There is something about the descent into a trout valley in Southeast Minnesota that puts me in a good mood like few other things can.  I started my journey on Saturday with the hopelessly boring drive on the highway south of the cities.  The only thing of interest is the occasional stream that is passed over; I make sure I’m in the right lane at every stream crossing so I can get the best view of the water below, helping to get a gauge on the overall water conditions for the area. I hit Rochester and find it to be more of an annoyance than anything [better watch your speed, cops have someone pulled over every time I’m though on 52].  At some point I get off the highway, at least now there are some interesting old farms and other curiosities but it is still a bleak landscape, painted by someone whose palette doesn’t go beyond gray and tan.  Then suddenly the road is pointing downhill.  Down a steep hill.  The colors spectrum changes from mostly gray to mostly green. Usually as I get close to my fishing destination my speed increases in anticipation of getting there, but today I find myself riding the brake though the valley as I try to take it all in.  There are several streams that come together here, and there are many people out enjoying the great day.

My destination is a stream I have not been on before, and actually had very little info on other than some very limited second hand accounts.  One key feature is that it is lightly fished due to lack of access points.  I had Google Earthed the crap out of this stream, and the parking spot I was looking for was easy to find.  I was disappointed that there were three other cars there.  One vehicle had three generations of trout anglers about to head up the trail, they shared a bit of info with me, assuring me I would like what I found up in the valley.  I was probably five minutes behind them on the trail, but they were nowhere in sight.  The trail paralleled the river which was a few hundred yards away.  Eventually the trail and river converged, and there were my buddies form the parking lot.  I quietly slipped past them, walked hard for about ten more minutes and decided to start fishing. 

When I’m on a new stream I fish very poorly. Or at least very quickly.  I had no way of knowing exactly what was around the next bend, where the best water was, or where any other anglers were.  Having fished a lot of streams I have learned that all trout streams tend to “behave” in a similar manner, which means that the ways that pools and rifles are arranged on one stream will likely be repeated on a completely different stream.  The stream had a strong “Lower Kinni” vibe.  Part of this was likely due to the hike up the valley, but there were a few riffles that had a twin on a different creek a hundred miles away. 

What flies worked the best here?  I had no idea.  As is usually the case, I had a black wooly bugger tied on from the last time out, and I made a few casts with it, but my MO on this type of water is to nymph my way upstream, and then bugger my way back.  So, I changed up with a nymph and a cork but continued to fish fast.  There was so much good looking water here that I just couldn’t slow down.  I would make a half dozen casts into “the juice” [this is Gunnar’s name for the “spot-on-the-spot”, as in “Quit casting into that bullshit water and throw into THE JUICE!”] and then march on to the next spot.  It is hard to describe what the juice looks like, as it is different in each riffle or pool, but anyone who is an experienced angler will know what I mean.  It usually involves an edge near the top of a run where the riffle comes in, where the current speed and depth are just right.  I found myself constantly alternating between looking back over my shoulder, anticipating other anglers coming upstream and straining to see what was up ahead.    Eventually I started catching fish.  Not sure if it was because I had slowed down, found the magic fly [I was using a one-of-a-kind beadhead thing], or if I just got into better water, but this stream appeared to be filthy with trout.  Most likely looking water would give up a few, and in a couple of spots I left them biting.  I got to a point where the tasty water changed to flat “gator water”, and I figured it was a good point to stop and start fishing back.  A break was in order, and I took my time eating a sandwich on a grassy bank.  I thought about how glad I was to be fishing alone this day.   I had asked my kids if they were up for trout fishing, but the response was less than lukewarm.  I had considered trying to hook up with a friend this day, but my schedule is unpredictable, and I never know what I’m going to want to do, or where I’m going to want to go.  Getting someone to put up with my unpredictability, and is willing and able to keep up, will have their own gear, know how to use it etc. is tough.  I like fishing with others, especially on known water, but on this day I was glad to have all the adventure to myself.

Despite all of my marching and fish catching, the spectacle of a mature hardwood forest on a spring day was not lost on me.  The forest floor was a green carpet speckled with millions of white flowers, reminding me of stars in the night sky.  I was wishing for a camera better than what is in my phone, but it would have to do.  I was keeping an eye out for morels, but never did find a single one. 

There were quite a few Pheasant Back mushrooms sprouting from dead logs though, and I decided today was going to be the day I would harvest some.  I could already imagine cooking them up along with the five trout that I was quite sure I would catch on the way back downstream.  And I figured I should dig up a few of the millions of ramps growing in the forest while I was at it, these wild relatives of onions were another thing I had never harvested before.  [note to self—put a small shovel in your vest for ramp digging detail, digging them up barehanded is tough and dirty]

Sandwich eaten, bugger tied back on, let the trout harvesting begin.  This stream has special regs like many other Minnesota streams, and there is no kill between 12 and 16 inches.  The best ones for the pan are in the 9 to 11” range anyway.  First cast- twelve incher, about as big as I had seen in this stream.  I let it go, and was soon hooked to another, maybe a bit smaller.  I put the tape measure on it to confirm it was under a foot, and it went in The Sack.  The Sack is a mesh bag that mostly stays wadded up in the back of my vest, once in a while it gets to carry some trout.  Soon there were a couple more in there.  Funny thing, when I start fishing for trout that I’m going to keep it starts to be not as much fun.  When I’m catch and release fishing [which is most of the time] and one gets away I don’t really care at all.   When I’m keeping fish and a “sacker” gets off just as I’m about to grab him I can’t help but get pissed. 

A few fish started rising here and there, despite the fact I had hardly seen a bug on the water all day. There must have been something hatching, as many unidentified warblers and songbirds were picking things off as well.  The trout were hitting the bugger enough to get me to put aside any thoughts of dry fly fishing, but at some point they started coming up steady enough to get me to make the switch.  The only bugs I had seen were a few caddis, so I put on the old trusty Henryville Special.  They couldn’t get enough of it.  At some point The Sack had five trout in it, and I stopped fishing to clean them in the style of my grandpa.  He always gut and gilled his trout streamside, and I mostly keep the tradition alive, I have a little knife in my vest that is used only for this purpose.  I figured that doing this was probably illegal, but then continuing to fish with a limit of five in The Sack probably is too.  I took my chances with both, finally ending up in a run with 50 trout rising along the far bank.  I did a time check as I got to this spot, knowing I was now at the point where I was going to be late getting home.  How late was still debatable.  After tormenting another dozen fish I decided enough is enough and I began the march back to the truck.  I sent a text home indicating I was walking out of the valley.  The hike out took about a half hour.

