Adam and I recently had the pleasure of heading up to Little Vermillion Lake to experience some of the best pike fishing in North America. We stayed at a fly-in lodge and the drive for us to get to the plane was about twenty-four hours. It was a very long drive, but the trip was well worth it.

We arrived in camp on Friday afternoon to cold and dreary conditions which, unfortunately, lasted all week. The fishing made up for the weather though, so I can't complain. We landed numerous pike over the forty-inch mark, and not to mention, the walleye populations were plentiful. I guess you just can't beat seven days in the secluded wilderness of Northern Ontario, especially when the fishing is good.

The end of our week-long stay arrived much too quickly. After waking on our final morning we finished packing up our belongings and made our way to the main lodge to mingle with the other guests before our departure.

By this time I was getting a little antsy for our float plane to arrive. The sooner it arrived meant the sooner we could start our long, twenty-four hour journey home. We finally got word that we would be on the second plane out of camp that morning. The first plane arrived and the pilot and staff quickly got the passengers and their gear on board and away they went. Within a few minutes our own plane would be there, or so we thought. The staff came back up to the lodge after the first plane left and gave us news we did not want to hear.

It seemed as though the one of the guests in the party getting into our plane back in Red Lake had received some type of injury and the plane now had to await emergency medical services to arrive to remove him safely from the plane and take him to the hospital for further treatment.

As we later learned, one of the gentlemen getting into our plane had previously had hip replacement surgery. He had gotten into the plane without incident, but when he had to adjust himself to make room for the gear, his hip had gone out. Ouch!

ur plane arrived quite a bit later than expected, but we finally made it out of camp. It wasn't a big deal to us, someone else's safety was obviously more important than us getting a good jump on our drive home.

The whole incident got me to thinking though. In later years, will I still be pushing my body to comply with my fishing habit when conditions aren't so favourable for me? "More than likely!" was the only answer that I could come up with. I think it is safe to say that I'd risk a hip blow-out for a trip into the northern part of this beautiful province. Or maybe by then my arthritis will be acting up in the cold weather, so perhaps I should be thinking warmer climates. Wonder if I'd be able to reel in a 150 pound tarpon when I'm 80?