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

Lightning Strikes Twice

 

We were on a final fling for the summer.  A final fling to the Northwoods, and a final fling with our daughter before she headed to the southern side of this country for Grad School.  The cabin we had rented was sitting in exactly the same place we had left it last year.  It felt like home because we were now familiar with the owners (Don & Betty Jung), the place on the lake, and the surrounding area; as well as the fact that when we arrived to unpack, all of the windows were open to the screens as the air off the water was flowing freely.

The day we had arrived happened to be my birthday.  Typically I push my limits on that day; running long miles, or fishing insurmountable bends and currents of a river.  My only exertion that day, however, was driving North and carrying gear in from the Jeep to the cabin.  That was an undertaking well worth any energy spent on the day I turned the “Double Nickel” (#55), because it was another chance to get-a-way in a summer already filled with various adventures.  Following a dinner of baked spaghetti made with seasoned pork (one of my favorites), I escaped out onto the lake to cast a line from the kayak.

For the first several days my hours were spent fishing, running the Bearskin Trail, reading, and writing.  Together we swam, took both boat and car rides, and of course went out for ice cream.  In the evenings we relaxed and binge watched the final few episodes of the Longmire series that we had started watching earlier in the Spring.

On the evening of our 3rd day we had a big storm rumble through with rolling thunder and wicked lightning.  With the lights from the cabin penetrating the darkness, you could see that the path to the lake had turned into a babbling brook.  Eventually the power went out, but candles only added to the ambiance.  As we got ready for bed, we saw a long bolt of lightning strike a point out further on the lake.  The charged energy was a whitish-blue bolt that appeared to stand suspended above the large pines that it illuminated.  Among the flashes in the distance, we saw that intense strike, seemingly up close and personal; not once, but twice.

The following morning I got up early and bailed water from the boat so I could go fishing.  Instead of relying solely on the kayaks and canoe that come with the cabin, this year we decided to rent a motor for the cabin’s aluminum boat.  It allowed me a little more time to fish as I moved to various spots around the lake.  Since this was our second time at Jung's Birch Lake Cottages, I had begun to learn where I could find drop-offs, sand bars, and underwater structures where the fish hang out.  In addition, I also had learned where eagles perch and the loons dive for small fish.  With my telescoping camera I got some great pictures of wildlife.

Once the boat was dry and my gear was put in, I fished a small indent of a bay with a decent drop off.  Just off the end of a dock I had a good sized bass hit my lure.  It jumped and fought before finally throwing my lure as it approached the starboard side of the boat.  After losing that fish I decided to relocate and work a shoreline that averaged five feet; hoping to catch a midmorning bass or pike cruising the shallows.

While the sun rose higher, and the temperatures climbed, I was beginning to consider heading back to the “Tranquility Cabin.”  Other than the bass, I hadn’t caught a thing.  I chose instead to fish a shallower area, choked full of weeds, hoping to entice a lurking fish in a last ditch effort to hook into something.  I made a long cast with my favorite #5 silver spooned Mepps, when I became instantly snagged.  It was held fast and wouldn’t budge; until it did.  As I pulled back on my pole hoping to break free, the drag on my pole began to whine.  I knew the feel, and this time there was no mistaking it.  I was pretty certain what I was up against, and that lightning was about to strike twice. (See last year's blog entry entitled: A Rookie In Tight Quarters)

While I held the pole with my left hand, bracing it against my forearm, I used my right to pull up the anchor.  With my knee holding each tug, I kept the anchor from slipping back down.  I didn’t need an inadvertent tangle.  I was the picture of mindfulness as I surveyed my surroundings, trying to figure out what I was going to do when I managed to get the muskie up to the boat.

At least I was in a boat.  Last year I was side by side with teeth, barbs, and water in a kayak.  This time I could stand and look down into the water as it came into view.  Comparing it to the yellow measuring tape stuck to the inside of the boat, I muttered something about it being almost 50 inches while recording a quick video.  In reality it was closer to 40 inches, but I hadn’t been sure how long the yellow measuring sticker actually was in the foreground of my sight.

CLICK BELOW FOR A VIDEO OF A

THE MUSKIE FINALLY COMING UP TO THE BOAT

To watch the video you may you may need to change the "view version" at the bottom of the page.

Once I took a few pictures, my mind snapped into action.  I had previously removed one of the oars to avoid having it get in the way, so I used the remaining one still in the lock to “river-raft” myself towards the nearest shore.  But after rowing back and forth once or twice I realized that it wasn’t going to work.  The great fish was tiring so I took a chance and put the pole between my knees.  I grabbed the loose oar and put it back in the lock before rowing as hard as I could 3 or 4 times to propel myself into the sandy shallows.