Epilogue:

I cooked the trout as I always do, de-headed and de-finned, but otherwise whole, pan fried.  I chopped and sautéed the wild mushrooms and ramps and mixed them into some brown rice for a great accompaniment to the trout.  Wild trout, wild mushrooms and wild veggies, all harvest from the same verdant valley.  Sometimes life is pretty good.

There was one trout left, which I ate for breakfast this morning with more ramps and over-easy eggs.

Dream up, dream up,
let me fill your cup…

It seems like I’ve got it in my head that 2015 was a terrible fishing year for me.  As a dad, a homeowner, a landlord, an employee, and an actual grownup, I sure don’t have the time to get out like I used to.  Although part of that is that I don’t NEED to catch fish like I used to.  What the heck, Wisconsin trout season just opened, and I haven’t even considered going, and probably won’t for at least a month.  The fact that favorite trout stream went to crap doesn’t help, but more on that later.

And for someone who doesn’t “fish that much anymore”, I sure do fish a lot.  I was explaining to an old friend, “It’s frustrating to not get out much anymore.  I only made it out one night last week, and only one half day on the weekend.  I did go on a short trip out of town the weekend before that, but otherwise…”  Now I notice my friend has a WTF look on his face that says “You still fish more than anyone I know”.

Fish smarter, not harder might be my mantra now.  I don’t do a lot of exploratory stuff anymore, and really try to focus on what I can depend on.  But I somehow still manage to add some new spots to the lineup, which is good because some old favorites have been way off.  The more you fish, the easier it is to stay on them, and its easier to decide when to make a move if you have plenty of spots to make a move to.

Here’s where we launched for smallies one fine day this fall, based on a tip from a friend.  It was a good tip.

My fishing season usually kicks off in early March, chasing trout on favorite Wisco streams.  It’s no secret now that the trout numbers are WAY down, populations have suffered from a few long cold winters and some big floods.  Last opener I managed only a few fish on my first trips, but one was a full sized 20” brown.

Next on the itinerary was a trip to Sanibel/Captiva, one of my favorite places. Besides going out with a guide one day and renting a boat one day,I got out at dawn a few mornings to harass the snook and stuff that live there and ended up having good fishing each time, and one morning was really great—seriously one of the best fishing sessions I’ve ever had ever.  Some big snook, a redfish that was ridiculous, and I didn’t get eaten or even gnawed on by a shark or alligator.  A manatee came up so close to me that I was able to poke it with just the tip section of a 3 piece fly rod.

I kept my parking receipts from each morning, the time shown was how long my parking was good for.

May saw the beginning of the end of a favorite bass lake—Little Falls Lake was drained last year. I got in one last session there in the float tube.  It looks likely to me that the dam will be rebuilt and the lake will fill back in, but I have to believe it will be 10 years or more before the fishing comes back to what it once was.

Summer means smallmouth on the Mississippi, but for reasons I’m unsure of, this was not fishing well this year either, at least not in the Monti stretch.   There were fish to be caught for sure, but you had to work for them.  A big catfish was my most memorable catch from there this year.

I did take the girls on a camping/fishing trip later in the summer, we had a fine time in the Royalton section.  We’re looking forward to doing it again this year.

Savannah is my partner is a series of bass tournaments each summer.  When started this two years ago I made it clear that we didn’t have to win…but we definitely don’t want to lose!  The first year we did pretty good, always came in with a nice bag and were even in the money once.  This past year, ugh.  I’m not sure what happened but we just couldn’t get it together.  This year will be better, I just have to convince Savannah that bass can be caught in places other than under docks.

Here is Savannah weighing in our bag at South Center Lake.

One perk of working in the fishing business is that once in a while you can actually be on the clock while fishing, usually under the guise of product testing, team building, or some other BS.  One such day I was testing out some new equipment for my company on White Bear Lake.  When I had done all the testing that was needed I found I still had an hour before I needed to be anywhere.  It was hot and sunny and calm, not ideal fishing weather, but I somehow ended up with a full-sized muskie on the line in less than ten casts.  I also got a phone call that day that was a job offer, and it is with this new company that I am presently employed.  So to summarize this day– 1.  Got paid to be out on the water.  2.  Caught a big muskie.   3.  Got offered a new job.  I guess this was a good day.

There were other fish, there were great times spent on the water with family and friends.  Agates and mushrooms were found.  Fish were kept and eaten.  There were sunrises and sunsets, campfires, canoes, kayaks, seashells, loons, lady slippers, waterfalls, rivers, streams, and lakes.  I wanted to just mention a couple of highlights, I find myself wanting to add to what I’ve already got here.  Now that I really look back, there may have been somewhat of a shortage of fish that were caught, but there were as many good memories as a person could ask for.

One friend tells me I am definitely living the dream.  He may be right–I have a great wife, two kids, two boats, a house, a job, and I do get to fish a fair amount.

Here’s to 2016, which I see is the year of the monkey.  There must be a joke here somewhere, but much like a school of 4 lb. largemouth, I just can’t seem to find it.

Like most parents, I want my kids to like what I like, and if I bribe them to play along, does that make me a bad parent?  If so, better get CPS on the phone, because a day of fishing with dad is likely to end with a stop for ice cream.  But a camping trip was going to need an extra special level of bribery.

As it turns out, Savannah did go on a camping trip with me two summers ago.  It was touch and go for a while when a seriously bad storm rolled through our campsite on the shores of a remote lake.  It really was bad, but we made it through it OK, just a little soggy.  Savannah still gets nervous thinking about that storm.  On our way home, we stopped in Royalton at one of Minnesota’s best known tourist traps and I let her pick something off their crowded shelves of treasures.

We drive by this store every time we go to Grandma’s house, and Savannah will generally remind Skylar of how she got to stop there, how great it was inside there, and don’t you wish you could go there.  So my bait to get them to go camping included a stop at Treasure City.  It so happens that there is a nice campground on the river right there, so plans were made, and on a fine July morning we pulled into the Sportsman’s Club Campground.

Since this was midweek, I wasn’t too surprised to find a lot of empty campsites, so we chose a site right on the river near the boat launch.  A nice breeze coming off the river assured the mosquitos would stay away, and we had our tent set up in ten minutes.

My camping gear consists of a tent, sleeping bag, a lantern, a folding chair, and an axe, so I’m faring a little better than the folks on “Naked and Afraid”.  I don’t have any camp cooking stuff, most of what cook in camp involves either aluminum foil or a stick.  Hot dogs are far from being a favorite food, but I like to keep it simple, less time cooking = less time cleaning = more time doing other stuff, like fishing or relaxing around a campfire.

