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…

She had me there.  “That’s true”, I said, “but this guy seems way less douchey than most, and even though I’ve never met him, we do have mutual friends…I think the guy might be a cop or something, and judging by his blog I’m pretty sure he’s harmless.  The guy is always putting up pictures of big trout, which is more than I’ve been able to do this year.  But…..if you don’t want me to go, I’m sure Gunnar would be up for going steelhead fishing this weekend…and Gunnar did say something about a new strip club opening up, we’ll probably check it out on the way home…”

Fast forward to Sunday morning at Eddie’s house.  I really needed to break this trout fishing jinx.

I had left the decision as to where we were to go up to him, which is a very odd move for me.  But I’ve seen his posts, he fishes a lot, catches plenty of above average sized trout, so I’m willing to trust his judgement.  Besides, all of my best spots have been marginal or worse this year.  He said bring a life vest in case we use a canoe, I wasn’t sure if he was serious or not, but I brought one with to be sure.  I wasn’t even sure which state we would be headed towards, so I made sure all licenses were current in the five-state area, and I brought my passport just in case he had some crazy Nipigon mission in mind.  I was just hoping to get into some good trout fishing, and after a quick chat in his kitchen we had the canoe loaded up and were off.

We had a great talk on the way to his first spot, talking of places we’ve been, mutual people we know, that sort of stuff.  He’s been at the trout fishing thing for about six or seven years, and has a crazy exploratory nature. He writes a blog that I enjoy, a lot of you have probably seen it — Eddie Rivard Fly Fishing

Even when I used to fish a lot more than I do now I didn’t explore like he does.  It later occurred to me how much easier it is today to seek out new spots with all the info that can be gleaned off the internet.  It became pretty obvious early in our conversation that there were no trout spots I knew of that he hadn’t fished and probably caught an 18 incher out of.  He did make a comment about how he had not been able to figure out where “Area 51” was, even though there were power lines in a photo of me with a trout there.  “Area 51” is a Triple Secret Spot of mine that very few people know the exact location of, and I couldn’t remember even posting a picture where I named the spot, but it amused me to learn that I was not the only one that would spend hours on google Earth trying to figure out where someone’s fish picture was taken.

Our day ended up mostly being a series of what I would call “hit and run” spots—park, hit a couple of “money spots”, then back to the vehicle.  The first spot we tried had the water pretty high and muddy, not quite what I would call unfishable, but getting there.  I hooked up right away on a nice twenty-incher, which turned out to be a redhorse.  We never decided if it actually ate my streamer or just got snagged in its ample upper lip. No sign of trout, but it was cool to be fishing on water that while it may not be completely secret, it was totally off my radar.

We had a quick look at this unknown creek, Eddie couldn’t resist making a couple of casts right by the road

We bopped around and tried a few more spots, but Eddie eventually decided we would need to find some clear water.  And clear water we found.  We ended out our day on a pretty little creek with an abundant population of little trout, and even they proved to be too much for me.  Eddie assured me that he had tangled with some big fish in the creek before and I believe him—there were numerous undercuts and hidey-holes where a big trout could live, just waiting for the next fingerling trout to munch.

So the jinx continues.

I keep saying how good our local trout fishing was in the 90s.  If you weren’t around then, imagine this—The Rush is thick with fat browns, mid teen to low 20 inch fish were common.  The Upper Kinni had over 5,000 trout per mile, and the lower had great numbers of 10-16” browns, and it always seemed like there was a hatch.  And no kayakers floating over your fish. Even the Willow had a strong population of trout of all sizes, you could even expect dry fly action most evenings.  There was no internet, no Google Earth, no place to post your reports.  Maybe at the local fly shop, but that was about it.  When Eddie asked me if I had ever fished this spot or that spot, I always had to say no.  The fishing was so good on the home streams that there was no need to explore.  And every time I did go on a mission to the Eau Galle or the Trimbelle or some other similar spot I always had the same result—nice streams, there are fish to be caught, but it just didn’t make sense to drive by miles of the best trout water in the Eastern US to explore.

