Two For Two

It happened on two different days in two different months in two different types of weather.  Although the outcome of both were similar, the result of the outings were two different species of bass; so there was that.  I fished in two different bodies of water, using two different methods, creating two different memories.  So when you wind those facts up into a tight little ball, I guess you could say that I went, “Two For Two.”

The first outing was a brutally hot July summer day.  It was the kind of day that once the morning air burned off, seemed perfect to slide into a pair of old running shoes, slather down in sunscreen, throw some gear into a small backpack, and fish a local creek of moving water.

The cool water is moderately clear in that creek and the bed ranges from sand to gravel; with a few intermittent mucky spots where the water slows in swirling pools on its way to the larger Rock River.  It’s the kind of creek that keeps you guessing and honest in all of its various forms.

Within numerous bends that came in succession I caught a half dozen little small mouthed bass.  It was where the creek split around a pile of brush lodged atop a heap of gravel that I had my first fish of significant size.  It was also where I quietly crept over the gravel bar to the slower moving and deeper channel.  I cast my large spinner up into a nice looking pocket.   The pocket required some precision; one where I’d either come away with a snagged lure hooked in some hidden underwater structure, or lure a fish up from its perfect hiding spot.  Fortunately it was later.

The small mouthed bass jumped several times while racing to and fro within the confines of the channel.  I knelt down on the gravel bar where I had been standing and lifted out a chunky 14 ½” bass.  It was a mindful connection to hold onto such a beautifully marked fish.  I removed my backpack, lifted the fish in front of me, took several pictures, and released it back into the water.

On such a warm day, it was fun to wade and fish with minimal gear while pretending I was just a kid again.  I didn’t fish quite like this as a young boy, but it was definitely the same spirit of adventure, connection, and freedom that I had felt long ago that was spurring me on around each bend.

The next fish that made an impression on that hot day hit within a deep run on an outside bend.  I had cast up along a small point of rocky structure before having an immediate strike.  Right away I could feel the smallie’s strength and it took a little time to bring it up to my hand; aerial acrobatics resembling a big man’s belly flop competition rather than an olympic diving event!

A wide back of muscle from a lifetime spent in moving water graced my finger tips.  The smallie measured at a respectful 16” with camouflaged and mottled markings and I allowed myself a picture with the fish before easing it back into the creek.

My second outing was on a chilly October afternoon; 40 to 50 degrees cooler than that day in July.  I launched into a nearby lake in my trusty kayak.  The colors of the trees along the shoreline were picture perfect.  The leaves weren’t brilliant, but they weren’t drab either.  They were a blend of purple, orange, and yellow with the correct amount of blue sky and reflections to create an imprint on one’s memory.

Not far from the launch I worked a drop off.  Within the first 10 casts I had a solid hit that pulled drag while the fish dove deep.  I wrestled with my large hooped landing net that was weaved within the kayak’s bungee cords, and positioned myself to land the fish.  It’s quite a spectacle to balance a paddle in your lap, keep from being blown by the light wind into the shoreline, reel in a fish, all while trying to prepare a net!  Fortunately I lacked a crowd so any minor gaffe escaped a critical eye.

Once I brought the fish up to the starboard side of my kayak, I could see that it was a largemouth bass; with its distinct difference of light and dark markings on both sides of its lateral line.  However, it kept diving back into the murky depths and pulling drag with it, so it took a little bit of time to scoop it up into my net.  By then I was gently bumping against the rock lined shoreline.

Once I had the fish in my net, I gently removed the lure and held it up for a few pictures before sliding it into the water and watching it disappear below the shadow of my kayak.  It was my longest largemouth bass to date, measuring at 21 inches.  For that reason it was both rewarding and memorable.

After that experience I worked my way along the Northern shore just off the drop-off.  I caught a few smaller bass and a 17 ½” within this section before making my way into a smaller bay.  I fished that section of water hoping for a cruising bass or pike but was simply left to the Canadian geese and mallards who watched me with caution.