So camp is set, boat is launched, and we’re now heading upriver.  This is a section of the Mississippi I had only been on once before, my memory of it was good fishing, but shallow and pretty treacherous for a prop boat.  The other time I was here I ended up having to walk the boat up through a particularly shallow stretch around some islands, and after studying the area on Google Earth I decided that a different channel would allow for easier passage.  Wrong.  I have often been in the predicament of trying to get through too-shallow water, when faced with this I will have my boat partner get all the way up to the bow—this will raise the transom up, giving a little more clearance.  On this trip my boat partners weigh about a hundred pounds between them, so not much help there.  Ended up having to walk the boat up though about 100 yards of knee deep water again, and dinged my prop a few times when I was trying to push my luck.  They did offer words of encouragement as I muled the Jon boat up through the shallow riffle.                   

Besides catching smallmouth, we have one other activity:  this section of the Mississippi is one of a few places on the entire earth where a special kind of stone called a “staurolite” is found.  These are also called “Fairy Stones” or “Fairy Crosses” and you can bet I talked these up to the girls who are all about anything that has to do with fairies.  A perfect fairy stone [I’ve only seen pictures of a perfect one] looks somewhat like a Maltese cross. It’s no secret where to find these stones, and as we approached the area I had learned about I could see there were several people in the area, stooped over and intently studying the gravel.  I’m no geologist, but I couldn’t imagine why the stones would only be found on one side of the river, and since we had a boat we went straight across from the publicized spot.  We found plenty of stones, but I think that finding a fairy stone that looks anything like an actual cross is pretty rare. Our best fairy stones are pretty boring looking at a glance, but it is interesting how they have a diamond cross-section. We also found some nice mica pieces. 

Once our rock hunt was over it was time to fish.  We alternated between drifting and anchoring, and while the fishing wasn’t red hot, the girls each got a few fish.  I had come up with a points system where various fish captured would equal dollars to spend at Treasure City.  This did cause argument over who got to watch the night crawler rod while anchored, as the crawler was likely to produce fish other than smallmouth.  We spent an hour anchored at one spot where smallies were aggressively feeding on damselflies.  I have seen this a few times before on my home water, and usually have a few damsel fly patterns on board just in case.  I took them out last week while consolidating fly boxes, so we just went through the tackle box, trying this and that.  The biggest smallmouth ate a crawler, but most memorable was one Skylar caught on a crankbait she picked out of her tackle box.  It was the first time she caught a bass on a lure where she made the cast and set the hook herself, and it while it wasn’t very big, I’ve never been more proud.

As the sun got a little lower, the action picked up, but the girls were a little spent.  I fished some likely looking shorelines myself and put on a mini-clinic on how to catch smallies on soft plastics—caught about 5 fish and missed a few others before we had drifted back to camp.

When we got back to the ramp we met a gal who was about 3 weeks into a Lake Itasca to the Gulf of Mexico kayak trip.  She had the world’s smallest tent, but seemed to have everything she needed, including a pink flamingo for a mascot.  She looked just like someone I had met a few years ago doing the same thing, but when asked she replied “No one would do this twice!” A solar panel on the kayak kept her computer and phone charged.  The strange thing to me was that she is from California, and I didn’t get the vibe she had even been to Minnesota before.

Here she is just before I gave her a shove and on her way down stream

Our dinner that night was Easy Mac [turned out horrible, turns out you need a microwave for this kind of mac and cheese] and hot dogs.  I had foil and butter with in case a walleye or pike was foolish enough to end up in the boat, but our species this day included smallmouth bass, channel catfish, and redhorse sucker.  Skylar still can’t quite figure out why we eat some kinds of fish but not others.  After our nutritious dinner it was time for a Minnesota campfire classic– s’mores—I even ate one.  Finally the fire died down and it was time to turn in.  We soon found that a huge emergence of stoneflies was going on, and they were EVERYWHERE, including in the tent.  All of my explanations of how harmless they were fell on deaf ears, and the girls would not rest until all had met their demise by flip flop.  After my stories of sasquatches in these parts on the way up, it was decided that the safest place in the tent in the event of an attack would be in the middle.  Savannah [of course] claimed this spot for herself, and the girls watched a movie on their DVD player.  The night was uneventful, no sasquatches, no yetis, not even a woodchuck.

The following morning was the kind of morning we all hope for—a bit cool, but sunny and glorious in all ways.  The girls were delighted that I had hot chocolate fixins, so I made a batch and got the fire going again.  To keep the nutrition and chocolate theme going they had Cocoa Puffs for breakfast.  I made them wash the few dishes we had while I broke camp, and then it was time to get back on the water.  I backed the boat down to the ramp to let some water drain out, and a guy who was part of a party that had just launched a driftboat commented on how much water was coming out of my boat.  “Well this boat has seen a lot of use and yeah, it has a slow leak, and because of how I had it parked last night the water didn’t drain out yadda yadda…and it’s only a couple gallons yadda yadda…” was my response.  So I launch and tie up to the dock.  Then I notice that the driftboat that the three guys had just launched was about half full of water.  I pointed this out to the guy who had been so nice to point out how much water came out of my boat, and suggested he put the plug in.  Well it wasn’t his boat, it belonged to one of the guys doing the shuttle, and he didn’t know where the plug was, and the yeti cooler on the dock wasn’t going to be much help for bailing.  I had a spare drain plug, figured out where it went and grabbed a couple of buckets and we had it mostly bailed out in a few minutes.

By now, my girls were on the dock watching the show.  We all got aboard, shoved off and wished the guy good luck.  We headed off upriver to where we had caught fish the day before.  It was mostly a repeat of the day before, no crazy fast action, but enough to keep everyone interested.  They had a double header on at one point, the smallie Savannah had on was the biggest of the trip but it got away just as it got to the boat.  Skylar caught one that ate an errant cast that landed 5 five feet from the transom while we were anchored in pretty swift current.

Note the custom pink worm Beetle Spin thing we put together that it ate

I even broke out the fly rod and managed to get one on a craw pattern.

We were in the home stretch, maybe a half mile from the ramp.  The water was pretty clear, and I could see the bottom pretty well in five feet of water.  When the conditions are like this I enjoy drifting along, spotting different fish.  I was seeing a lot of fish that at first I thought were big redhorse, but I soon realized they were mostly catfish, and big ones at that.  There must have been 50 in one short section, most looked to be 5 to 10 lbs.  We were out of bait by this time, or we would have anchored up and exercised a few kitties.  Next time.

