Twenty five years ago, my buddies and I used to hike about a mile back into the woods to fish a little lake that most people probably never knew was there. It is only about 13 acres, spring fed, and around 40 feet deep at its deepest point. Back then there was an old dock where we would sit and catch bluegill by the bucket. We would literally fill five gallon pails, take them home, clean them, and have fish fries during our college years.

But there was always one fish we wondered about.

Rainbow trout.

The DNR stocked the lake with rainbows every year, but in all the time we fished there, I do not remember us ever catching one. Eventually life moved on, and so did we. I had not been back to that lake since the early 2000s.

Until this weekend.

I had been doing a little research and learned that the trout stocking had stopped about five years ago. That made me even more curious. After all these years, were there still trout swimming around in that little lake?

Working around everyone's schedules is never easy, but Jack was able to make a quick overnight trip with me. A few days before we left, another piece of the puzzle fell into place. I found a used canoe on Facebook Marketplace that was exactly what I had been looking for. It was light enough that I could throw it over my head and carry it into places that my other canoe could never reach.

There was really only one way to find out if those trout were still there.

We packed for one night and headed into the woods.

The one mile hike turned into closer to two miles of walking because there was no way we were carrying everything in one trip. Camping gear, fishing gear, food, and a canoe all had to make it back there. Several trees had fallen across the trail too, which made carrying a canoe over my head a little more interesting.

By the time we finally got everything in, we had earned the campsite waiting for us.

And what a spot it was.

We found a wide open campsite sitting on a bluff overlooking the lake. There were perfect trees for the hammock, plenty of room for our small tent, an established fire pit, and even an old wooden bench. After all the hauling and climbing over trees, it felt like we had stumbled into exactly where we were supposed to be.

We set up camp, ate a quick lunch, and Jack climbed into the hammock. A long week of school and football had caught up with him, and he slept for a solid two or three hours.

I was perfectly fine with that.

Part of getting outside is realizing you do not always have to be doing something. Sometimes a nap in a hammock overlooking a lake is exactly what you need.

When Jack finally woke up, it was time to fish.

We slid the canoe into the lake and paddled away from shore. For the first time, I could actually fish the middle of this lake instead of being limited to that old dock that is not even there anymore.

About twenty minutes later, it happened.

I hooked into a fish and knew immediately it was not another bluegill.

When I got it to the canoe, there it was.

A rainbow trout.

A keeper.

The exact fish I had come back there hoping to find.

Jack and I were crazy excited. Twenty five years after wondering if those trout were actually in there, the first fish I caught from the middle of the lake was a rainbow.

We did not catch anything else that evening, but it did not matter. That trout came back to camp with us and became dinner. We cooked it over the fire, ate a few s'mores, and eventually crawled into the tent for the night.

The temperature dropped pretty good, but the sky stayed clear and a full moon lit up the woods. After carrying everything into camp and hiking back and forth all day, my legs decided to remind me that I am not twenty years old anymore. I cramped up throughout the night and did not get nearly as much sleep as I would have liked.

At sunrise, Jack woke me up.

He wanted to fish again.

So back into the canoe we went.

Jack finally landed a little perch, and before long I hooked into another one. Except this one kept getting bigger as it came toward the canoe.

It ended up being a 13 and a half inch perch, the biggest perch I have ever caught.

Not a bad way to start the morning.

Eventually, though, camp had to come down. We packed the tent, hammock, cooking gear, fishing equipment, and everything else we had carried in. Then we started the long process of getting it all back to the truck.

It took about two hours.

Jack was a trooper through all of it.

The entire trip lasted only about 24 hours. We spent almost as much time carrying gear, setting up camp, breaking it down, and hiking as we did actually fishing.

And I would do it again tomorrow.

We found the trout we had wondered about 25 years ago. We ate one beside the lake. We slept under a full moon. We caught the biggest perch I have ever seen on the end of my line. And most importantly, I got another day outside with my son.

That is becoming something I appreciate more every time we do it.

Life does not always give us a full week. Sometimes it barely gives us 24 hours.

Take the 24 hours.

This was only one night in the woods, but it was a day we will never forget.

Until next time,

Justin