It was at that time that the sky began clouding over, the sun was tagging the horizon, and the temperature dropped even more.  I was beginning to become chilled, so I drifted down through the main channel of the lake towards the boat launch.  Doing so, I caught a nice 15” bass before losing another at the kayak and calling it a day; loading my gear back into my Jeep.

I had two different outings, on two different days, in two different environments, catching two different species of fish.  Although both adventures centered around water, which easily tugs at my soul, the different excursions melded into one as I went two for two.

See you along The Way…

Lessons Learned On The Water

It’s a lake once removed from the one on which we rent a cabin.  My Dad had been there on his own before, but on this day we loaded a canoe and two kayaks for him and me, plus three nephews.  Throughout the week on the main lake we had been catching some fish; most of them okay to decent by most accounts.  But on this newer lake, there was the hope for some pike or muskie, with the prayer that they’d be big.  The lake itself isn’t big water, but it’s water.  And although it's choked full of weeds across most of it, it apparently retained the necessary habitat that warranted an investigative fishing adventure.  It’s a lake that’s bordered by white pines instead of cabins, so it has that going for it as a wild flair.

Myself, Matthew, Max, Rowan, And Dad

After unloading the vessels, and loading up our gear, we split up; going in various directions.  I was in one of the solo kayaks and decided to work my way along the shoreline while casting into the soft stemmed bulrush.  Eventually I fished my way past an inlet creek to the eastern side of the lake.  It was at about that time that I had a big hit on my spinner bait lure; the one with the extra trailer hook that I like.  The fish was strong, fought hard, and when I got it up to the side of the kayak I was greeted with the toothy grin of a 30 inch northern pike.  In the distance I saw my Dad with Max and Matthew in the canoe down by the outlet, and Rowan in the other kayak was on the shoreline opposite from me.  Using my fish gripper, I lifted the fish up behind me and managed to get a selfie with part of it.  I elected to keep it, but without a dispatching club, I simply ran the rope stringer through its mouth and tied it onto the side of my kayak.  It was so chunky that it kept jerking my kayak around while I continued to fish.

Within several casts after that, I had a huge muskie follow my lure.  It must have been between 40 and 50 inches as it slowly cruised under my kayak, turned, and disappeared down into the weeds.  As I was positioned in my seat down next to the water, it was what you’d classify as up close and personal!  I froze, taking short little breaths, and after a brief wait, cast several times in the direction it had finned away, but to no avail.

I fished for a while longer and then got another hit from a pike, this one a 25 inch fish.  Rowan, upon seeing me with some action, paddled over to me and took a picture of me holding it up.

On a whim, not usually like me, I decided to keep this pike too.  Perhaps in the back of my brain I pictured a family fish fry, since we all enjoy the taste of fish and especially pike.  As I untied the first pike I had caught, and started to put the rope through the gills of the 25 inch pike, the 30 incher jerked and ripped the stringer from my hand.  Like a shot I saw it spiraling free down into the depths, I plunged my hand down into the water and managed to grab the very end of the yellow nylon rope.  With big eyes I looked at Rowan and said, “That was close!”  As I began to run it into the gills a second time, both of the pike simultaneously thrashed.  In the midst of the sudden turmoil within the close confines of the kayak, the wet stringer slipped from my hands again before I could recover!  The last thing I saw was the white bellies of two big pike and the tip of the yellow cord disappearing into the black deep.  I said a few frustrated words and sat there dumbfounded; unfortunately more dumb than founded.  There was absolutely nothing I could do but mutter to myself and stare at the water.  What had just happened?  Two prized fish were on a stringer down on the bottom of the lake and out of my sight.  I felt sick to my stomach.  Feelings of shame, guilt, embarrassment, and frustration flooded over me.  What I had done was so stupid.  I knew better than to have done what I had just done.  I switched out to my Red Eyed spoon lure, with the large treble hook on it, and ran it over and over through the water, hoping against all odds that I’d be able to snag the stringer and bring them back up.  All I could think of was the waste.  Taking something to eat is one thing.  Allowing something to suffer was another.  I felt as if I’d been selfish to think that I would need both fish.  In the midst of my casting and retrieving, two more muskies followed up to my kayak; somewhere in the 30-40 inch range.  They were tauntingly eerie in the way that they slowly cruised past me.