Back at the ramp I pulled the boat up on the gravel and told the girls they should make some casts just below the access, as I had spotted a couple smallies there the day before.  When I got to my vehicle, my buckets and drain plug were waiting for me, along with ten bucks—that was a nice gesture.  I pulled the boat out, and after I had it strapped down I went to check on the girls.  They were still casting, but hadn’t quite made it to the best spot, an area where there was a nice rock pile about 30 feet from shore.  I had a great vantage from up on the high bank, and when I walked just a bit downstream, sure enough, there was a nice smallie patrolling the rocks, on the hunt for a well-placed Beetle Spin.  I was just about to call the girls to the area when I spotted another fish out there—a muskie!  Looked to be in the low 30” range, and would be sure provide a large amount of excitement if it was at the end of a little girl’s line.  I had them take turns casting at it, they tried a Rapala and a wacky worm, but no luck, that muskie was having none of it and left for calmer waters.  Then Skylar had a smallie nose right up to her wacky worm, I said “leave it…leave it…now give it a little twitch!” and she proceeded to jerk it about 4 feet, and Mr. Smallmouth went the same direction the muskie went.

You can’t see it, but there is a muskie 30 feet in front of Skylar

So now we were left with only one more thing to do—the promised stop at Treasure City.  With all their fish they had each accrued $12 to spend, and they managed to spend most of it on knick-knacks.  If you’ve never been there, it really does deserve a stop, the amount of crap they have crammed in there is impressive. Less than two hours later we were home again, already making plans for next year.

I’m not 100% sure what has caused to uptick in the interest in chasing muskies with the fly rod [those guys in Northern Wisconsin run a great program and probably have A LOT to do with it].  But despite what social media postings may lead you to believe [hardly a day will pass this summer without a fly-caught muskie showing up on Facebook], catching a muskie on a fly is still one of the biggest challenges to fly rodders. No matter where you decide to flail, a typical day of fly casting for muskies involves many hours of flogging the waters with the heaviest fly rod you own, casting a fly the size of a squirrel.  At some point during the day a muskie will eat your fly, at which point you will probably be so surprised that you will either not react at all, or worse yet, raise your rod tip in a trout-style hook set.  Both of these are likely to result in bad words and no pictures.  Spending time on high percentage waters, like the fine rivers of northern Wisconsin will up the odds that you will get multiple shots per outing.

But did you know that there are high percentage waters right here in the Twin Cities?  It’s true, there are over a dozen lakes right here in the Metro that have strong, fishable populations of muskies. Lakes like Independence, Eagle, White Bear, Forest—these all have muskies— with good numbers AND size.  Every one of these lakes has produced many fish over 50 inches, and these fisheries compare favorably with any other muskie water anywhere.

Here  is a typical metro area muskie, this one ate a popper

There is lots more to muskie fishing than just catching fish, and if you are thinking of planning a muskie trip to the North Woods you should do so.  To smell the pines and the fresh air, to hear the loons but not the cars, to take in a North Country Sunset, these are all things you should do at least once a year.

But if you want to get a primer or a refresher course on muskie fishing, perhaps you want to see if you are up the many hours of flogging with the big rod, maybe you want to get tuned up for your big trip, here is what I am offering:  From now through ice up, muskies are available to flyrodders on several of my favorite lakes, and you and a friend can get in on the action for only $250!  This is a weeknight venture, I will meet you and your partner [you can fish alone, too] at a local lake at 5:00 and we will fish until dark.  All tackle will be provided, you just need to show up with a can-do attitude, and let me put you on the fish.  I have my favorite lakes, where we will fish will depend on conditions and where you are coming from.  It is likely that the boat launch will be 30 minutes or less from where you live or work.

I didn’t say it would be easy, but it is totally doable, and it is likely that we’ll have some good chances at muskies, and probably catch a few bass and pike along the way.  You’ll learn the water, learn the techniques, and be in great shape for your next adventure.

While I am promoting this primarily to fly rodders, anglers with all types of gear are welcome.  If you want to fly fish but want to split the trip with someone using gear, that’s just fine.  [Don’t worry, the guy with the fly rod will always get the front of the boat!]

Here is me with a bigger than average one from a favorite lake.  I didn’t measure it, let’s call it 49 3/4″.  You can see the tail of the fly in its mouth.

This is the fly I caught it on, I tied it in 5 minutes before I left to go fishing

These are more typical of what I use, not too big, but they move plenty of water.  Easy to cast on a 10 weight and the fish like to eat them !

MUSKIE FISHING WITH A FLY “TOP TEN LIST”

1.Fish water with a good population of fish

2.Fish when the conditions are right–wind is bad-bad for casting, boat control, and line management. Low light periods are key, especially during summer.  My perfect muskie fishing day would be light wind, overcast, maybe a little light rain.

3.Have the right equipment, a 10 weight rod [or heavier] with a line to match.

4.Use a short, heavy leader with wire bite tippet.

5.Strip the fly to within a few feet of your rod tip EVERY cast, watching for following fish.

6.Be an efficient caster [can you make a 50′ cast with one back cast?]

7.Use a big fly with a big sharp hook [at least a 4/0 or 5/0].  But don’t over do it–if your fly is too big, casting stops being fun

8.When a fish eats your fly, set the hook with a “strip set”.

9.Have good boat control.

10.Have realistic expectations–casting all day for one or two “eats” is standard.

There is a special place not far from here, known by many as Willow River State Park.

Before I had ever been there, I knew it as Middle Dam.   My grandpa was a retired teacher who fished a lot, and often talked of this place.  Surprisingly, for how much he fished, he never once set foot in a boat.  His fishing haunts were comprised of various locations in western Wisconsin, mostly in the Hudson/River Falls/ Somerset area.  For a shore fisherman, it is hard to do better than this area, there is a multitude of streams, rivers and lakes offering access to good fishing for the boat impaired. 

Grandpa lived in the Twin Cities, and I would spend much of my summers at his house, and we would travel to the various Wisconsin haunts on many summer days.   On the trips there and back he would often tell tales of fishing with his son or with some of his students, many of the stories I had heard so many times I think I knew them better than him.  One common theme from these old stories was fishing at a mythical place called “Middle Dam”.  Based on the info from these stories [these stories mostly took place in the 60’s], Middle Dam had populations of fish beyond what a ten year old could comprehend.  I imagined what a mecca this fantastical place must have been, where giant largemouth would fight over a carefully placed Lazy Ike, where big sunfish boiled the water, where you could easily fill a bucket with crappies the size of plates.  “Twenty years ago, Jim and I were at Middle Dam…” was typical to how these stories would begin.  The stories would end with limits of bass or crappies that they gave to friends and neighbors.

