Every Northwoods resident knows the feeling: being deep in the woods and wondering whether you are the first person to stand in just that spot, and contemplating who or what may have walked those woods in the past.

Dave Osborn lives in continual contemplation of these links to the past. He has built his new career, restoring and refurbishing these connections in the form of old wooden canoes.

Osborn spent the first 50 years of his life in Rockford, Ill. A city boy by birth, he always keenly felt the pull of the Great Outdoors. His family had always retreated to the Northwoods of Wisconsin, and Osborn has fond memories of fishing with his father. Eventually, his parents built a home which they eventually retired to in Boulder Junction in the mid-1990s.

After graduating from high school, Osborn tried his hand at higher education, but found that academia did not suit him. He began working for Textron Fastening Systems, the same company with which his father had made his career. Osborn started at entry level positions, but moved up and around the company until he had accrued enough knowledge and experience to become a process engineer.

Osborn married, had a son and helped raise a step-son, and built a life for himself, a life he says he never planned on leaving.

However, he was forced to make new plans when within a week in 2006 his divorce was finalized and he was laid off from his job of more than 29 years.

He searched for a new job, but found that the manufacturing job market was drying up. “I was so used to living there and used to working in Rockford,” said Osborn, “I had a son there. I had no intention of leaving, but then the light bulb came on. I talked to my folks about my situation and it dawned on me: move up North and work with canoes.”

After he made this decision, he did not look back. He got to work painting and fixing up his house, and closed its sale after only four weeks on the market. He put the proceeds from the house sale into the construction of a new home near Boulder Junction. Anxious to make the move quickly, he stayed with his parents for 10 months, who lived nearby, while his house and workshop were built.

A passion for old canoes

Although it may seem impulsive, to Osborn the move made perfect sense. He discovered his passion for antique canoes in the mid-'90s at Canoecopia, a paddlesports exposition in Madison. While admiring the old wooden canoes, he remembered that his then sister-in-law had an old canoe in storage. Excited, he got in touch with her to see if he could try his hand at restoring the abandoned craft.

In his search for restoration instruction, Osborn spotted a listing for the North House Folk School in Grand Marais, Minn., in the Boundary Waters Journal magazine. The school, which boasts a variety classes from woodworking and knitting, to sustainable living and freshwater studies, offers an abundance of boat making and restoration courses.

In less than two weeks, Osborn had learned the basics of wood-canvas canoe restoration. The North House Folk School website describes this classic boat of the Northwoods as “poetry on the water,” and details some of the skills necessary to build and restore wood-and-canvas canoes. The rest he would learn and develop with years of practice.

Evolved directly from Native-American-designed birchbark canoes, wood-canvas canoes are an icon of northern waterways. Their birchbark predecessor was made of a white cedar frame with a paper birch bark exterior, sealed with a charcoal and fat resin.

Late in the 19th century, the scarcity of paper birch spurred builders in the northern U.S. and Canada to experiment with alternative coverings. Canvas was a widely available and dependable substitute.

Builders eventually settled on a rib-and-plank construction, held together with brass tacks, and covered with filled canvas. After covering the treated canvas with multiple layers of paint, wood-canvas canoes glide effortlessly through the water.

At this point, Osborn was hooked. Once he began work as a serious hobbyist, he found plenty to do. He remarks that just about every canoe has done time in an attic or dusty garage. It must wait long years, falling into disrepair, to be re-discovered and salvaged by a nostalgic relative or descendent of the original owners. Once rescued from its dank quarters, its new custodians must seek out a restorer to bring it back to its former glory.

Canoe restoration is a labor of love for restorer and client alike. According to Osborn, the cost of the restoration usually equals the end value of the old canoe. Those captivated by the mystique of a dilapidated antique canoe are rewarded in the form of years of enjoyment, not dollars.

On the flip side, canoe restoration is not a highly profitable business. The materials can be pricey, and the hours invested uncountable. In fact, although Osborn is often asked about it, he cannot put is finger on how long it takes him to restore the average canoe. “That is probably a bad thing,” he said, laughing, “since I charge for many services by the hour.”

But Osborn says his cost of living is modest, and so are his needs. And even though he knows he will not get rich working on canoes, he still manages to pay the bills. That, he says, is enough for him.

A guiding service that taps into history

For Osborn the wood-canvas canoe is not only a new livelihood, it is a representation of and witness to all he loves about the Northwoods.

