The Lake of Futile Death throws us a (small) bone

So, until the last week of August, Louie Lake was the lake of futile death. As mentioned in a previous entry, Maril and I fished like we had never fished before and bug hunted like the world depended on it……all for naught. NADA. ZIP. Not a single anadromous fish and narry a mysid nor gammarus to be found. As a last ditch attempt, Maril and I hatched a plan. Hatching plans is one of our strong points. Bug hunting in the Arctic, evidently, is not.


Maril: “Okay, here’s the problem. You have to start water sampling and I have to go home. And the lake of futile death has not yielded. How about I work for two days on water sampling and then Claire can help you on Louie for two days when the water sampling’s done? Maybe the fish will be moving by then.”

Heidi (while bringing up yet another empty kick net): “Yes, I think this is an excellent idea. Largely because THIS is not working (gestures toward net). For whatever reason, the fish just aren’t moving yet and the bugs are exceedingly elusive. Maybe the water’s too high? [Heavy sigh]. Mem, do you have any patience cookies left?”

This brings me to an important point. When things are really going terribly, the only thing that keeps two fish girls sane is cookies. LOTS of cookies. The best ones are oatmeal with chocolate chips.

Maril: “No, but I do have some campinos. I’ve re-named them, actually. They’re called Heidi’s anti-grouchy medication.”

Heidi: “Hmmm. Yes, sorry. Fruitless bug hunting makes me grouchy. “
So, after a whirlwind of water sampling that shattered all previous time records, Claire and I headed to Louie Lake with our three bears. On day two I was lifting a net when….

Heidi (barely above a whisper): “Claire, I need you to find the dip net. Quickly. There is a CHARR. A BIG CHARR! And he’s only barely caught by his teeth.”

Claire dug frantically around the boat only to discover that the dip net was hopelessly trapped between 2 fish tubs, a cooler, and various other detritus.

Claire: “Ack.”

At this point, I reached into the water and grabbed the poorly-caught charr by the tail. While lifting the awkward load into the boat, I may or may not have fallen backwards into the fish tub. Everything’s a bit of a blur.

Heidi (grinning ear to ear): “YESSSSSSS!!! Look, look, look!! Claire, a CHARR! Ouch. I think I pulled both hamstrings doing that. But who needs to walk? All I have to do now is find otoliths.”

And so, the lake of futile death became the lake of mediocre, grudging, life. It didn’t give us much, but in three days we got half a dozen charr and a couple of sea-run trout as well as some amazing shots of our bears.
Pathologically stubborn? Perhaps.