This must have been a slow day, there’s only one fish on the stringer!  This is a rare photo of my Grandpa, R.J. Happe, known by most as Phred

This must have been a slow day--there's only one on the stringer

“Why don’t we go to Middle Dam?” I’m sure I asked him this many times.  The story went that the land around Middle Dam was sold to the State [around 1970], and they had made it into a State Park.  Now, there was an admission fee, and why pay to fish there when we have lots of places we can fish for free.  Grandpa was not cheap by any means, but frugal?—absolutely.  We would often drive past the signs on the highway for Willow River State Park, “That’s what they turned Middle Dam into”, Grandpa would remark.

I was dropped off at his house one summer afternoon and he showed me his haul of big sunfish and crappies from the day, just before he cleaned them.  I asked where he caught them.  I could not have been more surprised when he replied “Middle Dam”.  I sure that answer was followed by volley of questions from me, certainly culminating in “WHEN ARE WE GOING”?!

Turns out that the admission wasn’t really all that much, and now that he had someone else to entertain [me] it was time to revisit this old favorite spot.  I’m sure that night that sleep did not come easy as I envisioned what this place must look like.

As it turns out, the fishing there was pretty good.  Not necessarily much better than other places we fished, but good, and I think that part of the reason that I am who I am is because of this place.  There are too many memories to begin to list, but a few come to mind right away.  Besides the fishing, there was abundant wildlife to be seen.  In those days, deer were not near as common as they are today, and we were often treated to a deer sighting on the way in.  The variety of songbirds there is unmatched, and the only time I ever saw a green snake was here. 

Once I was casting a spoon right off the boat launch, looking for a northern.  I hooked a fish, which I soon saw was a largemouth that was about a foot long.  I was close to getting my fish in when out of nowhere a GIANT largemouth appeared, and tried to eat the foot long bass on my line!  My first reaction was to free spool the smaller bass in hopes that the giant would successfully eat it.  Well, I never saw the giant again, and I stood at that spot for the next two hours casting every lure I had with me.  At the time, I was sure that the big bass was ten pounds or more.  In retrospect, probably not ten pounds, but I bet it was at least eight.

In the spring, we would wade out in the area between the boat launch and the campground, fly rods in hand, creels on our shoulders.  The number and size of panfish in those days was crazy, and we would literally fill our creels with them.  There would be times when big dark colored caddisflies would hatch, and I wore the paint off more than one cork popper on the big sunnies and crappies on these days.  The Herter’s fly rod I used in those days would get a great workout.

We would fish in the big pool immediately below the dam as well, this area was known for having smallmouth bass as well as the other fish found in the lake above.  We were catching sunfish on our fly rods one day.  I decided to explore a bit, and checked out a small pool a bit downstream.  I can still picture the small, black fly I had tied on, it was pretty tattered after having already tricked a bunch of sunfish.  I let the black fly swing thought this small pool, and was soon hooked up to a WHAT?  It was a trout, not only a trout, but a RAINBOW trout, the likes of which I had not caught before.  How exotic, it was like I was in Montana!  We had caught many brown trout before, and a few brook trout, but never a rainbow.  [Sidebar, although we regularly fished trout on the Kinni and Rush, we hadn’t paid much attention to the trout in the Willow River, even though from the dam down it is a trout stream].  I was eager to show my grandpa, but decided instead to put the trout in my creel and try a couple more casts.  Soon, there were two rainbow trout in my creel, and I couldn’t wait any more to show him.  From that day forward, the Willow River became a place we regularly fished for trout. 

In later years, I started fishing there with friends, and I even stayed at the campground a few times.  Once we were camped near the lake, and we kept our minnow bucket in the water.  We went down in the dark to retrieve our bait to find a skunk trying to get the minnow bucket open!  I threw rocks to scare the skunk away while my friends hid behind a tree.  On another occasion I was camping there with one of my sisters.  I foolishly left our cooler overnight on the picnic table.  We woke to find that raccoons had opened our cooler and took everything they could carry.  There was a trail of hostess wrappers going off into the woods, and grubby paw prints on the milk carton still in the cooler.

I fished there with friends, sometimes with a rowboat [this lake has always had a no motors policy], but mostly from a float tube.  Many a May day was spent flippering around the quiet lake, casting at the shoreline.  Some days the fishing was good, some days it was great.  Everyone that I know who fishes this lake regularly has caught their biggest bass there, and when it was “on” you could bet on at least one pushing 5 pounds. 

This is the biggest largemouth I’ve ever caught, Little Falls Lake in 1991

We fished there enough to have names for certain spots—“Bonsai Tree”, “Turtle Bay”, “Takeout Point” and more.  Some of my friends still fish there regularly, but I don’t make it there too often any more.  I have two actual boats to use, and sitting in 60 degree water in an inner tube for hours is a little tougher than it used to be. 

And while it has been a few years since I have been there, I will make it a point to float my tube there this May, as it appears that Little Falls Lake is about to be no more.  The dam that creates the lake is approaching the century mark, and it is likely that it will be condemned.  A complete drawdown of the lake is scheduled for this summer so the dam may be inspected.   It appears as though the present dam cannot be repaired and will be removed, and the building of a new dam is unlikely.  Even if it was rebuilt, it would be a decade or more before the lake came back, and I’m not sure if it would ever be the same. 

I have said many times that dams are bad.  They do create lakes where there were none, and allow for flood control and can be used to generate power.  They make great fishing spots. But at the same time they are ugly and prevent fish movements, and remove habitat for native species.  When this dam is gone there will be a mile of trout stream left in its place.  When you think about it, there are far more places around here where you can catch a bass than where you can catch a trout, so that might be a silver lining.  And there will still be a State Park there, with trails and wildlife. And don’t forget that in the past two decades two other dams have been removed on the Willow River for similar reasons, so this should come as no surprise.

Note how in this picture from 1963 that you can see what rough shape the dam was in even then.  It has been repaired at least a couple of time since then.  This is another rare photo of my Grandpa, R.J. Happe, known by most as Phred

Have no doubt that I really do wish they could figure a way to leave this one in place– strengthen it, rebuild it, something.  Looks like it will be gone though, and Little Falls Lake will join my list of fishing places that were once good, and now are no more.  Rather than think back on these places with sadness, I prefer to reflect with more of a fondness for the good memories, just glad that I was able to be there when it was good, always on the lookout for a new place to make memories.

