As families go, we get together as frequently as most. But while I fish and/or hunt with each of the boys regularly, it had been about forever since I had both Bill and young Jack in my boat at the same time.

And that was something, the three of us agreed, needed to change. So, the old guy got assigned the task of putting a Canadian fishing trip together for the Hirt boys. Which sounded easy. But given their divergent careers and responsibilities, it proved anything but. Especially since early and late seasons were no-goes for both boys due to prior commitments.

That left midsummer as our only option, which was fine with me. Because that meant we’d be heading to Lac Seul, which for a long time had been an annual destination of mine until the onset of the pandemic. And one I had yet to get back to.

Now, Lac Seul is well-known as an outstanding walleye fishery. One that produces both numbers and better-than-average-sized fish. But it’s Big Water, so an angler best be well-prepared to take advantage of both.

Which we were.

First, we’d be fishing out of my 21-foot, fully-rigged Skeeter. A boat with which we can safely tackle most anything the weather throws at us if we must.

But more importantly, we have a long history with the lake. Having almost twenty week-long trips worth of experience on its prolific but potentially treacherous waters under our belts, Bill and I know how to get around when everything is a go; and when not to even try when it’s a no.

That said, things were looking good as we rolled into camp, just south of Ear Falls, that beautiful second Friday afternoon in July. With the outlook for the week calling for sunny skies, light winds, daytime highs in the 70s and nighttime lows in the high 50s, which is all we could ask for, there was no need to hurry.

But hustle we did, unloading gear and supplies into the cabin, then launching the boat with plenty of time to enjoy an evening outing. The first stop of which, just a short run from camp, was a bust. But our second, barely a half-mile from the first, produced steady action from keeper-sized walleyes, and put us on the board. Leavin’ ‘em bitin’, we pulled up and headed for the dock with enough daylight to grill some burgers and get in a little deck time.

With the planned program being to simply eat-sleep-fish, we left the dock at eight the next morning. Running across the perfect, light chop made for a pleasant 30-minute ride to our first stop. Within minutes of dropping our lines in the water, Bill hooked up with a chunky, mid-slot ‘eye. When Jack and I soon followed suit, we knew it was on. So, there we were on that beautiful midsummer morning, trolling along and rippin’ lips with smiles all around. Just like I always picture Lac Seul to be.

In time, several boats showed up to join in the fun. And that was all good. But since I was anxious to get reacquainted with a few other spots that had always been good to us through the years, we moved on—happily catching and releasing numbers of fish at each uncluttered stop on the milk run.

It had been a good day. But with the high sky and bright sun beating down on us, it was getting to be a long one. So come about 3 o’clock in the afternoon, we decided that it was time to catch and keep the makings of the evening’s fish fry. Which, at the rate we’d been catching ‘em, should have taken a half hour at max.

But that wasn’t to be. Oh, we continued to get bit alright. But only by “ins” (fish in the 18- to 21-inch slot) and several hefty (4- and 5-pounders) “overs.” It was comical, really. Every time one of us hooked up, the chronic refrain, “Well… this one won’t keep!” was spewed in mock disgust.

It wasn’t until 4:30 that we had the “unders” we needed for a feed in the cooler.

Back at camp and with the fish cleaned, we retreated to our cabin’s shaded deck, and with cold ones in hand, toasted our good fortune.

The fresh-from-the-lake fish hit the spot. And we were about to call it a day when someone turned on the TV and came across the broadcast of the Calgary Stampede with its day-ending event—the chuck wagon races—about to begin. Being something that none of us had ever seen before, we perked up.

What a hoot they are! With an awesome display of real, raw horsepower, side-sliding wagons banging wheels, and a bunch of wild-eyed characters driving ‘em, making a point of watching them every evening was a unique way to end each day.

As time always does on a grand adventure, so, too, did all of ours during the fish-filled week pass in a blur, with each day pretty much mirroring our first. And while we’ll remember it as a special time fishing together, I’ll bet it will always be remembered as a trip during which we modified the program to read, “Eat…watch the chuck wagon races…sleep…fish…repeat.”