“Every canoe has a story,” he said, although he admits that often the stories are not that interesting. What captivates Osborn is not so much the biographies of the previous owners, but rather the landscapes the canoe has born witness to, and the secret places in nature it have given its owners access to.

To revive these halcyon histories, Osborn offers a different kind of guided fishing trip. Most Northwoods guide services boast of their decked-out, state-of-the-art fishing boats, complete with the latest technology and guides determined to bring in the fish of tall tales. They set out with one thing in mind, and they do it very well.

Osborn has something else in mind with his Little Lakes Guide Service. His service focuses on soaking up the natural wonders of the Northwoods, and while fishing can play a central role, it is only one piece of the experience.

Osborn searches out the most secluded lakes, even if they are not Class A fishing lakes. He knows these lakes intimately, and just what to use to entice fish to bite, even on infertile lakes. Even with his know-how, he admits there are days when the fish just won’t bite.

Even so, Osborn’s clients go home happy, with a belly satisfied by his classic Northwoods Shore Lunch, included in every Little Lakes outing. Since the emphasis is not on catching fish alone, people enjoy a range of small pleasures, not the least being a day on the lake without the roar of motorboats and jet-skis.

The art of fishing from a canoe and dining on the shore

One sunny June morning I got to experience Osborn’s outdoors hospitality for myself.

After arriving at Osborn’s residence and workshop at 8 a.m., we set out for the lake in his truck, bright red canoe strapped to the roof. After a short drive up the highway, we turned off onto a dirt road into the Northern Highland–American Legion State Forest.

Immediately upon hitting the dirt road, Osborn’s eyes start scanning the road and tree line for signs of wildlife. We approach a small lake, badly shrunken by years of drought, and Osborn slows down, eyes on the shoreline. “I always stop to see if I can spot a wolf running around.” There are signs of wolves all around, he informs me, and he is determined to get a good look at one.

There are none to be seen this day, so we continue on to the path to the lake. Once we reach the designated spot, I help Osborn unload the gear, which consists of a small cooler, a camp stove, a couple of paddles, poles and a tackle box. He points out a small chainsaw in the back of the truck he carries because, he points out, you never know when you will have to cut up a fallen tree blocking the path or road.

We move the canoe off the roof and set it upright on the wheels designed to help us with the 350 yard portage to the lake. “This canoe,” Osborn explains, “I got from a woman in Kalamazoo. Her parents bought it in 1942 from a marina in Madison. They bought it for their wedding gift. It was built in 1938, and was at one time a livery canoe, a rental, so it’s got the big brass number 6 on it.”

“According to the daughter,” Osborn adds, “they used to take the canoe on a train up to Canada and paddle out of the wilderness together.” He continues, contemplating the wildlife the canoe must have paddled past on those voyages, the moose it might have seen.

After we get the canoe ready and spray our legs and arms against the gathering legions of mosquitoes, we start off down the narrow path to the lake. Right away, Osborn points out the pink and yellow five-point crowns of a group of wild columbines.

The bright red canoe, with its perfect pearlescent sheen, rolls and bounces along easily over the narrow pathway, scraping occasionally across rocks and branches. Whenever I hear the scrape, I wince, thinking of the countless hours of work needed to get the canoe into its pristine condition. It doesn't seem to bother Osborn though, and when I question him about it he shrugs. “Canoes are meant to be used. And they’re going to get scraped up a little along the way."

As we make our way down towards the lake, Osborn stops occasionally to point out interesting tracks, or wolf scat, drawing my attention to the hair and bones that signal its origin.

At some point I begin to feel like a poor excuse for a Northerner. I never have had great interest in angling, don't know the names of familiar plants and trees, and while I've always been enamored of our northern landscapes, I don't have the same eye for detail as Osborn, a man who's spent almost his entire life in the city. Osborn never calls me out on this though, and instead shares his keen observations with casual ease. His manner makes me focus my awareness on my surroundings in a way that daily distractions often preclude.

When we reach the lake shore, there isn't a dock or private home in sight. The only sign of human activity is a small stone-lined campfire pit in an area cleared of underbrush. We maneuver the canoe down to the drought-distended shore and prepare for embarkation.

Before we leave, Osborn preforms a short ceremony to thank the Great Spirit, sprinkling tobacco into the wind and saying and Ojibwe prayer, ending with “migwetch,” or “thank you.” He says the ceremony just feels like the right thing to do.