Somewhere along the way it appears that the smoky apartment has been replaced by a nice house, a wife and two kids have appeared, and the never ending 12 packs of cheap beer has been replaced by a couple of Summits.  And while I still tie flies out of necessity, my nights of “recreational tying” are mostly a thing of the past.  I now have a designated fly tying room, which makes it possible to get tying right away when the mood strikes.

Despite the thousands of flies I have tied, I still don’t consider myself to be a great tyer.  If you need some durable, effective flies tied up in a hurry, then I’m your man. If you looking for a dozen that look just like the ones in the catalogs and on-line websites, please look elsewhere. I figured out at an early age that a simple scruffy fly will work just as well, and maybe better than an ultra-realistic fly, tied with jointed legs, antenna, eyes, genitalia, DNA sequencing, etc.   Case in point—I was about 10 or 11, I’ve caught a whole lotta trout by this time in my life, but all on worms, a few on Mepps.  My interest in catching a trout on a fly was strong though, and my grandpa would often rig up my Herter’s fly rod for me to flail away at rising trout with.  One day I was working up a good froth at the bottom end of our favorite worm dunking hole, and much to everyone’s amazement, I ended up with a good sized trout on the line. The fly that I was using was one my grandpa called the “Black Nothing”, probably because it was just black fur on a hook.  After the capture, he cleaned the trout streamside and showed me that it had several black beetles in its stomach.  “That’s why it ate your black fly” he said, “it thought it was another one of these beetles”.  Alright, black fur on a hook = beetle.  Got it.  I had simplified matching the hatch and flyting before it ever had a chance to get complicated on me.

So, combine that with my natural lack of artistic ability, and you’ve got a guy that is going to tie a fly that is good enough catch fish, but no better.  In an hour, I can get well over a dozen of my scruffy specials done.  On the other hand, someone who might be considered a “great” tyer, would probably be able to get half that many done.  They would likely be perfect ties, but would they catch any more fish than the stuff I tie and fish with?

My friend JD “Redfern” LeCompte contacted me from his California ranch recently, letting me know he had an abundance of peacock feathers he had gleaned from their semi-tame flock, wondered if I could use them for fly tying.  He sent a couple of pics of the plumage he had gathered, much of it was pretty standard tying stuff– eyed plumes and some swords, stuff that is easy to come by. But some of the feathers were stuff I had never seen before, and I wasn’t sure how I could use them.  A week or so later I had an envelope in my mailbox that was overflowing with peacock.  I was determined to set aside a night for “recreational tying”.

Once you start tying flies, you start looking at the world a little differently.  As in “What could I tie with that?” every time you see a rug, a pet, a sweater, or fresh roadkill.  An old girlfriend once forbid me to put a skunk tail in the trunk of her car [it only smelled a little—and the hair was really nice and long!], and I still have the tail of an albino squirrel that was dead in the middle of the road in downtown Farmington, Minnesota.  Joe Vasquez was with me, we were running late for work on a Sunday after a morning mission to Hay Creek.  When I first saw it on the centerline, I figured it was a cat, but as I passed it, nope, that’s a white squirrel—must have!  I did a quick U-turn, pulled over and hacked the tail off with a dull knife.  We still made it the Orvis store Downtown by 11.  That tail is still in my collection.

In the package of peacock, there were some great looking body feathers that I suspected would be choice for tying “Spey” style flies.  Spey flies are a traditional style of fly that still have a dedicated following.  I’ve never tied very many, and I’ve certainly never fished with them, but they are very attractive. I was able to pull off a few “Spey” or “Spider” patterns that probably won’t see any time on the water, but will look really cool in one of my fly boxes dedicated to such things.

Peacock herl is very useful for tying trout and steelhead nymphs, and this stuff in the package was top notch.   A few nymphs and a bugger for good measure will all go into a working box.

A popular “attractor” pattern here in the Midwest is the “Pass Lake”.  It’s sort of a streamer/wet fly that doesn’t really look like anything, but on some days the trout can’t get enough of it.  They are traditionally tied with black chenille for the body, but choice peacock herl works as good or better.  The wing is supposed to be calf tail, these have the wing crafted of the aforementioned albino squirrel tail.  I have always tied them with a red head.It’s fun to stray from my usual tying–only tying stuff I need.  Maybe if I did this a little more I could actually become a good fly tyer.

With all my years on the streams, you can be sure I have built up a few secret spots.  One such secret spot is where I pointed my truck on Sunday.  This stream is known for marginal water quality, and plenty of non-trout species, but at least it is not on most anglers’ radar.  I have fished this stream on and off for many years, and know the subtle nuances of its waters. On the popular “name-brand” streams around here, [you know, the ones that start with “R” or “K”] every likely spot probably has a dozen or more fish in it, and it is easy to find a lot of fish.  But this creek is a place where you had better plan on covering a lot of water, as there just isn’t a high trout population here.  If you like to fish light rods, small flies, or only cast to rising trout, well there’s a reason not many people fish here.  I use a 5 or six weight, and plan on fishing beefy nymphs or oversize streamers.

As usual, I was greeted by a cacophony of songbirds when I got to the parking spot, but no other anglers.  I headed up the trail for a bit, and dropped in to an old favorite spot. 

There was a nice caddis hatch coming off, but the only thing eating them were American Redstarts and other warblers.  No fish hooked at my first spot, or the next.  The third spot I dropped into is one of the best on the creek, but after 30 or 40 drifts without a fish, I was starting to think this would be a day best suited for taking pictures.  Then it happened–BAM! My indicator when down and a fat foot long trout came flying out of the water.  Two cast later I had his twin hooked up.

And so the day went, lots of spots gave up no trout, but I covered enough water to end up with a decent box score.

Quite of few of these:

I couldn’t believe how many of these were along the path

And I even caught a few of these

Could resist this shot when I took the high trail back up the river valley

None of the fish I brought to hand were particularly large, although I did lose one that made me say a bad word when it came off after I saw how big it was!   I’ve had days when far more and much larger trout were caught, but this was just a great day on the water–I only had to share it with the songbirds and a mink!  I might make it out for trout once more this year, but this is when my attention starts shifting to the lakes and larger rivers for bass and muskies.

