Exploring Big Island Lake Wilderness Area
by Jerry Dennis
When the Michigan Wilderness Act passed in 1987, the total number of designated wilderness areas in the state increased from 4 to 14. Among the 10 new preserves, totaling 91,535 acres, is one that should be of interest to anyone who enjoys wilderness canoeing and fishing trips: the Big Island Lake Wilderness Area in the Upper Peninsula's Schoolcraft County.
Located in the Hiawatha National Forest, about equal distances between the cities of Manistique and Munising, the Big Island Lake tract encompasses 6,606 acres and includes 23 lakes ranging from 5 to 149 acres in area.
The temptation is to compare it to Sylvania Recreation Area in the far western U.P. In many ways the two wilderness areas are similar: both are relatively remote, are scattered with lakes linked by portage trails, and are heavily wooded. Big Island Lake area, however, is bounded by a gravel road, and it is possible, on occasion, to hear distant traffic. Also, the enormous virgin pines and hemlocks of Sylvania are noticeably absent from the Big Island Lake region, which was logged in the 1890s and 1930s. While the woods are attractive, there are few stately trees. More common are thin stands of white birch and hardwoods scattered with the silver-gray stumps of the old pines.
On the positive side, Big Island Wilderness Area is never likely to be as popular as Sylvania. There are no developed campsites or facilities--no outhouses, picnic tables, fire pits, water pumps, or tent pads. A number of often-used sites are apparent from the water on each of the lakes, but they are unmarked and primitive. The only available water is from the lakes, and must be boiled or chemically purified. Also, don't expect the grade-A portage trails of Sylvania. Here they are narrow and poorly marked (some are identified by wooden signs at the water; others are not). Their saving grace is their length: the longest, between Vance and Twilight lakes, is 1,799 feet, or about one-third mile.
When my oldest son, Aaron, was 10 years old, we spent several days canoeing and fishing our way through the Big Island Lake chain. We established a base camp on the namesake island in the middle of Big Island Lake itself, then spent our days exploring the other waters of the wilderness area. On the first day we saw two other parties of canoeists, both on their way out. After that we had the entire 6,606 acres to ourselves.
Anyone who has fished with a 10-year-old knows the importance of success. Aaron was not content to devote hours to fruitless casting and exploring. He wanted action, and he wanted it immediately. While I stuck with a fly rod and poppers, Aaron cast jigs-and-twisters with a spinning rod, a combination that proved effective on most of the lakes we fished.
On each of the lakes inhabited by warmwater species, he caught small to medium-size bass (both largemouth and smallmouth), bluegill, perch, and pike on jigs and other small lures. I found a few fish willing to rise to my poppers, but, except for late evening, when largemouths began feeding on the surface, the spin tackle was far more effective. We were unable to catch any of the brook trout that have been planted in several of the lakes.
Like Sylvania, stringent fishing regulations are in effect at Big Island Lake Wilderness Area. DNR biologists in the region stress that the short growing season and relative infertility of the lakes place adult game fish at risk of being decimated by heavy fishing. Regulations are designed to encourage catch-and-release fishing, but allow anglers to keep trophy-sized fish. The season for all species is open only from the last Saturday in April through the month of November. Artificial lures only are allowed; on Mid, Neds, and Twilight lakes artificial lures must have single hooks only.
Fishing in the area is surprisingly diverse. Big Island Lake contains bluegill, pumpkinseed, northern pike, largemouth bass, smallmouth bass, and tiger muskie. Townline Lake supports perch, bluegills, pumpkinseed, largemouth bass, and northern pike. Mid Lake has bluegill, pumpkinseed, northern pike, tiger muskie, and brook trout. Coattail Lake has largemouth bass, northern pike, and yellow perch. McInnes and Klondike have bluegill, pumpkinseed, perch, and northern pike. Vance Lake has perch, bluegill, pumpkinseed, black crappie, largemouth bass, and northern pike. Twilight Lake is stocked with brook trout. Brookies have also been planted in Mid, Neds, and Bluegill lakes. Byers Lake supports most of the warmwater species, including perch, bluegill, pumpkinseed, largemouth bass, bullhead, and northern pike.
The dimensions of the wilderness area are small enough to make it possible to fish many of the lakes in a single day. We could set out from Big Island Lake in mid-morning, and fish and portage through half a dozen lakes before late afternoon, when we would switch directions and paddle and portage back to camp. It made for long and exhausting days, but it was possible to travel at a fairly leisurely pace from one border of the tract to the other.