As we neared the shore, I threw the anchor out and jumped into the water.  With my gripper in hand, I eased the muskie towards me.  I could see the teeth protruding alongside it’s massive head with the hooks of my spinner solidly held in it’s hard bony jaw.  Fortunately it was hooked in a way that would make for an easy extraction.  It was the muskie’s eyes that held my attention though.  They stared right through me.  Without malice or ill-contempt they simply took me in.  Have you ever looked into the eyes of a live muskellunge?  I couldn’t see a distinct pupil, but what I saw was a huge, steely-gray button, like those of a shark.  It was hauntingly memorable.  I savored the moment.

On my first attempt to attach my gripper on it’s jaw, the giant fish simply pulled away and made a run, pulling my line and drag with it.  On my second attempt I was firmly attached.  Using a pair of needle nosed pliers from my multi-tool, I quickly removed the hook.  I grabbed my phone from the seat of the boat and lifted the fish as high as I could.  My face strained, and my mouth contorted, but I managed a picture.  That was all I wanted, and all that I could get.  It wasn’t pretty, but it sure was beautiful.

I noticed a small section of it’s gill that had slipped out from behind it’s gill cover and wondered what old war wound had once occurred.  Imagine if a fish like this could share it’s experiences.  What a story it would be!  I released the gripper from the jaw of the muskie and held it in my arms while bending over knee-deep in the water.  I worked it back and forth, forcing water and oxygen through its gills and sharing the moment; wishing someone would remind and help me to breathe.  Gradually strengthened, the muskie slowly, but powerfully, pushed away.  With its giant tail fin swishing back and forth it was a perfect contrast of reddish-brown against the sandy, graveled bottom of the lake.

As the fish disappeared into the depths below the sparkling surface of the water, I stood and breathed.  Gentle waves lapped against the sides of the boat beside me.  Unbelievable.  It was simply unbelievable.  I saw in my mind, as I had captured in the final seconds of the video that I had taken, the sun perfectly catching the colors and size of that muskie when it had turned beside the boat; its eyes looking up at me.  While standing there in the water where I had released the fish, it was a memory I didn’t think that I’d probably ever forget.

I packed my loose gear away, lifted the anchor into the back of the boat, and pushed it out into deeper water before hopping up into the bow.  As I motored back to the cabin, I’ll admit that I had a smile etched on my face, but only while shaking my head in belief.  I couldn’t wait to tell Cindy and Jodi my story.

That afternoon I worked on a blog entry about a fishing trip that my cousins and I had taken a few weeks prior, and then we all headed into Minocqua.  I needed a new reel, as the one I had been using had a cracked bail (and had already been fixed once by my Dad).  I’m sure that the strain from the muskie had accentuated it.  The guys at Kurt’s Island Sport Shop were helpful and talked me into a Piscifun Honor XT2000 Reel; one that I never even heard of before.  I enjoyed talking to the gentleman helping me as I looked at the various reels, and showed him a picture of the muskie that I caught that morning.

The girls and I then went to Kilwin’s for ice cream and walked along the shoreline beside West Park Avenue.  Ice cream helps make a vacation feel like a vacation, and we laughed as we talked.

Once we were home to the cabin I kept feeling like the morning’s catch was going to be difficult to repeat.  I shrugged my shoulders though, grabbed my pole, and told Cindy & Jodi that I was going to cast off the dock a few times before calling it a day.

On my second or third cast I got a hold of a big bass.  Once hooked, it consequently jumped four different times in succession.  Each time I felt the line tension lessen, as it raced towards me, I reeled like crazy to keep the line taut.  I knew when it was about to jump and try to throw the lure.  Jodi and Cindy actually heard the splashing from up at the cabin and came out to see what was going on.  What I caught was the biggest smallmouth bass I’ve ever caught at 19 ½ inches.  With Jodi’s help, she snapped a couple of pictures of me holding the smallie and then I gently released the big bass off the end of the dock and back into the water.

I stood and shook my head again.  What a day it had been on good ole Birch Lake.  Two big fish?  Are you kidding me?  Lightning can indeed strike twice!

See you along The Way...

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PHOTO ALBUM

This Was On My 10 Mile Run
(9 Miles Exactly Around The Lake Plus A Mile)

Ice Cream At The Windmill : )
"A Farewell To The Northland" Treat!
(And That's A "Single" Scoop)

CLICK BELOW FOR A VIDEO OF

LAPPING WATER OFF THE DOCK

AS THE SOUND OF LIFE SHOULD BE.