Although the Minnesota fishing opener is a tradition long held sacred by many Minnesota anglers, for a variety of reasons I often skip it. I don’t skip fishing, of course, but usually in May I have North Shore steelhead to chase, bass season is open in Wisconsin, and this is just a magical time to be on a trout stream as the woods green up, the birds carry on with their birdy debates, and the trout rise freely. This year would be different. Word came out through social media this winter that additional “fishing hosts” were needed for this year’s “Governor’s Opener” to be held on famous Gull Lake at Nisswa.  Being someone who is often overly confident of his ability to fill the boat with fish in any situation, I offered up my services.  What the heck, I have lived in Nisswa before, and I’ve fished on Gull Lake a number of times.  [I realized when I got to the lake that hadn’t been there in at least 10 years, and couldn’t remember if I had ever actually caught a walleye there….]

Thursday evening found me at the first meeting for all of us “Fishing Hosts”.  There were some nice, short speeches, and a great meal.  I couldn’t believe how many people I didn’t know there, lots of unfamiliar faces.  Had fun talking to a few guys, and we all got a pile of schwag for our efforts [jacket, hat, net, tackle bag, cooler, metal fish ruler, lots more…].The night went well, we all got the scoop on how Saturday was to go down. They even had us all sign some giant Rapalas that will be given as gifts to various high ranking officials.

Later, I met up with an old friend who lives in Brainerd.  Jim and I go way, back and he took Friday off from work to fish with me.  Friday was miserable weather, 40 degrees and rain.  We poked around on Gull, just scanning the sonar, looking for likely spots, looking for any sign of life.  The 43 degree water wasn’t revealing any secrets, so we to some smaller attached lakes on the hunt for crappies.  We found one nice pocket that had some crappies in it, and found a lot of likely looking spots that had nothing.  At least I had something to go by for Saturday, I wasn’t sure which of the media dignitaries would be in my boat, but I hoped they would be up for catching some crappies [as well as pike and bass that were more abundant than the crappies].

I met up with my guest that evening, Randy Quitney.  He is a radio personality from Litchfield, lucky for me he is very easy going and personable, and we made arrangements for me to pick him up at the dock at 8 am the next morning.  I was up long before dawn, as I wanted to be sure to have the boat launched before the crowds.  A quick stop at a local convenience store would allow me to get gas, coffee and bait in one fell swoop.  No such luck, the store I had picked didn’t open its doors until 5:30, but at least I could buy gas.  Up the road I went, I’ll get bait and coffee at the bait shop on 371.  Bait? – yes. Coffee? – yesterday’s was still in the pot.  Alright, one more stop at another convenience store and I had my coffee. 

Finally, I had the boat in the water, just as the sun was peeking through the trees.  A pretty good crowd was already fishing in the narrows on the upper end of Gull, but I had another spot in mind though.  I planned on fishing for an hour before I picked up Randy to try and locate some fish.  The spot I had in mind must be good, as there were already two boats on it.  Soon a few more joined in.  I thoroughly fished a nice weed edge without a bite, and decided to pick Randy up early.  I called him at 7:40, and five minutes later he stepped into my boat from the dock at Grand View Lodge, which was the headquarters for this event.  I should point out that this was a most spectacularly beautiful morning, calm and sunny, maybe 50 degrees already.  By the time we got back to my “hotspot”, there were over 30 boats working this piece of structure. I at least felt good that I had picked what must be a good spot some of the time. We tried a couple of areas on this bar, didn’t get a bite, didn’t mark a fish, and didn’t see anyone else catch a fish.  So it was off to crappie land.  We made our way through the phalanx of boats in the narrows [there were so many in spots that navigating through was actually tricky] and on to the upper lakes. 

We came into a narrow section with even depth, about 6 feet.  There are many ways to catch fish, and all of them always involve having a line in the water, so I cast a minnow bait behind the boat and handed the rod off to Randy.  I kept my speed as slow as the motor would allow, and proceeded along.

[If I were a REAL outdoor writer, that would have read…Utilizing my Marcum LX-7 locator, I was able to identify the area was prime for early season walleye.  I reached in to the rod locker of my G3 172C Anger, and pulled out a custom built St Croix rod with a Shimano Curado Reel secured in the Fuji reel seat.  The 10 lb. Berkley Trilene XT monofilament flowed smoothly off the reel as I cast the #11 Perch Pattern Rapala Husky Jerk into my boat’s gentle wake.  I handed the rod to my guest and he held the cork grips firmly, watching the pulsing rod tip as he awaited the inevitable strike.  I adjusted the throttle and trim on the purring Yamaha 115 until I had the perfect trolling speed dialed in…]

Anyway, it wasn’t long before a fish hit, and after a brief but spirited battle, I was as surprised as anyone to look at the fine walleye now thrashing in my net! It looks small in the picture, but Randy is 6 foot 4.  After being around at least a hundred boats this was only the second fish we had seen caught.  “Mission accomplished”, I thought.  Anything from here on out would just be a bonus, as Randy told me that he had not captured a walleye at last year’s opener in Park Rapids. 

Once I got us to the crappie hole, I realized that this too must be a great spot, as there were several other boats packed into a fairly small area.  I waited for one boat to head down and pulled into where they had just been.  The day before I had found some nice crappies in about five feet of water, hanging around old lily pad roots.  There were still a few around, and we got a couple in short order.  None of the other boats caught anything while we were there, I would have thought with the sun warming the water into the low 50’s that this bite would have really picked up.  We tried one more crappie spot and didn’t get a bite, although the wildlife viewing was great: Two trumpeter swans flew overhead, and then a patient osprey that kept hovering over a particular area finally showed us how it was done as he crash landed into the lake 50 feet away and then flew off with a foot long bass in his talons.  Yes, the osprey had large talons, and no I don’t think he realized bass season was not open yet.

Randy needed to be back at Grand View Lodge by Noon, so that ended our angling session.  The crowds in the narrows were even bigger, so someone must have caught something. At Grand View, there was a big lunch going on, with fried fish and walleye chowder and all other fixings.  I ate lunch with Randy and his wife, and wished them well.  When I wore a younger man’s clothes, my next move would have been to head right back out to the lake and try to hunt up a few more fish.  Instead, it was time to call the wife and tell her I was putting the boat on the trailer and that I would be home in few hours.

It was a fun experience being a part of the Governor’s Opener, glad to have been a part of this great Minnesota tradition, and I hope I get the chance to participate in again.  Maybe one day there will be a Governor’s Bass Opener—then some fish will be caught!

At this time I  should say that if you are against fishing for trout with worms, or keeping some trout to eat on occasion, please read no farther.  I catch and release hundreds of trout a year on flies, that’s not what this day is about.

