It is my desire to drag you along with us, placing you right there on the log beside our campfire, joining with us as though a member of our family. So don't be suprised if one of us digs you in the ribs with our elbow and winks at you before the after shore lunch shenanigans start!

The next day, we decided before heading out to various secret bays, coves and/or rivulets, that we would meet Ma's two sisters and their families over near the cliffs on Sand Point for lunch on an island. We packed a paper bag with Ma's cast iron skillets and pancake turners (the real metal ones. The newer plastic handled metal ones have issues with campfire heat) and the cooler with hash browns, pork-n-beans, cold drinks, boat snacks, our latest home tied spinner lures and headed out with one objective: Catch enough fresh fish for lunch!

We had some fishing luck early on, and once again, I was struck by the thought that on the lakes up there, the fish seem to know when it is lunch and relaxation time as they suddenly quit biting until later in the afternoon. We tooled around at a leisurely, hopeful pace until in one of the coves on shore, we saw the pontoon boat rented by my mom's youngest sister. We pulled in with our fish and after the usual round of questioning: Any luck? What color lure? Live bait? Where?, Pops and Unca Donald (yes, we have called him Unca Donald since he joined the family!) headed out to clean lunch. Aunt Pat, Aunt Mary, Ma and I began setting out the trappings for and preparing lunch while my son and his cousin Rylee tromped off into the woods to do things that boys do (push over storm killed trees, cut marshmallow sticks, toss rocks into the lake, throw the ball for my aunt's viszla..the usual) until the dinner bell called them.

Ma looked up at me with a panicky gleam in her eyes and said: Did you pack the silverware? Rylee, passing through to see if there were any sneakable bites ready, upon hearing this, grabbed the bean tablespoon and refused to relinquish it (on the bright side, he now knows how often to stir beans cooking over a campfire). After a round of good hearted finger pointing, Pops, Harry (my now nervous son) and I trekked off into the woods looking for a tree that had been fallen over long enough for the sap to be gone, but not long enough that the wood was powdery (we prefer salt and pepper, thank you).

We managed to find a good one that after we removed the outer ring layers, we could carve out manageable scoops. On the way back to lunch, on a whim, I cut a couple of maple twigs and made chopsticks.

Finlander ingenuity and Pop's boy scout training saved the day (and we all had enough wood-ware to eat without sharing!). My son carefully cleaned his and my homemade wooden spoons and chopsticks and they sit on his dresser as a reminder of this adventure...

The next day after our missing silverware shore lunch, we decided to try again. So we replenished the cooler with our homemade spoons (just in case), chopsticks AND real silverware. This day would find us heading for the infamous Grassy Bay (it is sort of a long standing joke up there that when you catch a lunker and are accosted by a hardluck out-of-stater, you tell them "Grassy Bay" when they ask where you caught your fish. After all, if everybody goes to your fishing holes and cleans out the fish...) Grassy Bay is fishable, but you really need to know where and when to get there or else it lives up to its name. We had some luck with our weedless rigs, but the fish were finicky biters today. They seemed to be more territorial and bumping than aggressively feeding. It was still relaxing to scan the shore for deer, listening to the loons hoot and laugh at our feeble attempt at fishing or even looking down into the water watching the various weeds go past like you were flying over some mystical forest. You could almost imagine some Atlantis type humanoid could come swooping up any second on the back of a bluegill to see what we were doing blocking his sunshine.

We munched on cold, home fried chicken gizzards while waiting for Pops and Unca Donald to declare it shore lunch time (at which point we would go zooming out of Grassy, back down two coves to the picnic spot). We passed close enough to trade munchies (Unca Donald always trades us some cookies for some gizzards) and stories about the HUGE thumps on the line that produced nothing but a hook full of weeds (man! Them northerns are sneaky! I know it had to be a good one!) and a promise to troll past there on the way back to the cabin.

Finally around 2 o'clock in the afternoon, it was decided to shore lunch it. ZOOM! Off to the cove! You see, the first boat there gets the sandy patch of beach closest to the cooking ring, while the other guy has to go farther down the shore (and thus lug the lunch supplies further) to sneak in beside the big rock to a patch of sand about the size of your shoe and a spot where a trail leading to the campsite comes out amongst the willow brush.

We like this spot as it actually has an offical campsite maintained by the U.S. Forestry. So there is a cooking ring with a swinging grate (instead of rocks), a picnic table and some nice logs to perch on in the shade. So while Pops and Unca Donald begin laying a fire, the ladies begin setting out the lunch supplies and accouterments, and the boys? Well, the steady KERPLOOSH and KERSPLASH of rocks off the top of the cliff should give you some indication as to what their pre-lunch amusement is today.

Ma, after digging around in the coolers, said: Not again! You see, while we made sure we had silverware, we had forgotten to count the paper plates. So, Harry and I head off to the shoreline with the intent of scavenging some big slate skipper rocks to serve as plates. We found a granite one and a couple of slate ones. After giving them a thorough scrubbing we pressed them into service. We were still one plate short, so Pops got the bean pot (there weren't any seconds that day). We dined al fresco and I wondered again just how much a high fallutin' city person would pay to either escape our family or to join us for a few days.

Doing the dishes for us authentic stoneware people was easy: We just flung them into the lake from the top of the cliff.

Apparently, my Aunt Mary was worried about us as for Christmas, her and Unca Donald gifted Ma, Pops, Harry and I with a pre-stocked picnic kit...