A bit later, when my Dad and the boys paddled up, I recalled the tragedy to them.  Literally as I was in the middle of retelling the details of my loss, the two pike and yellow stringer suddenly surfaced a mere 10 feet off my bow, splashed, and dove back down again.  I continued casting to snag them and hoped they would repeat their performance, but that would be the last I would see of my stringer of pike.  My Dad practically had to pull me off the lake when it was time to quit.  I didn’t want to leave!  As I helped load the kayaks, I rationalized that the 25 inch pike probably had a chance of pulling off the stringer, but there was no way that the 30 inch would.  Either it would stay tangled down in the weeds for a snapping turtle, or somewhere a yellow stringer would soon decorate one of the local eagle nests.  A blue ribbon for a prized find.  Finders keepers, losers weepers.

The rest of that afternoon I was depressed.  I sat on the swing outside of our cabin and talked to my sister for a while.  When it rained briefly, I took a 40 minute nap.  Afterwards, the family gathered at our cabin for a pork roast we had cooked in a crockpot, I read for a spell, and then we capped off our evening with ice cream in the small town not too far away.  It had been a day.

Making The Most Of An Otherwise Difficult Day

The following morning I took a walk down to the public boat launch and back to help clear the cobwebs from my head.  I felt like I needed to do something to get out of the funk I was in after the previous day’s disaster.  After breakfast, a couple of us went on a morning boat ride with my Mom in the resort’s pontoon raft.  While out we saw several eagles roosting in trees along the shoreline.  And then together with my parents and niece Maggie, we drove to a coffee shop where my wife was already working on some school work for her Master’s Degree, before we headed out to a cranberry bog and farm.  It was a great little trip on back country roads where we talked, saved turtles trying to cross on the blacktop, and munched on some of the packages of dried cranberries that I had purchased.

By lunch time my Dad had had about enough.  I think he felt like it was time to get me back in the saddle again and out fishing.  Time was a wastin’!  With the rest of the family busy with their own activities, we strapped his canoe onto his trailer and headed back over to the smaller lake; the scene of yesterday’s accidental crime.

After launching, we worked our way around the lake, pitching various lures to and fro.  Dad worked from the stern and I manned the bow.  Between the two of us and the gunwales, in the bottom of the canoe, was my brand new, rubber meshed, landing net.  It had a big hoop, extendable handle, and was the very one that Matt Nelson (aka: NDYakAngler) uses on his YouTube channel.  It’s nothing more than an Ozark Trail special from Walmart, but I secretly hoped it would help land a big fish!

After working our way from one side of the lake to the other several different times, and drifting in the slight breeze, I had a solid strike between mats of underwater foliage; in what appeared to be a deeper channel.  The fish swung our bow around, made a run, and then double backed under the canoe; with the sound of my pole’s tip slapping underneath us as the reel drag whined.  My pole was aimed out over the port side of Dad’s olive green, 14 foot Wenonah, but my line and the fish were somewhere over off the starboard.  The canoe spun under finned propulsion as Dad tried to guide us with his paddle.  Gradually I gained an advantage, saw it was a muskie, and managed to scoop it into my net on one of its numerous passes.  It was my third muskie in as many years at that point, but the first in my net.  Dad handed me his fish gripper so I could hook it onto its jaw, lift it, and have him take my picture.  It was a great scene and a great memory that would now be etched into my brain.  Who would know that somewhere in the waters behind that awesome snapshot, two pike were probably tangled in the weeds down below the surface?  I extracted the lure, eased the great fish into the cool water, and released the gripper; working its body back and forth until the 39 inch muskie slid off from my fingers.  A fish and experience like that helps to ease the pain of a mishap.

