Two legendary Yukon fishing lodges are long closed. The pike and lake trout don’t seem to mind

On our final day of fishing, Al and l decided to search for the elusive large silver lakers that lurk in Stewart’s 250-foot-deep western trench. These big trout required deepwater tactics, using leadcore line to reach 50 feet down off a shelf that drops steeply away from the shore.

It was a sunny morning with no wind, making the drop-off clearly visible beneath the lake’s calm surface. I handed Al a seven-foot rod fitted with a Penn reel and instructed him to let out six colours of leadcore to get his eight-inch canoe spoon into the strike zone. Just as Al got to work, I spied a gargantuan northern pike cruising a parallel course to the boat, approximately 20 feet down.

I already had a Gibbs Ruby Eye Wiggler attached to one of my trout rods, so I quickly cast it out to intercept the pike and let it sink to about 15 feet before engaging the spool. Suddenly, the line went taut as the goliath smashed the flashing spoon and dove for the depths. I hung on for the ride and only started to regain line after the powerful fish stopped running.

Worried my line would get wrapped around the prop if the fish ran again, I handed the rod to Al, whose eyes bugged out of his head. “It’s okay Al, just keep the rod tip up until I get the motor raised,” I explained. Once I had the prop clear, a much-relieved Al passed back my rod and I started slowly working the fish to the boat. Then it went on another tear, following by three more runs and a drenching tail slap before it was finally played out.

With Al’s help at the side of the boat, I measured the pike at 47 inches from snout to tail. After taking a photo with the fish still in the water, I twisted the lure from its massive jaws and watched as it torpedoed into the depths. How ironic, I thought, to land a trophy pike when I was fishing for lake trout. On Stewart Lake, you never know what will smack your lure.

With the fish safely released, I dipped my water bottle into the lake and took a long sip to cool the adrenaline rush of the epic battle. After we resumed trolling, each pass along the shelf produced a red trout for Al, but not one big silver laker hit our offering. By then, the sun was high in the sky and our quest for lunker trout became fruitless.

Just as we started motoring back to camp, a pair of majestic trumpeter swans glided down onto the water only a hundred yards from our boat. We stopped to photograph the normally elusive birds as they gracefully paddled along, gently honking in reassurance to one another. Mated for life, they return each year to secluded Stewart Lake to rear their young in solitude.

A damn fine place to relax, indeed.