“Is it ‘Sha-PLOO’?” Dan asks, making a sound like a heavy stone plopped in a pond.
“I think the guy at the gas station said ‘CHAP-low,’” Tom says. “Like Chapstick.”
“Pretty sure it’s ‘SHAP-lee-oh,’” Brian counters, going full French on it with a third syllable. However you want to say it, it had taken the four of us an entire day to get to the Northern Ontario town of Chapleau, on a drive that saw more moose than bears and more bears than gas stations—exactly the ratio you’re shooting for on a trip like this. The plan, as hashed out over a long winter’s secret Facebook group, is to go lodge-hopping across the region by train and fish hard at each stop: pike and walleye at Lake Esnagi; pike, walleye,…