Into the Wilderness
The Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness sits on the Minnesota-Ontario border, a million acres of interconnected lakes, rivers, and portage trails that have remained largely unchanged for centuries. There are no motors allowed, no cell towers, no easy escapes. When you paddle into the BWCAW, you’re committing to an experience of self-reliance and solitude that’s increasingly rare in the modern world. I spent five days there last August, chasing smallmouth bass and finding something I didn’t know I was looking for.
I entered through Moose Lake with a Wenonah Kevlar canoe, a dry bag full of camping gear, and a single rod tube containing my favorite 6-weight fly rod and a spinning combo backup. The permit system limits the number of people who can enter at any given access point, so by the second portage I was completely alone. The only sounds were loon calls, wind in the pines, and the occasional splash of a jumping smallmouth.
The Fishing
Boundary Waters smallmouth aren’t particularly large—my biggest was just under four pounds—but they fight like fish twice their size in the cold, clear water. I found them on rocky points, around submerged boulders, and along the edges of weed beds in 8 to 15 feet of water. Topwater worked in the mornings and evenings, producing explosive strikes that echoed across the quiet lakes. During midday, I dropped Ned rigs or small crawfish patterns and picked up fish consistently.
The lack of fishing pressure shows in these waters. Fish that have never seen a spinner bait or a crankbait will hit almost anything that looks edible. I caught bass on chartreuse poppers, on olive wooly buggers, on three-inch plastic crawfish in natural brown, and on a hand-tied deer hair mouse pattern that I’d never had confidence in before. The Boundary Waters will cure your tackle-buying addiction by proving that presentation and location matter far more than having the perfect lure.
The Silence
What I didn’t expect was how the silence would affect me. By day three, I noticed my breathing had slowed. My thoughts, usually racing through to-do lists and work problems, had quieted to a gentle background murmur. I would sit in my canoe, rod across my lap, and simply watch the water for thirty minutes at a time. Not fishing, not planning, just existing in a way I hadn’t experienced since childhood.
There’s a particular quality to wilderness silence that can’t be replicated in a soundproofed room. It’s not the absence of noise—there’s always something, whether it’s wind or water or wildlife—but the absence of human noise. No engine hum, no distant traffic, no notification chimes. Your nervous system starts to reset, and you realize how much mental energy you spend filtering out the chaos of modern life.
Practical Considerations
Planning a Boundary Waters trip requires some preparation. You’ll need a permit from the Forest Service during quota season (May through September), which you should reserve months in advance for popular entry points. Your gear needs to be portage-worthy, which means as light as possible while still keeping you comfortable and safe. I carried a one-person tent, a down sleeping bag, a small camp stove, four days of freeze-dried food, and my fishing tackle—about 40 pounds total.
The fishing tackle decision is worth considering carefully. I brought only my fly rod and one spinning combo, and that proved to be exactly right. You don’t need five rods and twenty-six tackle trays. You need one presentation you’re confident in and enough lures or flies to match conditions. The bass aren’t selective; they’re just hungry.
Why You Should Go
By day five, paddling back toward the exit, I felt something close to sadness at returning to connectivity. My phone, which had been dead weight in my pack, would soon start buzzing with notifications and obligations. But I also carried something out with me: a reminder that the noise is optional, that solitude is restorative, and that smallmouth bass in cold water are as fine a quarry as any fish swimming.
If you’ve thought about the Boundary Waters, stop thinking and start planning. It’s not just a fishing trip. It’s a reset for your entire relationship with the natural world.
