As we stalked, freshly tied Goby patterns in hand, we noticed some intriguing green flurries. They weren’t carp, but a few probing casts revealed a feeding frenzy of smallmouth so intense we began referring to the spot simply as Eden—a spiritual name for a radical place. What other moniker could suffice for the sheer rabidity and volume of these ravenous creatures, greenish and sandy-hued to match the lake bottom? I’m not exaggerating to say I fought more fish, more intensely, in an hour than during an entire year of fishing in Washington. Catching more fish than we could count, including some that were trophy-sized, we couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity and sheer bounty.

But rabid smallies were not the only reward of this 10-day Northwoods camp. To top it off, the next morning we finally stumbled upon a few schools of giant shadows, moving with the slow, deliberate and unmistakable bravado of carp. In the end, I watched my brother fight and land one of the golden bones that was as big as a medium-sized dog. As he struggled to wrap his arms around and lift the fish, he let out a single utterance, a sound that was like primal ecstasy—ohmyfuckinggod! A fitting prayer for such a place.

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