I was sitting in A.G. Mathew's office, head man for the Sioux Lookout District of the Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources, chatting about future management strategies for Lac Seul during July of last summer.

"A.G. is there a better drive-to walleye lake than Lac Seul?" I asked, sure that my answer would be a definitive no.

"Well, as a matter of fact, there is. But better is relative to personal tastes. For sheer-numbers, most assuredly my answer would be yes," he calmly revealed. "Most people don't know about it, but the lake is as good as it gets; plenty of fish up to 27 inches with some even bigger. Any trophy northern, too. As good as any fly-in."

I didn't think there was anything that could touch the Northeast section of Lac Seul, the Chamberlain Narrows area. My first inclination was to take exception, but I got control, after all, it was his job to know the status and quality of his fisheries.

"Please tell me more," I asked.

"Lake St. Joseph, about 140 miles up the road. It's a big lake, about 180,000 acres, third largest inland lake in Ontario. Completely undeveloped, with only four outfitters total. Special management rules apply to guarantee she stays that way, too." A.G. continued, "Furthermore, they don't use live bait, they don't need to."

He had my attention. As a member of the Fishing Hot Spots Adventure staff, I was always on the lookout for that new hot spot, the secret lake, the new discovery. Somewhere, that AI and Babe hadn't already showcased. This could be a coup.

A.G. gave me some phone numbers and I was on my way to the nearest pay phone. Based on his information, the first person I called was John Grace, owner of Old Post Village.

After introducing myself, explaining to John about the Fishing Hot Spots Adventure Program, John said, "I am completely full, but come on ahead, I'll find a place for you to bunk down."

"John, I'll sleep on the beach if the fishing is as good as I hear!"

"It's better, I guarantee it!" he said confidently.

I was on my way. And what a scenic drive from Sioux Lookout. The country was dominated with lakes, streams, and beautiful pristine country. No sign of man's intervention, just the road.

John met me at the landing and helped me launch. After a short ride to camp and a tour of the facilities, it was dinnertime. Between mouthfuls of great food, I asked John every question I could think of about the fishery. He did the same about our program. We were getting to know each other fast.

Out of the distance came the faint hum of outboards. "The boys are coming in, come on, you can see for yourself," John offered.

The first boat, as John pointed out, was head guide Mike Willems, and two smiling clients. A look at their stringer told me the reason for their smiles. Four more boats followed. After brief introductions, I asked no one in particular, "How was fishing?" Everyone started talking about the same time "Great, fabulous, the best, terrific!" came in excited bursts.

John suggested that after Mike got things squared away, that he and I should sit down and talk. We did, late into the night. Mike, a fisheries biologist turned guide had kept a complete record for the last three years of each day's results. Quite impressive statistics those were, indeed. My excitement was hard to contain, and I couldn't wait to get on the water. Finally, after a good, but short sleep, the day dawned clear and bright with a gentle westerly walleye chop.

My plan was to fish alone for eyes that morning, and go with Mike that afternoon for northern. From our conversation, I knew that the walleye were in their traditional summer patterns ' Using offshore humps, shoreline points and flats; location would be fairly routine.

After studying the "not so great" map, I developed my plan of attack. I would work the humps first, using the guide's rig of choice. A pink, round head jig with a white twister tail grub, cast to the crest of the hump and swam slowly back to the boat.

With an hour of scouting, using my depthfinder to mark fisher and placing waypoints in my GPS for each location that looked promising. I was eager to wet a line. I had selected a series of rock humps that topped at ten to twelve feet and were joined by rock and boulder spines. These structures were located in sixty feet of soft-bottomed main lake basin.

I threw a marker buoy on the top of the target and set up downwind, holding my position with my bowmount. First cast, on about the fourth turn of the reel, tap, tap, bam. First fish on, after a quick, but a gallant fight, a nice twenty-three- incher was boated and released back into the water. Another cast, another fish. And so it went, one after another, with an occasional dry retrieve. My big fish that morning was twenty- seven inches, this lake was something, all right. I never did get off those humps that morning.

Reluctantly, I had to quit at noon to join Mike for some trophy northern fishing. When we met at camp, he told me the biggest fish his boat landed was a nine-pounder; our action was about equal.
Mike related on the way out that we would be fishing cabbage beds adjacent to deep water for the northern. Baits would be spinnerbaits, spoons and whatever else we felt like throwing.

The action was great. "Fish on," was the word of the day. I didn't keep track, but we boated a ton of fish. The biggest was forty-one inches, with a lot in the thirties.

Back to camp to complete those necessary fishing chores, then another one of John Grace's superb meals. The evening was capped with good, hot coffee and some great fishing stories by the fireplace in the Post's charming, rustic bar.

I slept well that night knowing that I had truly found a fishing hot spot.

Phil Rolfe