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At mile post 52, where a small, faded, white sign with crude black letters announced that you were in Stupart, the train stopped just long enough for them to unload their provisions.
They would buy a block of ice from the conductor, and about the middle of the week, when the train came throughagain, he would throw off another block of ice. The train didn’t slow down for that, and sometimes they had to walk up and down the track looking for their block of ice to put in the bottom of the icebox.
There, in the middle of the northern wilderness, where no one lived, were two small cabins. That was Stupart. That’s all that was there, save for a little shack by the railroad track where CNR kept some hand tools and grease and oil for the train and to work on the track. M.H. and his friends had the use of one of the cabins.
I was fortunate enough to make that trip twice. It was a wonderful, desolate, isolated place. There was no running water, no electricity or anything like that to complicate the serene beauty of the place. We fished all day, cooked on a wood stove and went to bed when it got dark, or sat by an oil lamp. I remember thinking that this must be what heaven is like.
On my first trip to Stupart, with my three brothers, in about 1970, we were returning to camp after a long day of fishing in the southern end of Lake Deschenes, in two boats: M.H. and I were in the lead boat. He was in the back, running the motor and trolling with a huge red and white spoon.
We were less that a half mile from the take out point, and had to pass through a deep channel, with the shore on the right and some large, flat rocks on the left.
Just as we were coming out of that channel, and about the same time his lure was deep in the middle of the channel, his fishing rod bent over double. He thought he had hooked another log or some other piece of Canada, but when he cut the motor and got the rod under control, he shouted, “It’s a fish!” And what a fish it was.
Pike power
Pike do not often surface
95.3%