For the next half hour or so we continued to fish.  Dad caught and released a small pike and I had a trailing pike and muskie; neither of which were interested in actually hitting my lure.  We headed to shore, packed up our gear, and drove back along the dusty two track road; smiles etched on our faces.

That evening, with our family gathered around, we had an excellent dinner of tacos before several of us headed out for a sunset pontoon raft ride.  We had an osprey and eagle fly overhead and were able to get a great picture of them both.  The capstone of the evening, however, was the loon that surfaced as we slowly motored with hardly a ripple.  It was only 10-15 feet off the side of us, and actually made its wild tremolo call several times with us right there next to it.  It was exhilarating, and each of us found ourselves in awe of the spectacle.  It’s a sound that encapsulates the Northwoods.

So too the Northwoods can be an opportunity to catch a big fish.  Having a Northwoods experience as I did, surrounded by the actual Northwoods, is memorable.  It brings clarity as to what really lurks in the deep.  Being blessed with the encounter of a muskie, after such a heavy loss and painful learning experience, is nothing short of a gracious gift.  It’s one of the many lessons I’ve learned while out on the water.

See you along The Way…

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Morning At The Cabin

An Osprey

A Bald Eagle

Dad

Mom

A Loon

A Lake That Gave Up Her Secrets

 

It was the third year in a row that my wife Cindy, daughter Jodi, and I had spent at Jung’s Birch Lake “Tranquility Cottage”.  Born of necessity to get-a-way in the middle of the pandemic of 2020, we now use the week to reconnect.  Because Jodi’s been going to grad school in Texas this last year, she came back to join us Up North where we could spend time making some memories together.

The days quickly fell into a rhythm.  Being familiar now with the lake and surrounding area, I typically headed out to fish in the morning and spent time at the cabin with the ladies in the afternoon.  During that time we’d read, journal, take walks, fix and eat dinner, go for a drive, or go get ice cream.  The weather was pleasant during the day (70° ’s) and cold at night (50° ’s); a refreshing change of pace from what Cindy and I had been experiencing back home and from the triple digits of central Texas for Jodi!

I’d caught some fish in this lake each of the last two years; not a lot of fish, but some big fish.  So each cast this year was made with hopeful expectations.  Gordon Lightfoot sang in his song of Lake Superior and the Edmund Fitzgerald, “she never gives up her dead.”  Likewise, Birch Lake doesn’t always like to give up her fish, unless the fisherman has a lot of patience, some ideas of where to start, and a little knowhow on the lures of choice.  Any knowledge that I’ve gained has primarily come through intuition, mistakes, and sometimes just plain, dumb luck.  When she does give up her fish, they are downright memorable!

The first full day of the week (Sunday) was my 56th birthday.  I fished for several hours that morning with absolutely no action; until there was.  While retrieving a deep diving lure, a fish hit just below the aluminum boat.  I saw the flash, and instantly felt the pull.  What I eventually reeled in was a 23” walleye.  Although I’ve fished a lot throughout my life, for some reason this was my first walleye; and probably one of the last of the main freshwater game fish I had yet to catch.  We postponed my birthday dinner of tacos and had walleye, dipped in Shore Lunch, and fried in butter.  It was a memorable happy birthday indeed!

I Used My Grand-Dad Fagerlund's Old
Fillet Knife To Clean The Walleye.

On Monday morning the air was cool, and with hardly any breeze, the lake was like glass.  I tried several different spots around our end of the lake, but didn’t catch anything until the sun began to heat things up.  Using my Whopper Plopper lure, I caught a nice 18” smallmouth bass that exploded on it and jumped multiple times; all within sight of our cabin and dock.  I released it and watched it swim quickly back under some nearby lily pads.  It’s fun to catch a fish on that surface lure as I feel like Matt Nelson, the YouTube fisherman under the tagname of, “ndyakangler.”  That evening Jodi and I fished together in a back bay for a while.  I managed to catch a 20” pike; releasing it after a quick picture into the water from which it came.

Tuesday morning was slow going.  I caught and released one small pike, but otherwise it was simply time in a boat; which was still worth every minute.  Before heading in, I shared the last hour or so with a doe and her two fawns as they made their way along the shoreline.