Big Island Lake is well-named, dominated by a large, wooded, kidney-shaped island that fills most of the southern half of the lake. By mid-summer most of the lake's numerous bays, and virtually the entire south end are choked with lily pads. The north end of the lake contains most of the deepest water. Shoreline areas there are hilly and wooded with hardwoods, birches, and pines. Some open hills show the dotted stumps of the ancient pines and hemlocks that were logged during the early part of the century. The best campsites are located at the northwest and northeast ends of the island, with fair sites elsewhere along the north shore of the island and on the mainland along the north and northeast shores of the lake.
Fishing on Big Island Lake is for bluegill, pumpkinseed, largemouth bass (especially along the lily pads and in the bays), for smallmouth bass on the gravel and sand shelves off points, and--as we discovered--for occasional muskies.
One morning, nosing the canoe through the lily pads that fringe the shoreline near the short portage trail from Big Island to Mid lakes, Aaron suddenly froze in alarm and called out for us to stop. He pointed at something in the water. There, about six feet from the bow of the canoe was a tiger muskie of 10 or 12 pounds. It rested in two feet of water, partially hidden beneath lily pads, facing toward shore. The sight was so strange and the fish so unconcerned by our presence that I assumed something was wrong with it. I once spotted a large brown trout finning in shallows along the Boardman River. Only after casting a variety of dry flies, streamers, and nymphs--all which were ignored--did I stalk close enough to see that the trout had been blinded in both eyes.
My guess now was the muskie was diseased or injured. How else explain why a fish of its size would remain in such shallow water, so near our canoe? Aaron wanted to try to catch it. I was doubtful of our chances, but, to humor him, reached for the spinning rod and tied on a Burke rubber frog, the only weedless lure we had brought.
I handed the rod to Aaron and he lowered the lure until it dangled in the water in front of the muskie's snout. Burke's frog is equipped with two flexible rubber legs that spin as the lure moves in the water. Aaron jigged it up and down, activating the legs. The sight drove the musky into a fury. It flared its gills, opened its jaws, and lunged forward to inhale the thing.
Aaron, understandably, panicked. He set the hook too soon and yanked the lure from the musky's mouth. The fish spun in an enormous swirl of water and silt, and disappeared.
I wish I had my son's trusting enthusiasm. When I tried to explain that the fish was probably rocketing toward the middle of the lake and might not stop until sometime in late autumn, he insisted we hang around awhile and see if it returned. We beached the canoe and explored the shoreline, hoping to see other muskies in the shallows.
Half an hour later we returned to the canoe, pushed out into the lily pads, and spotted the same fish about 10 feet from its original position, finning exactly as before, again facing toward shore with its eyes focused on the surface. It occurred to us that the muskie was in the shallows feeding on frogs--what else?--and that by sheer chance we had stumbled on the one lure that it might attack without hesitation.
Aaron insisted it was my turn. I flipped the frog into an opening in the lily pads about four feet in front of the musky. The lure, feet spinning, settled to the bottom. I gave it a twitch that caused it to half-burrow into the silt. The musky froze for a second, as if it could not believe its good luck, then shot forward and pounced on the frog.
It is disconcerting to be so close to a fish of such size when it attacks your lure. If I had kept calm I would have set the hook with a sidearm motion, keeping the rod low to the water so the hook would seat in the corner of the musky's mouth. Instead I shouted in triumph and yanked the rod straight up, the way you would if you were fishing a vertical jig. The lure's single hook failed to penetrate the bony roof of the musky's mouth. I held it for a moment, just long enough to see the water churned to mud. Then the fish swirled, ran, and was off.
We saw no other muskies that trip, nor did we land any bass or pike of bragging size. Aaron caught several bass up to 16 inches, and the last evening I finally hooked a 15-inch largemouth that slurped my deer-hair popper from the surface and immediately jumped in classic, head-shaking fashion.
That night we sat up late around the campfire, listening to the crazy warbling of loons and watching the sparks from the fire spiral upward until they blended with the stars. At some point, past midnight, we looked north and saw the sky lit by shafts of light. As we watched, they shifted position, rising and falling like slow fountains, growing in brightness, then fading away. It was the first aurora display Aaron had ever seen and he was spellbound. I like to think the experience lodged permanently.
Getting There
One reason Big Island Lake Wilderness Area promises to remain uncrowded is that it is not easy to find. No signs point the way, either from Munising on the northern route or Manistique from the south. If you're approaching from M-28 and M-94 in Munising, where the headquarters and information office of the Hiawatha National Forest are located, take H-13 off M-28/94 a short distance east of Munising and follow it south about nine miles to Forest Service Road 445, a gravel road the turns to the east off H-13. The portage trail to Big Island Lake is located 3-1/2 miles east on 445, and is marked only with a small parking area on the right side of the road. The trail is to the north, beyond a row of boulders, and leads a quarter-mile or so to the shore of the lake.
For more information, including maps and fishing regulations, contact the Munising Ranger District, 400 E. Munising Avenue, Munising, MI 49862; phone 906-387-2512.
