say we were obsessed with fishing would be a huge understatement.

July, 1999

Arrow Lake is about a hour drive SW of Thunder Bay, Ontario. Every July long weekend meant a fishing trip there with a five mile boat ride across Arrow and a short half hour hike to Little Whitefish Lake (close to the U.S.A. border).  My friend and I were obsessed with getting trophy smallmouth bass.  We were after the big fish, only eating a few injured fish, we took great care to release the fish. We had caught and released several 5 and 6 lbs. in the years before.  Hauling in a trophy was all that we talked about in the weeks leading up to our annual trip.

When I told him a few days before that we were not going, he was more than a little upset.  I had an overwhelming feeling to cancel the trip.  I had never before or since had such a feeling of panic; a sick feeling about going on a fishing trip.  I knew I could not go but what to tell my friend?  I made up excuses and lies to get out of us going.  This was the first time I ever cancelled a fishing trip. (Even going before ice out on one long May weekend waiting days for the ice to clear off the lake).

On the day we would have been at Little Whitefish and on the lake, I looked up at the sky.  The sky was green. Never before or since had I seen a sky that colour before a storm.  
Remember, we live above the 49th parallel. This is 1998 – no one talked about global warming. Northern Ontario is not a flat landscape. It is a rocky, hilly terrain hence all our many lakes.  A very powerful tornado- yes, tornado-the only one to hit this part of Northern Ontario- struck exactly where we were supposed to be.  

The news was full of the trapped campers on the main campsite on Arrow Lake (that we traveled through to hike up to Little Whitefish).  It took days to get people out.  Even then, the full devastation wasn’t known to us. After a month my friend and I, plus another friend, went across Arrow Lake to the trail; thinking the destruction was only along Arrow we thought we could cut our way in.  A trail buried under a mountain of old growth trees strewn in a tangled heap. We were still determined.  After a few futile hours with chainsaws to find the trail…one of my buddies said he was going to check how deep this mess of fallen trees went.  He returned after twenty minutes of trying to climb over to see if we could carve a path.  As far as he could see the forest was a twisted heap of wood. We gave up… for now.

I didn’t truly realize the damage until a few years latter when my wife and I decided to challenge ourselves and make the trip into Little Whitefish.  It took us over six hours to climb precariously on top of the mountain of dangerous piles of pines with stabbing wooden skewers many feet below. This hike had been normally a half hour hike.

This small lake close to Arrow was destroyed.  An old growth forest with Cedars that took two/three adults to encompass their arms around: Red Pine, White Pine, Scotch Pine, tall and beautiful, were snapped 10 to 20 feet up. For years before the tornado, we had hidden our boat in the bush, instead of carrying it back and forth. A few other people chained their boats and canoes on trees but all that was left was a broken chain and the handle from the stern – they had just vanished. Our boat, though trees had fallen on top, was still intact.

We headed by boat to our old campsite across the lake.  It looked like a bomb had gone off.  The campsite was leveled.  Death would have met my friend and I.  There was no place to hide or run. This site could never be used again for camping. The spot where we pitched our tent in the forest for years and the huge trees, that we hung our packsacks from to keep food safe from the bears, were bowled over. Our bodies would have been smashed under the great pines.

This was truly a miracle.  A miracle I need to talk about and share.

When I had this experience, the panic not to go on our annual fishing trip is very difficult to explain. There was no voice speaking to me.  It was an unpleasant feeling. Queasy, kind of like vertigo and it stayed with me until I decided not to go.  I have always been a Christian, I cannot remember a time when I didn’t believe in God.  God saved both my friend and I by sending that feeling.  

There have not been any other tornados in this area since this one.  Arrow Lake campground was full of campers celebrating Canada Day on the July long weekend.  The people huddled in the middle and surrounded themselves with their vehicles to take the force of the trees falling and debris flying.  They too were touched with a miracle; all were alive despite the smashed up forest. It took days to clear the road to get them out. We would have had no where to hide at our campsite. How would we have escaped?

My Lord saved my friend and I from certain death. My heavenly Father, my Lord and Savior saved my life- not anything else.  God, who saved us all when He gave us Jesus; God sent an angel to instill this feeling of fear and dread to save us. Hard to believe He would care that much about me but He does care for each and every one of us.  God needs to hear your voice.  Pray to Him, talk to Him.  He will listen and answer you. But you need Faith, true Faith. I can never thank God enough, but I can share this story of how He saved our lives that day.