On Wednesday morning I started the day by running the hills around the lake, jumping off the dock to rinse off, and eating breakfast.  By that time I had formulated a bit of an adventure in my mind, so with the kayak that comes with our cabin, I set off with some of my fishing gear for a neighboring lake.  It was like being the main character of an epic tale about a guy who trudges through Hell to get to a Heavenly secret lake.  Indeed, it required a lot of grunt work, mud, slogging up and over beaver dams, and wallowing through a swamp, but it was well worth the struggle.  Halfway to my destination I took a break to catch my breath, rest, and was actually able to get a connection so I could talk to my Dad on the phone.  I told him he wouldn’t believe where I was (actually he could picture such a place because he knows me, has done that type of thing himself, and even looked up my location on a satellite image).  The ensuing lake was choked with weeds, but I fished some of the sporadic open sections with a #5 silver Mepps.  After an initial small pike, I managed to catch and wrestle in two twin northerns at a smidge over 25 inches.  I elected to keep them as I truly do love the taste of pan fried pike.  Before I headed back, I caught and released a couple of largemouth bass that were hanging out next to a beaver lodge.  The final paddle across Birch Lake was against the wind, which of course had whipped up some small, rolling whitecaps by that time.  I thought my arms were going to rip out of their sockets before I reached our cottage, but regardless, it was a classic way to end the day’s tale!

Thursday morning’s fishing expedition lasted no more than an hour.  While fishing a small bay, a giant fish went airborne after hitting my Mepps. Spinner.  It was hard to tell what it was exactly.  All I really saw was a large body and a lot of water being thrashed about.  It dove deep, but as I brought it close to the boat, after it had taken multiple runs, I could see that it was a muskie.  I felt fortunate that I had my large, rubberized net.  It’s safe for the fish, and a bit easier to handle them when they are in it.  Make no mistake that with the combination of power, hook barbs, and fish teeth, it’s not what I would label as an easy task.  It is, however, more manageable of a venture as it allows you to keep a fish in the water while using your multi-tool pliers to get the hook out.  Actually, for this fish, which measured at 33 inches, I had to grab it under its jaw and lift it from the net.  I find that it immobilizes them more than a gripper.  This also allowed me to reach down into the muskie’s mouth to extract the treble hook while still holding it.  I lifted it for a quick photograph and then eased it back into the lake, where with a flick of its tail, it disappeared.  At that point, and after a fish like that, I quit for the morning.  That fish was my fourth muskie in three summers, my second of the year, and although the smallest of all of them, I was more than satisfied with the experience!

My Plug Of Cedar
With A Prayer Of Thankfulness
For The Opportunity
Before Each Fishing Adventure.

That afternoon I took the girls to a nearby bay where they caught panfish and perch.  They had fun, laughed, and enjoyed being out on the lake.  We kept 6 of them that we ate that evening along with one of the pike from the day before.

I closed out the week with a 25 ½ inch pike on a cold and early Friday morning.  I took a selfie with the fish and then released it as I didn’t feel as though I needed to keep it (we were already bringing home one of the two pike that I had caught on Wednesday for a meal later this fall).  The interesting story of that last fish was that I was able to see the wake it made as it charged out from some lily pads before it actually hit my spinner.  Talk about short lived anticipation!  Knowing that something was about to happen, I waited only a fraction of a second for the actual strike.

All in all our week together was fun, relaxing, and just what any doctor with half a mind would have ordered.  Fishing was just a portion of what we did that week, but to that end, it was an important facet of the overall experience.  Thankfully, Birch Lake, in its tranquility and serenity, shared some of its secrets and gave up her fish.  Interestingly enough, the brochure for Jung’s Birch Lake Cottages states, “The natural beauty of this 180 acre lake offers you great fishing for Musky, Northern, Bass, Walleye, and Panfish…”  Indeed it does, and indeed it did - on all accounts, with fish that were truly memorable!

See you along The Way…

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