Gangler's North Seal River Lodge

Guests traveling to Gangler's North Seal River Lodge begin their trip in Winnipeg, Manitoba — you'll likely arrive in Winnipeg a day early, and stay in a hotel that's just across the street from the Winnipeg airport. The day of your scheduled arrival at the lodge, you and other guests will be met at the hotel by a shuttle van that will take you all to a private airfield, where you'll board your flight to the lodge. Three hours later, after a stop in Thompson Falls, Manitoba, for fuel, and a gorgeous flight over the Canadian Shield, you'll touch down on Gangler's private airstrip. Once at the lodge on arrival day, you'll be assigned a cabin (or, if you're staying in an outpost, you'll travel via float plane to your remote cabin in the woods), and get settled in. If time allows, a guide will take you on a quick boat ride for some evening casting to toothy northern pike — just to shake the rust off. 

For seasoned pike anglers, you know what happens next. Aboard one of Gangler's trusty skiffs, your guide, likely member of the indigenous Cree First Nation, will zip you across Egenolf Lake in search of northern pike. Slowing down as the skiff approaches a shallow bay, you hear the words you've been waiting to hear for months. "Get ready," your guide says, "because they're here." You send that first cast soaring over the dark waters of the lake, and begin your retrieve. It doesn't take long for a wake to form behind your stripped fly, and your guide offers encouragement: "Don't slow it down. Keep stripping." 

Doing as your told, the fly gets closer and closer to the boat. And then it happens — the most violent attack in freshwater fly fishing. From your perch in the bow of the boat, you watch as a big northern side-swipes your long, swimmy streamer with a splash only pike can make. Even though you know it's coming, it still takes your breath away. Before you know it, 32 inches of bestial, predatory pike is in the net, and your guide gives you a smile. "This one's perfect for lunch," he says. 

On your second day, you opt to spring for a short fly-out to a remote, boreal lake that the local guides simply call "the aquarium." Once you touch down climb into a waiting skiff, it doesn't take you long to figure out why this lake bears this descriptive moniker. Here, unlike in other tannic lakes of the north, the water is crystal clear. As you glide over the surface of the lake and slow to crawl as you approach a little backwater bay, you start to see fish. Lots of fish. And ... lots of big fish. Some, your guide says, are pike. Others are swarthy lake trout that move into the shallows early and late in the season to chase big whitefish — and you see some of those, too. 

It's dealer's choice. Do you want try and tempt a truly big pike, or is it time to mix it up, and see if you can't catch a hefty lake trout that'll put you half way to your Grand Slam? It's totally up to you. 

You've checked pike off your list, and, thanks to your wise decision at The Aquarium the day before, you've collected your lake trout — a 32-inch beast that came out of nowhere to slam a streamer. Now, you're just two fish shy of the Canadian Grand Slam — you need to catch an Arctic grayling and a walleye to complete the feat. And your guide knows right where to go to find both. 

For the morning session, you'll swap your big 8-weight pike rod for a 6-weight and a sink-tip line. As your guide slows the skiff to a crawl, you see him motoring toward a pair of islands on Egenolf Lake. One eye on the depth finder and another on the horizon, he cuts the motor and gives you a thumbs up. "Long cast," he says. "Let it sink, and then bring it in." You make the cast, and your fly, a chartreuse-and-white Clouser, dives into the dark water. Your guide nods, and you start the strip. Then, just like that, your line goes tight. It's your first fly-caught walleye, and it'll taste mighty good at lunchtime as you rig up light fly tackle and go after the Seal River's fat Arctic grayling. 

After lunch, you head to the outflow of the Seal River as it leaves Egenolf Lake, which, your guide says, is the best place to catch a really big Arctic grayling. Now, armed with a 5-weight fly rod and high-floating Purple Haze, you switch to dry-fly mode. And it doesn't take long. The grayling of the Seal River are legendary, with some specimens topping 20 inches in length caught every season. The first big grayling to hit your fly isn't quite that big, but as 14 inches of silver elegance takes to the air, you've just cleared your calendar for the afternoon. It's going to be a fishy one. 

With your Grand Slam in the bag, your focus changes. You're not so much interested in catching a lot of fish — it's time to catch the fish. You're looking for a northern pike over 41 inches long to put yourself in the rarified air alongside pike anglers who have caught trophy Manitoba pike on the fly. For this, your guide has a special plan. He motors the little skiff into a rocky bay, where you notice a tannin-stained creek channel running between the big lake and a much smaller lake beyond. You're instructed to get out of the boat and wade the boat up the creek channel — a few minutes later, you see what your guide has been looking for. This beautiful hidden lake is lined by weed beds and lily pads — ideal ambush habitat for massive pike. "Let me see your fly," you guide says, as you pass him a size 2 swimmy streamer. He smirks. "Do you have anything topwater?" You perk up. Topwater? You open your fuzzy, flashy fly box that's been sifted through a dozen times since you arrived, and pluck out a fat yellow foam Gurgler adorned with a bright chartreuse Dragontail.

"Cast it there," he says, pointing along the edges of a grassy weedbed. As instructed, you cast your obnoxious Gurgler, and it lands inches from the bank. You give it a tug. And then another. Then, as you prepare another strip, the lake simply erupts in a jarring display of violence. The biggest pike you've ever seen blasts from the lake and kind of glides over the surface, your helpless Gurgler secured tightly in the corner of its mouth. It's one of the coolest things you've ever experienced with a fly rod in your hands. Welcome to the club.