I keep saying that the streams will come back, and they will. But for now it appears that exploring is necessary. There are more good anglers, and less secrets.  In the 80s and 90s the vehicles I had were unpredictable at best, and more than once found me broken down somewhere.  Vehicles today are all good, I never see any beaters parked at the streams, or anywhere else for that matter.  A vehicle that is reliable and gets good gas mileage may be the best piece of trout equipment there is.  Match it up with high speed internet to access resources like Google, the USGS Streamflow Gauges, and DNR websites, there’s no good reason to not be able find somewhere to fish.  So I guess I better get busy and find me some good water to fish. I’ve got a milk run in mind, this weekend or maybe next.

And remember that even the best vehicle won’t do you any good if you run out of gas.

So Saturday morning found me and Savannah heading South on Hwy 52, hoping to put together a good day of troutin’.  Rain was threatening, but after studying the NWS radar I convinced myself that it would rain little, if at all while we were out.  Savannah has caught a bunch of trout before, but it has always been on bait.  I was hoping to take it up a level, and I had put together a small pocket box for her with a few Rapalas and Panther Martins.  The drive went quickly and any fears of the streams being blown out were for nothing as the water was clear, maybe too clear.

Savannah is a capable caster for a nine year old, but casting in a small stream is challenging, and accuracy is crucial.

  She did pretty good though, and hooked a nice fish in each of the first two spots we tried, but both came off right away.  How a fish can avoid getting caught when it bites a Rapala remains a mystery.  There were some small trout rising steadily in a couple of spots, and I was able get them to bite without too much difficulty on any small fly I showed them, but I really wanted the girl to get one.

I’ve not done much spin fishing for trout in the last 30 years, I did a lot when I was a kid, though.  I learned early on that when the Rapala/spinner bite is on, it can be ridiculous how easy it is to rack up a bunch of fish.  [Sidebar—At some point I realized that when the Rapala bite is on, the streamer bite is also on!] But when the trout are not on the Rapala program, you have to cover a lot of water for every bite.  This seemed to be the case today, and I’m sure the snow melt, while not causing the water to become muddy certainly cooled it off enough to stop the trout from being in a chasing mood.  We broke for lunch [cold pork chop for me, bagel with strawberry cream cheese for Savannah] and made a fresh attempt, this time heading upstream from the bridge.  I scored a few more on a Griffith’s gnat, and I hooked up a nice brown on Savannah’s Rapala out of a particularly narrow and snaggy run that she didn’t want to attempt casting at, and quickly handed the rod off to her.  It was about 13”, and seeing the fish renewed her interest in getting one on her own.

We decided to head back to a big corner hole we had tried in the morning, and she covered every inch of it with spinner and Rapala without a bite.  While she was doing this, the trout were rising steady at the top end, gorging themselves on some mayflies that were hatching.  I made a few casts with a dry while Savannah was changing lures, and hooked one on almost every cast.  Savannah has caught a few sunfish on flies, but we’re never tried it on trout.  It was obvious if she was going to catch a trout today it was going to be on a fly. So we repositioned ourselves at the top of the riffle, where a short cast would put the fly over many rising trout.

I told her that it was no use to try to learn how make a good and proper cast while there are trout rising almost under your rod tip.  “Just do what you can to get it out there”, I said, and that what she did.  The casting form was bad, a couple flies got snapped off, and many strikes were missed.  BUT—two trout were brought to hand, she made the cast, hooked the trout, and brought them in herself.  None were large, and they had probably spent their lives up until a few weeks ago in a DNR concrete raceway, but we didn’t dwell on that.

Here I had hoped she would catch a fish or two on spinning gear, instead she ended with a couple on flies!

It troubles me that I am going into this trout season with a genuine lack of enthusiasm.  I’m still looking forward to walking the creeks, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells, but I just know the trout catching is going to be off.  For reasons I’m not going to get into here, my two favorite streams [the Upper Kinni and the Willow] are seriously hurting in the trout population department, and it’s going to be a few years before it improves.  So for catching, that leaves the Rush, or maybe the lower Kinni.  Not that these are bad—quite the contrary, these are fantastic streams with wild trout and fishy riffles and pools.  Also an abundance of trout anglers, [and %$##&@ kayaks on the Kinni] and I hate the fact that when I’m approaching a favorite access point I have to start deciding how many other vehicles I will tolerate.  More than three or four, I’m off to the next spot.  This is why the other creeks have been so dear to me, enough fish to keep me busy, and always plenty of water devoid of other anglers.   