By Barnwood/Erick W. Rantala

Humour

Indigestible

Leave a comment

The winter months of waiting were over. The package of fishing equipment had arrived at my friend’s house. It took many months, but as promised on the back of an “Incredible Hulk” comic book was the advertisement promising: 1001 Fishing Pack! Everything you needed to reel the big one in. Three rods, three reels, fishing line, hundreds of hooks, sinkers, lures, jig bodies and even jars of bait- minnows floating with frozen eyes in liquid. All for $9.99. Could there really be 1001 fishing items for that price? I didn’t believe the claims, after all along side of it was an ad for sea monkeys, dried in a package ready to be brought back to life! I was eager to see my friends face (let’s call him Ed). I was sure it was mostly junk and useless to true fishermen like us. To my dismay there was some good merchandise in the box, well worth the 10 bucks to a twelve and a thirteen year old. I’m still sure the dried sea monkeys were a scam.

Now that we had our fishing gear it was time to finish the plans for our trek across the two towns; Port Arthur and Fort William, then on to Chippewa Park. Our destination was about 10 kilometres outside of Fort William on the shores of Lake Superior. The bike ride alone would take all afternoon through the narrow streets in the hot June sun. A quick check: Bicycles – yes, sleeping bags – yes, the ten dollar package of fishing equipment – yes – and we were off! Some 30 kilometres from our houses to the park was a relatively short ride compared to a few others we had adventured on. It was only one night, no need to carry extra gear.

A quick swim in chilly Lake Superior to cool off upon arrival then it was time to put the gear together to go fishing. The park was quiet before the summer July rush, even the rides that accompanied the small zoo weren’t yet running until Canada Day. We walked along the sandy shoreline thick with reeds. A very good area for early large Northern Pike spawning and warming up from the frigid waters of Lake Superior. The water was crystal clear. The sandy beach littered with drift wood logs.

We had managed a few small fish each when I noticed Ed straining and grimacing trying to get off a snag. I yelled over, “Just get in the water and get it off the log. It’s not deep.” I could see the red and white dare devil lure moving away slowly. Ed was frantic. The log started to move slowly at first. For a few seconds I was puzzled. Then in the clear water I saw the large, wide eyes staring back at me from the reeds. A pike so big it looked like one of the many scattered dead wood logs along the grassy shoreline. “It’s huge, Ed! What are you going to do?!” I uttered.

The massive fish turned slowly, only slightly annoyed at Ed’s attempts to change its direction. Gaining speed the beast swam parallel to the shoreline. Ed started to trot, then jog. He was running out of line. The Pike stopped, turned, looked at Ed’s rod bent almost in a circle. It cracked the fiberglass rod under the strain. A quick S-shaped thrust of its tail, the fish stripped the gears of the rod. Then snapped the line in a long streaming run before disappearing into the depths of Lake Superior. Ed crashed backwards, his small young teenage body was no match for the biggest Northern Pike I had ever seen still to this day!

Ed was, of course, in shock. “How, why, what..?” barely able to speak he finally roared “Did you see the size of that fish?!”

“I did and it didn’t want any part of you.” I plopped down beside him. I calmed him down eventually, explaining that with his equipment plus the fact the fish looked like it weighed more than he did, catching such a prize would have been impossible.

I’m sure his dreams of “the one that got away” were interrupted by the crash of thunder and the downpour of rain. The huge thunderstorm soaked us each in our own sleeping bags while the middle of the campground became a wading pool. Two shivering and soaked boys braving the night without a tent, covered their heads and tried to sleep.

Drying our sleeping bags in the morning sun gave us time to fish before the trek home. I now know, after years of fishing, that big fish bite best before a thunderstorm. Ed did not ever see his monster fish again but he did bring in a nice 5 pound Northern Pike. It was the right size for eating and Ed was going to get his mother to cook it that very night. He was happy and eager; a fish and his tall tale to tell his family.

By the time we reached his house after another long bike ride, mainly uphill, on a hot June sunny day, the fish in his bicycle basket had dried up some. Ed insisted it could be salvaged. The whole family gathered around to watch Ed’s mother dissect the fish. She was from the old country and not afraid of a little blood and guts. “Let’s see what’s in the stomach,” I exclaimed pointing at the bulge.

Screaming and wailing, a hairy rodent protruded out of her first slice into the stomach. We ducked from her fillet knife as Ed’s mom flailed her arms around. Once the mayhem was over and Ed’s mother was sitting at the kitchen table safely no longer hyperventilating, an angry look came over her face. “Get it out of my kitchen!” She ordered him to get rid of the contents of the guts, muskrat and all! Poor Ed, his mother was in such a state, he had to throw out his prized catch too!

Written by Barnwood 57