Okanse means "pile of bones."
There's one way in. Erik the bush pilot and his Dehaviland Beaver. A World War II relic that sounds and feels like a flying Harley Davidson.
I saw no bones at Okanse. But you could pile walleyes and northern pike as high as you want.
We made a small pile, then ate them. Anthony Bourdain in all of his parts unknown has never found a pair of these fillets with Miller Genuine Draft.
Three glorious days under skies that started pastel and ended on fire.
Spinning rods and soft plastics, sometimes a Mepps. Cast, click, wind, repeat.
Loons, bald eagles, and a concerned-looking moose. Easy neighbors.
Spartan quarters, staying up all night stoking the fire, drinking. Somehow there is no headache at this "pile of bones" lake. A quick nap was all we needed before hot coffee and another go at the fish.
You have a scruffy neck beard and a twinge of regret when the sound of Erik's plane rolls across Okanse again on day four.
Erik and Allysson can hook you up. http://kabeelo.com/