Like I stated above, it seems that we just can't get away from it all without having an adventure...this year, it was up on Staege's (Stedd-jees) Bay. See, Staeges is "north-ish" or "up" Crane, through the Narrows, up Sand Point and the fourth opening to the left (there is an island kind of across from the opening into the bay..that is where you bear left). Once into the opening, it almost feels as if you are on a short river before you actually get into Staege's Bay proper. Now, we don't recommend fishing in the narrow part of the entry as there is a cabin in the end...and if they get company or they decide to go someplace, they do not go at trolling speed. Also, we have had people come in there to water ski as it isn't very heavily traveled so there is less danger of getting hit by a boat (if you are the one skiing).

Anyway, Veni, Vedi, Pisci (I Came, I Saw, I Fished :oP). Weedless hooks in August are a must! Even the home tied spinner rigs I make and tip with leeches or minnows will get weedy. My personal working theory is that the bait sees a BIG fish and immediately camouflages itself in the weeds to avoid detection and nibbles. We usually manage to drag supper out of the lake because our family fish fry is tonight (the night after we hit this bay)! By supper, I don't mean we keep everything that gets stuck on our hooks. Aside from the DNR size limits, we also have a self-imposed limit. For example: The slot for walleye is 17 inches. This means any 17 incher and above, you put back (but you are allowed one over 20 inches a day as a trophy). The size we keep are in the 14-16" range. The eyeball method of keeper being if you cut off the head and the tail, it better be bigger than a dinner plate (9"). Some of the fish we see people keeping, really ticks us off! The fish might be 12 inches long with head and tail, but the guy is bragging he "got his limit". What a dork!

Sorry, I get sidetracked when it comes to common sense. We spent the day tooling about, had our hot dog and s'mores roast (see Staege's Picnic Pictures). My niece approached the idea of campfire cooking with her usual enthusiasm. My nephew on the other hand approached the idea with his usual 'Are you sure about this?' caution. Much to his mother's dismay, he finally relaxed when he realized it was NOT certain death to get wood ashes on your hotdog...it did NOT mean a deathly disease to hold a hot dog bun with dirty hands and torched marshmallows aren't nasty things to eat.

Ahhh the marshmallows...SIDETRACK ALERT! Ma found some chocolate flavored marshmallows this year and thought it would be fun to roast and or torch them (Ma, Harry and I do enjoy burnt mallows). So we included them in the cooler. Everyone knows you have to put them on top or else they get smooshed. Unfortunately, the cold in the cooler doesn't rise. The sun beating down on the cooler lid, heated up the mallows just enough that they were gooey-ed all into one lump. (We took them back to the cabin, froze them and ate them like mallow popsicles) End Sidetrack Alert.

After lunch, we fished a bit, then decided to head back to the cabin. Now this year, we had 3 boats: the pontoon, Pop's red one and my ex husband's blue one. We also had extra people this year: my brother and his family from Illinois (it has been over 20 years since my brother had been to Crane), my Gramma (Ma's mom), and my son's friend, Tyler from Iowa. Allow me to give you a little background info: Tyler is going away to college this year in Detroit Lakes, MN. It isn't often that we have "strangers" in our midst. Over the years, the Missouri family has brought friends up..and they have never come back for a second year. Tyler would like to vacation with us next year...and he means it! He has already told my son to let him know when Unca Donald takes Crane Lake vacation cause he wants to come again (Unca Donald takes two vacations up at Crane each year).

Now, where was I? Oh yeah...we are heading back to the cabin after our picnic. Unca Donald and his crew in the pontoon have exited the bay. The Blue Boat with Tyler, Harry and me in it, won't start (yes, we had gas...2 full tanks!) It does that oh so annoying errr-errr-errr-VOOM-cough-sputter. Pops zips up to us, tells us he is heading back and we tell him our boat wont start and our electric motor has run out of juice. So we do some troubleshooting steps with Pops and end up tossing him a rope.

Unca Donald (Unca Donald can fix anything (or at least make it run 'til it gets you there)) is now easily out of walkie-talkie range and we aren't quite into the area where we can get cell phone service. So Pops starts out with his big motor pulling us. My son is upset and not wanting to calm down, so the tension in our boat is climbing. I used his phone and got some shots of us being towed. Then, partway through Sand Point, Pops motor quit. He checked his gas and it was fine, but the big motor wouldn't go. The oil beeper would beep and not let the motor start. So he lowers his troller (9.9 Evinrude) into the water and we bravely continue on...even though the hour trip just turned into an hour and a half (at least) depending on traffic in the Narrows. Harry doesn't crack so much as a smile or relax until Tyler suggests we could try trolling along the shore as we are getting towed. I respond with "yeah...but if we pull up a whopping anything, they are gonna make us swim the boat back to Handberg's" (the fix it shop on Crane Lake). As we get through the Narrows and back into Crane, we get cell service. Harry called his dad and got permission to get the boat fixed. We got some weird looks (One guy even slowed down to stare!In retrospect, I should have taken a picture of him with the cell phone) and tentative waves from folks as we were getting there since it is usually the bigger boat pulling the smaller boat (the blue boat is a 17 footer and the red one is a 16 footer). As predicted, 90 minutes later, we pull into the dock at Handbergs. Pops, Harry, Tyler and I go into the shop to talk to the fellows, and they tell us because of the heat today, they let the mechanics go early. However, they will trailer up our boat and look at it first thing in the morning. I elbowed Pops and asked about his motor. He told the guy what we had done and how his motor wouldn't start. They guy says "It's probably overheated, it should start and be fine." Thank goodness, the guy was right! So Pops left Tyler, Harry and I to drool on the boats at the docks, while he ran the rest of his boatload to the cabin and came back to get us...no, he didn't leave us there, he did come back and get us.

We had our fish fry at Unca Donald's cabin, visited 'til dusk, took our daily bath at Sandy Beach, and went to bed.

Thus ended our Crane Lake adventure of 2007!