Finally he shows me a few tricks for casting the crawfish lures we'll be using to catch bass. The special lures consist of a rubbery crawfish with a simple, barb-less hook embedded in it. The hooks are simple to remove with minimal damage to the fish, and are required for the protected lake we are fishing. After a few casts of the remarkably life-like lures I am confident and ready to catch some fish.

We wade in and shove off, gliding silently and smoothly over the water. The wooden craft has warmth, not just visually, but also in the way it moves. Anyone who has been in an aluminum boat knows the cold metallic sound of water slapping against its hull. The old livery canoe provides a completely different sensory experience.

As we use the worn vintage paddles to effortlessly navigate the water, I begin to understand for myself how old wooden canoes could inspire such zeal in devotees like Osborn.

Without further ado, we commence casting. Osborn reels one in almost immediately. Although I have a few exciting hits, I can't quite manage to bring them in. Unperturbed, I keep on casting as Osborn lands a few more good-sized bass. The time passes effortlessly.

With the beautiful weather and pristine setting, my lack of catches grows less important. I'm too busy enjoying the lack of road and boat noise to be bothered by lost fish.

Finally, after two hours on the water, I land my first bass. The excitement of the catch is my biggest surprise of the day, given my fairly apathetic view of fishing. After that, my dry spell is history. We reel in one fish after another, catching and releasing the time away.

The lake is clear, unburdened by other human activity, and the waters calm. There are just enough clouds to ease the heat of the sun. As we float, casting our lines, I watch the activity below in the crystalline water. It almost feels like floating on top of a tree-lined aquarium, with the plants, deadwood and fish clearly visible.

I notice strange circular divots in the lake bed. Osborn clarifies that they are spawning beds. The fish fan away the sand, leaving a bed of rocks, surrounded by a protective ring of mounded sand.

The larger nests, individually spaced, belong to bass, and the conglomerations of many smaller ones are from bluegills. The bluegill territories are ringed by a small contingent of fish, guards protecting the nests.

At one point we stop to stretch our legs and investigate a span of shoreline for signs of animal or human activity. Osborn points out a suspiciously large, canine paw print in the sand. “Canis lupus,” he declares, peering through the trees as though hoping to spot the track’s owner.

I ask Osborn how he feels about his new life. “I have never been happier,” he replies. “If not for the cold, hard push out of my old life,” he continues, “I never would have made the change.”

A bargain, by any standard

Although Osborn has yet to build the solid return customer base of a more seasoned guide, he isn’t worried, and says he will keep guiding even if demand stays soft. He does it because he enjoys it, and says that as long as he can cover the costs of insurance and materials, he will keep doing it. He imagines it as a perfect day out for a fisherman’s widow, or others who do not fit the typical guide clientele. And although he says he has taken out quite a few experiences anglers, I can attest that perhaps its greatest appeal is to lovers of the outdoors who have not yet discovered the joy of fishing.

Another benefit of Osborn’s service is its modest price tag. At $200 a day, including lunch, it is a bargain compared to other guides in the area. He explains that he can offer such a low cost day out since his equipment is so simple. He doesn’t have to pay for fancy new boats, fish finders, or even gas. Low-tech means low price.

Even if your goal is to capture photos instead of fish, Osborn’s outings offer an exceptional way to experience secluded lakes that look the same today as 100 years ago.

His classic shore lunch, a service that is hard to find these days, is authentic. Other than the substitution of a Coleman camp stove for the traditional camp fire, the meal’s components are the same as in generations past: fresh fried fish, fried potatoes, pickles, and a beer if you care for one.

The only element Osborn prefers to skip is the can of baked beans. He doesn’t like them, but says he supposes he would do it, if the client was really fixed on them. Osborn cooks up fish from a  previous outing, which allows him to do catch-and-release excursions with clients – in other words, if we hadn't caught fish, I didn't have to starve for lunch.

Perhaps one of the greatest pleasures of living in technological times is sometimes choosing to leave it all behind and visit a far off, simpler time, especially when you can turn on the air conditioning in the truck on your way home.

As Osborn puts it, “People just enjoyed simpler things. That’s what’s drawn me to it. Not that I have anything against technology. Last night I surfed on the computer till almost midnight!”

To plan a trip to the Northwoods’ past for yourself or a friend, or to see about rescuing an antique canoe of your own, you can contact Dave Osborn at 715-385-0022 or on the web at littlelakescanoe.com.