I’ve noticed over the years, that one of my favorite destinations — Lost Lake— seems to spark the imagination for many of our readers. While we constantly receive comments from readers on many different subjects, my occasional writings on the lake just down the road clearly appeal to many.
One of the more distinctive aspects of this 750-acre lake is its lack of development, save for a small public access on the lake’s south shore. Good-sized lakes that have road access around here typically have at least a few cabins, but Lost Lake is an exception.
The lake did, at one time, have a couple log buildings on a lump of ledge rock next to the landing, the remains of a very small and rustic fishing camp that the Reed family had built and operated there for a time after the arrival of the access road. But the subsequent owner of that property, Leonard Haakanson, who still spent summers there into the 1990s, opted to sell the land to the Nature Conservancy for the purpose of eventually transferring it to the state of Minnesota for a Scientific and Natural Area. Leonard had bought the land with the intention of subdividing some of the rocky, pine-studded upland on the lake’s east end for cabins, but he grew captivated by the lake over the years and ultimately decided it was best left the way it was.
Leonard’s decision was key to the lake’s future, although Mother Nature has played a major role as well. While Lost Lake has some rocky upland shoreline, most of the lake’s circumference is dominated by floating muskeg, part of the several-thousand-acre Lost Lake Swamp. It’s the largest of three lakes or openings in the swamp. The others are Little Lost Lake, which is accessible only with a mile and a half trudge through the swamp, along with an unnamed, comma-shaped opening located not far from Lost Lake’s northwest shore.
Because Lost Lake is relatively large—more than a mile across— the wind and the waves can get rolling at times, which means there’s a constant battle between the muskeg, which naturally tends to engulf its surroundings, and the wind and waves which relentlessly beat it back. The shoreline is lined with tamarack tip-ups, victims of summer thunderstorms or October gales, their intricate roots providing weathered and twisted sculptures worthy of any museum. I have my favorites out there, many of which have been around for decades. I like to visit them now and then, kind of like old friends.
In between the sculpted roots is the floating mat, an assemblage of accumulated peat, capped with sphagnum moss and all held together by the entangled roots of the tamarack, bog heaths, blue flag irises, and here in early July, the tall meadow rue, growing with abandon along the mostly sunny shoreline.
I spend time on the lake in every season. In summer, it’s mostly from the seat of my kayak, where I like to explore the muskeg edge to visit my favorite tamarack tip-ups and see what’s blooming. I keep tabs, too, on the growth of the young-of-the year herring gulls, which are raised each year on Lost Lake’s lone, barren rock island, which has been a herring gull rookery for decades now. This time of year, it’s a hubbub of activity as the young chicks are getting large and increasingly demanding.
I haven’t fished on Lost Lake for years, mostly because I still find fishing to be stressful, a holdover I’m sure from childhood trauma sparked from fishing trips with my father. Too many near-death experiences, I guess.
But the walleye fishing is generally good on Lost Lake, and it does see its share of attention from anglers. I learned a lot about how to fish the lake from Leonard Haakanson, who we used to joke kept walleyes in barrels out in the lake (he never failed to return to shore with dinner, after all), but I’m not going to share some of his best secrets for the day I decide to fish Lost Lake again.
But that’s a column for another day...