I would really like to be out on the actual opening day [Saturday], but with two little girls there’s always gymnastics and birthday parties and such, so we made it out on Sunday.  The oldest one, Savannah, is a veteran trout angler by now, this is her 4th year of trouting.  This was the first year for Skylar, and the first year for Dad taking two kids to a trout stream.  A year or two ago, Savannah suffered some low to moderate emotional scarring after having to do a number 2 in the woods near a stream–tales of this episode had made it to Skylar, and she had a certain amount of concern over this possibility.  Just to be safe, we took our time getting  going on Sunday morning, allowing time for everyone to be uh, empty.

Soon enough, we were Wisconsin bound.  A lively game of “I-Spy” kept us occupied for most of the trip, after an hour or so we were headed down the county road I have traveled so many times over the years.  The traditional opening day spot [long ago named “Harvard” by my Grandpa because the trout residing there are so smart] has changed a lot over the years, but the fish are still there.  I baited the girls’ lines with worms we had gathered the week before, and  “propped – up” on our store bought “Guthrie Sticks”.  Now the hard part–the waiting.  I keep a good supply of snacks in the tackle bag, but the bite was slow today, the spot was living up to its reputation.

Savannah managed a couple, but we soon were on our way to a new spot.  This is a place I had never fished with Grandpa, but Savannah and I have put on a couple of trout clinics there in the last couple years.   I no sooner had the two girls lines cast out and was starting to wrangle some fresh snacks, when I see Skylar hooked up!  She had not caught a trout yet, and this one appeared to be bigger than most.  Her rod is best suited for bobber fishing sunnies, this fish maxed out her little rod!  Soon enough she wore it down and  I scooped it into Grandpa’s old long handled net.  This trout, which I later measured out at a respectable 13 1/2″, was the first of about 8 we caught there, and the biggest of the day.  The action was quick for a while, and at one point while trying to untangle one rod and re-bait another I lost my footing and ended up in the river.  I have carried a pair of sweat pants in my vehicle for over ten years for such an occasion, today was the first time I had to use them.  Better me than one of the little girls, that’s for sure.

It was about time to move anyway, our next spot was going to require a little more adventure.  I pulled my waders on over my dry sweatpants, and prepared us for the hike in.  While stream is close by, to fish this area you just have to be on the other side.  So first I muled our gear across, then came back and carried the girls one a time over to the far bank.  There were a couple of spots to fish in this section, and even though is was the middle of a sunny day, and the water was crystal clear, we managed a couple out of each spot.  Savannah got the multi species award by bringing in a fine sucker as a bonus.

Savannah poised for a big hookset

Once we got up the hill, I strung up all of our fish for a photo, Savannah had a hard time lifting the stringer herself.  Those fish are now cleaned and chilling in our fridge, and as Doug Stange would say, they will “be the focal point of a fine meal”.  The girls love eating fish, and so do I.  The stream we fish has a strong population of smallish wild browns, and there is no harm in keeping enough for a meal now and then.  There will come a day when the girls are able to cast fly rods at these fish, maybe later this year for Savannah.  She can already tie flies.

Now to end the day we stop at a local ice cream shop.  Skylar predictably will choose vanilla, Savannah will pick strawberry every time.  We ate the cones along the river walk in downtown River Falls.  Once we got on the road I checked my phone.  Mom had called about 13 times with a few texts besides.  Oops, had my phone turned off.  I called and assured her we would be home at the agreed upon time of 5:00, and that all were safe and sound, and that I was the only one that fell in.

Both girls were asleep by the time we crossed back to Minnesota, and we did make it home by 5.  I can remember when my Grandpa would get home after a day of fishing with me and announced how tired he was and that he needed a martini.  After untangling lines, baiting hooks, unhooking fish, and answering a thousand questions for my two girls, I now understand!  It was a great day, though, and while I’m not sure for how many more years I’ll be able to get the kids to come fish with their old man, I hope these days will leave them with lasting memories.

“Nice fish!” Gunnar yelled from the back of the boat.  I  looked back to see a nice sized muskie closely tracking his spinnerbait.  “Why is he swimming sideways?” Gunnar asked as he went into a classic Gunnar figure -8 [too much line out, moving the lure too slowly (I never think anyone does it right though {I should talk, I can’t remember the last time I got one to eat on a figure – 8!})].  It was true, the muskie was tracking the lure off to the side instead of right behind it.  “I bet that fish only has one eye!” I said as I watched the curious behavior. Around one time on a figure-eight, and the around the back of the boat, the fish kept its left eye just inches from the lure. Eventually the fish grew weary of Gunnar’s boatside antics and sank back into the depth of the Lower Two Fish Hole.

It was another great day chasing river muskies. The stars had aligned perfectly for a mid-week outing, and Gunnar was as pumped as I was to get after them, as he was 20 minutes early getting to my house.  Last minute tackle wrangling ensued, but soon we were on our way.  When we arrived at the boat landing early that morning, we were greeted by water that was a little higher than I had expected.  Mind you, it was now at the PERFECT level, but it had jumped almost a foot overnight, and when combined with dropping water temps I was a little concerned that the fish might be in a funk.  My worries were unfounded though, as our first stop at the Big Cottonwood Hole had a hot fish behind my bait right away.  It’s always great to move a fish right away.

We had moved a couple of other fish in other spots before Gunnar’s weird follow, so things were looking promising.  After that follow, we fished down to the bottom of the hole.  I changed it up, and put on a Bulldog.  Bulldogs are a wildly popular muskie lure, but I rarely use one, and had never actually caught a muskie on one.  Working our way back up along the deep current seam, I pitched the Bulldog up and across, and allowed it to sink into the ten foot depths of the hole before beginning my retrieve.  They really look great in the water, and it is hard to imagine how a fish could resist one. Right when we got back to the spot where the unusual following fish had been sighted, my Bulldog got SLAMMED.  After a normal muskie battle–brief but spirited, I had the fish firmly by the gill cover.  A quick check of the fish’s face revealed that my theory was true–the fish’s right eye was glazed over.  I was glad the fish was still able to feed, and got it back in the river after a quick photo.  The fish doused me with a tail splash as it took off, giving me confidence that the fish was  none the worse for wear.   I hope someday One Eyed Willie and I will meet again.

We raised a couple more that day, and even came back to the follows with the Bulldog, which I was now sure was a sure-fire tactic.  It wasn’t to be, and the ran was increasing by the minute.  Our plans to end the day at a spot near the access was foiled by shore bound anglers huddled under an umbrella while they waited for a bite.  I’m not about to fish from my boat in front of shore bound anglers so we put it on the trailer.

Only one fish today, but anytime you are in the “plus” column at the end of a day of muskie fishing it was a good day!