When the alarm clock rang at five o’clock in the morning, I lifted my head off the pillow to moan, “No, no, no!” My husband, Arnie, grunted unhappily, but sat up on the side of the bed.

Reaching over Arnie gave me a shake. He growled, “Come on, get up! I’m tired too, but I want to get to Canada before it gets dark tonight.” After having worked so many hours in the last few weeks, we were both tired. All I wanted to do was to start our vacation by sleeping in.

Our drive north began silent and grumpy, but as the sun rose higher into the sky, tiredness left us. Cheered by the anticipation of spending the week fishing together, our happy comradery returned. Passing through International Falls into Fort Frances we stopped to buy bait for the fish we planned to catch.

At a bait shop on our way out of town, Arnie bought four dozen minnows. The shop owner put them, along with a great deal of water in a large, clear plastic bag. This clammy, bag-o-fish ended up riding on my lap so I could keep it safe until we reached our destination.

I’d gone fishing in Canada with Arnie for the last three years. This time we were going to a new location. The cabins we usually rented were always very basic and plain, having no luxury features, so I wasn’t expecting anything different this time. Arnie had made the reservations for this trip without having ever visited the camp or lake. After turning off the main highway onto a side road and driving a long way, I asked, “What’s the name of this resort and the name of the lake?”

Stopping to study a map, Arnie said, “The place is named ‘Moose Track Cottages’ and it’s on Lake Despair.” The name of the lake didn’t sound promising. Seeing the disconcerted expression on my face, my husband quickly added, “The man who owns the place is a bricklayer in Minnesota during the winter and runs this place in the summer.”

We pulled in at Moose Track Cottages at 4 in the afternoon. Terry, the owner was there to greet us. Bright, early June sunshine made the lake shimmer, and a gentle breeze caused the tree leaves above us to rustle soothingly. Pointing to a small building near the shore, Terry said, “That’s the fish cleaning house.” Close to it was a brand-new dock extending out into the lake. It seemed unnaturally long-legged and stood high above the water. Terry explained. This part of Canada has been having a drought, so the lake’s water level is low right now. I hope we get rain soon.”

Leading us to a cabin that had a small deck along one side and a big one on the back, Terry opened the door, and I stepped in. My jaw dropped open. The place looked fantastic! The kitchen had a modern, full-size refrigerator, stove and dishwasher, lots of counters and cabinets. A gas fireplace in the living room was flanked by two sofas and rocking chairs. Through a sliding glass door, I saw a gas grill we could use on the back deck. The cabin had two bedrooms and two bathrooms. I gasped, “I love this place!”

Arnie had our boat in the water by 6 P.M. and was ready to go fishing. I caught the first fish, a small northern we didn’t keep. Arnie pulled in a walleye we kept. I felt relaxed and happy. In the quiet, we heard the water lap against the boat and birds in the trees singing. An eagle screeched in the distance. Looking up at the sky, I commented, “I see mare’s tail clouds overhead, and on the horizon, there are thunderheads. My brother, Billy, would say this means it’s going to rain.”

Loud rumbles of thunder and bright flashes of lightning woke me up the next morning. It was Sunday, so Arnie and I drove into Fort Frances to attend Mass. It continued to rain hard as we ate lunch at the Rainy River Hotel and returned to the cabin. Looking worried, Arnie decided to bail water out of our boat before spending the evening indoors.

The storm raged on and on with crashing thunder and lightning fireworks into Monday. The electricity constantly went out before coming back on. I wondered when it would go out and stay out. Terry reported that the weather men said 6 inches of rain had fallen and forecasted that we would get another six inches. He confessed that he’d gotten up at 2 in the morning to bail out our boats.

Terry returned to our cabin late that evening to report that all the bridges and culverts between Lake Despair and Fort Frances had washed out. The local dam was in danger of bursting, and if it did, it would flood the Indian reservation, but they didn’t want to evacuate because they had no place to go. As Terry talked with Arnie, my thoughts were racing. My worries looped over and over in my mind, “We are trapped here! What are we going to do? My elderly mother will be frantic if I didn’t get back when I said I would. I’m scheduled to work at the hospital. Arnie has a business to run!

For the rest of the week, the weather seesawed between storms and sunshine. Over 13 inches of rain had fallen, and with run-off, the lake level began to rise. Terry’s stork-legged dock was now submerged under a couple feet of water. Water lapped closer and closer to the fish cleaning house where the camp’s electrical fuse box was located.

How long would it take for Canada to fix all the bridges and culverts for us to get home? We couldn’t stay in Canada for weeks! Finally, Terry tentatively suggested that if he was able to get his boat into the nearby Rainy River, it meandered 35 miles all the way to Fort Frances. He wasn’t sure of the route, but an Indian guide he knew would show him the way.

We planned our escape. First, we needed to find a phone that worked so Arnie could call a family member to pick us up in Fort Frances. Our truck, boat and trailer would have to be left behind. Arnie planned to come back for it later in the summer. I’d give away whatever food we had left over, which wasn’t much, because we had hoped to catch more fish to supplement what we’d brought.

The day before we were to boat 35 miles on the Rainy River into Fort Frances, we learned that the huge triple-culvert on the back road leading to Moose Track Cottages would be fixed by Saturday evening. Only one obstacle remained. The driveway to our cabin was alongside the lake shore, which meant it was currently four to five feet underwater.

Arnie said, “The other day, I went for a walk and noticed there was an old logging trail up on the hill above the cabins. Let’s check it out.” He was right; the trail was steep in places and looked like a washed-out gully in other places, but it led to the main road. My husband confidently announced, “My truck has four-wheel drive and can easily handle this route even with pulling the boat.”

We left Moose Track Cottages Saturday morning, one week after we had arrived. Bulldozers were still pushing fill into the gorge that the flood had made around the culverts, so we had to wait until they were finished. After all the turmoil and worry during our vacation, Arnie and I arrived home in Central Wisconsin exactly when we had originally planned.

Most people consider a vacation an escape from the drudgery of work. This was the first time I ever wanted to escape from my vacation. We were told the flooding rains in Onterio that year was a once-in-a-lifetime event.