Cast, Blast, & Feast: A Simple Mission
October 26, 2023 4:33 pmWritten by Matthew Schultz
The art of the cast and blast has always intrigued me. In my experience, people choose this type of outing for one of two reasons. One, the fishing might be bad so at least we can shoot a couple birds, or two, the hunting might be bad so we may as well catch some fish while we’re out here. I propose that there is a third reason someone may decide to combine these two activities, though. Perhaps some people, like me, get so enamored with the idea of multiple hunting and fishing opportunities being available at once that picking just one is impossible.
To me, September means fantastic fishing and incredible grouse hunting. When my dad called and said, “We can do whatever you want this weekend,” I took that as an open invitation to plan one hell of a cast and blast weekend.
It began Friday afternoon after my father/long-time Boundary Waters canoeing partner drove up to Ely from Rochester, MN. After a tour of the house and some quick gear preparations, we set out for an afternoon public land grouse hunt with Salmon, our Wirehaired Pointing Griffon. Because we were getting a relatively late start, Friday would be limited to a quick hunt nearby. That didn’t stop us from finding birds. Within 20 minutes on our first logging road, Salmon was on a grouse that she brought to our attention with a textbook point. My dad and I spread out to be ready for the bird to flush at any moment, and after about a minute, I heard the bang of an 870 ring through the woods: bird down, happy dog, excited dad.
This weekend’s mission was simple: catch and shoot enough wild food to make an incredible feast on Saturday night. With at least one bird in the bag, we were well on our way. Over a few more hours and about 5 miles of walking, my dad shot two more, and we called it a day. We drove back to the house, cleaned and refrigerated the birds, and rested up for the next day’s adventure.
With the birds in the fridge, some of the pressure was off Saturday’s “blast” portion. I planned a river paddle for us that was only about 3 or 4 miles but would require at least two “short portages.” Looking at the map, we both agreed that we would probably be able to just rope the canoe down the rapids, that is, if we couldn’t just paddle them. We would later learn that maps don’t always tell the whole tale.
The trip began smoothly. We put in at a convenient public launch near Ely, negotiated a few initial rocks and riffles, and began fishing. Being a fan of the jerkbait, I tied on my all-time favorite Rapala, The Shadow Rap. I had follows from a few pike as soon as I started fishing but couldn’t seem to stick anything. This is the part where I should explain the kind of angler my dad is. While I have committed thousands of hours to understanding and applying fishing techniques that I’ve learned from all over the country, studying the greats, and developing tips and tricks on lakes and rivers at every given opportunity, my dad is more of a casual fisherman. Shad rap, original floating minnow, jig and grub, the occasional spoon… no frills, keep it simple. While I was experimenting with different jerk patterns in the front of the canoe and trying to figure out what I would switch to, my dad just tossed his blue original floater off the back and paddled along. In classic dad fashion, he hooked a nice walleye that, for some reason, was suspended 2 feet below the surface in a deep, dark pool adjacent to some reeds. Awesome, I thought, we’re on the board! We kept that walleye and continued on down the river.
As the day went on, the seldom explored river continued to offer consistent pike action. It seemed like every decent hole produced at least one or two small northern, but nothing worthy of dealing with the “Y” bones. Finally, after a couple of hours of fishing, we found larger pike that were not only worth keeping but fit within the management plan for that system. Had there not been a size limit, however, the 30+ incher that my dad caught on the, guess what, original floater would’ve been coming home with us.
With three nice fish in the canoe, we paddled toward our first set of rapids to take a look and make a game plan. We hopped out just upstream from the canyon where the river spilled over a series of small declines, and hiked over to find a couple of hundred yards of fast-flowing, rocky chutes that would not be safe to paddle. No problem, I thought, we’ll just rope it down. The massive boulders surrounding the river made that impossible too. We were left with an important decision: paddle back the way we came and call it a day or bushwhack-portage through the woods with the knowledge that we’ll most likely have to do the same for the remaining rapids ahead. We thought about it briefly until I finally said, “Screw it, let’s do it. I wanna see this thing through.”
Even though our gear was entirely loose, my Old Town was close to 100 lbs, and there was nothing for a trail save an old rocky creek bed; my dad loaded the Discovery 18 on his shoulders and plowed through the woods. I followed closely behind, arms full of cased shotguns and fishing rods, starting to question our sanity. After a 20-minute trudge, we were through to the other side of the rapids, where we fished and caught our breath. After a short break, we returned to the water and headed for the next set of rapids. Between these spots, I had one decent opportunity to shoot a beautiful male Canvasback, but I opted to stay my trigger finger. Part of me wasn’t sure about the distance of the shot, and the other part of me was content with our fill of grouse and fish. Whatever the reason, I wouldn’t get another “blast” opportunity that day. The ducks flew high, the grouse stayed tight to cover, and both were smart to our intentions.
Eventually, we arrived at another set of rapids. The canyon was very steep on both sides of the water, so rather than portaging, my dad offered to just wade with the canoe down the rapids. This proved an efficient way of traversing rough waters, regardless of how cold or wet it was. This technique saved us significant time, as we encountered yet another set of rapids that, according to the map, wouldn’t be an issue. Triumphantly, we paddled and fished out of the river and across the lake it spilled into, catching some smallmouth along the way. When we returned to the vehicle, fish in tow, it appeared that the second reason people cast and blast was accurate on that late September day.
Once we were at the house, we got the fish cleaned and fileted, washed up, and watched as my girlfriend, Claire, went to work on what we were sure would be her magnum opus. While Claire is, in most cases, a superior angler to both my dad and me and has proven to be one of the finest paddlers I’ve had the pleasure of sharing a canoe with, she is also a master of wild game preparation and opted to act as chef for this adventure. Although she wouldn’t tell us what she was making, she assured us that a different continent inspired the main course and that we’d have four courses.
First came the grouse legs. Marinated, then smoked, each tiny leg contained a morsel of crunchy yet tender meat that made me wish we’d shot two limits. Next, we were treated to a smoked grouse breast atop a bed of mixed greens, goat cheese, cucumbers, fresh blackberries, praline pecans, and a drizzle of vinaigrette. The grouse was perfectly cooked, and the other ingredients only complimented the smoky, non-gamey meat. Next was the main event, Sicilian fish stew. Based on tomato, this dish was the epitome of a hearty yet complex soup that couldn’t have been more perfect after a long day on the water. The walleye and pike were accompanied by carrots, onions, tomatoes, and what I imagine to be a concoction of spices that only someone as creative as Claire could have conjured up. As we let the feast settle while watching Moneyball and playing with Salmon, our dessert of homemade, creamless coconut and lemon “ice cream” was served. After a large, extravagant meal, the light dessert was a welcome treat.
I think the cast and blast was the right choice. Granted, we didn’t shoot any grouse or waterfowl on the second day, but the constant excitement of wondering what may be around the next bend in the river adds an additional adrenaline rush to the already thrilling fishing. At the end of the day, it’s just fun to spend time with my dad and try to prove that I’ve been paying attention over the years when we take to the woods and waters. There is no greater joy than harvesting and eating wild foods from the places that mean the most to you, with the people you love. For as long as people are willing to protect wild, bountiful places like the Boundary Waters and its watersheds, people will congregate for a cast and blast of their own, which brings me great joy and optimism for the future.