I know my favorite streams will come back, but in the meantime I’m going to share a few times when the fishing was truly outstanding.  I’ve had a lot of great days on the local creeks, but these are some days that really stand out.  Interesting to note that my very best, most memorable days were days I was fishing alone.

The first year of the “Early Season” [the one that would start March 1] was a great year.  I really fished a lot in those days, and two extra months equated to a couple hundred more trout than before.  I was on the Upper Kinni, it was March 20 [I forced myself to remember the date], and I think 1997.  I’m working through some favorite water with the trusty UV scud tied on, when out of nowhere there is a very aggressive rise just above me—like someone threw a baseball in the water.  Not one to switch to a dry at the first sign of surface activity, I kept dredging, and was catching a few.  The big splashes continued, and were becoming a distraction.  I stopped casting to try and determine what was happening.  I had seen a couple of bugs flying around, but hadn’t really paid much attention to them.  I soon realized that they were black stoneflies—they were starting to buzz on the surface, and I spotted a few crawling on logs.  I looked up to the top of the run I was working, and here comes a stonefly buzzing down the center of the stream [they lay their eggs this way].  SPLOOSH—the bug gets chomped by a better than average trout, and I couldn’t get the nymph, shot, and cork off my leader fast enough.  As I’m cutting off my nymph rig I am taking a mental inventory of all my fly boxes, trying to picture what I have to be a suitable stonefly imitation.  Remember, this was the first year we could fish there this early, and no one was aware that the black stoneflies were such a thing on the Kinni.  A big elk hair caddis would have to do, and I greased one up with floatant after it was tied on, and after a couple of quick false casts it was drifting toward where I has seen the last fish feed.  It hadn’t floated a foot before it was eaten, and I was soon admiring the first of many trout I would catch that day.  I didn’t count them [I always lose count after 2], but by mid-afternoon I had caught more than enough and headed home early.

Since this memorable day, I always try to get over there on a warm, sunny day around March 20.  I have hit this hatch pretty good a few times since, and I have designed a very devious stonefly pattern specifically for it.  It takes about 20 minutes to tie, but it looks really good.  And it works exactly as well as an elk hair caddis that I can tie in about 3 minutes.

here’s the pattern:

Hansen’s Ovipositing Stone 

Hook:  TMC 100; Butt: Pearl Litebrite; Body: Clipped black deer hair; Hackle: Grizzly; Wing: Grizzly hackle tips

These bugs have what appears to be a glowing white egg sac on their butt when laying their eggs

Thinking about this day reminds me of another epic dry fly day on the Kinni.  This time I was headed to the lower river, and as I crossed into Wisconsin I was anticipating my hike up the canyon from County Road F.  It was midweek, so I wasn’t worried about crowds or kayaks, and I expected to have some decent nymph fishing before some mayflies would start hatching in the afternoon.  I don’t remember the date, but it was around late May/early June in the early “Oughts”.  [I’ve been dying to say that].  I’m not known to be a particularly fast driver, but my speed definitely will pick as I get closer to a stream. I was moving right along at about seventy, anticipating a great day.   I’m always hoping for a good “inspirational” rock anthem to come on the radio to really get me fired up as I approach the stream.  On this day, Rock and Roll [part 1] by Gary Glitter came on just as the old white Chevy began the descent into the valley.  I cranked it up and cheered at the right parts until I pulled into the parking lot at the bridge.  I’ve made this hike enough times to know that it involves about 45 minutes of steady hiking to get to where I start fishing.  There is a long bluff pool with a great riffle that comes in at a sharp angle at the top.   Similar to my previous story, I started out nymphing, and they were really hitting it good.  I can still remember one that ate the fly and started jumping before I was even able to set the hook.

I fished all the way to the top of the riffle, probably caught a half dozen.  I had been noticing some fish rising a bit upstream.  I was keeping an eye on them as I headed up the path, and decided to sit on a big log laying across the stream and eat a sandwich while I watched the fish rise.  There were some mayflies coming off, I think it was the light Hendrickson hatch, and as I paid closer attention I could see that the next riffle was ALIVE with rising trout.  I was grinning a grin while I ate my sandwich, watching those trout rise, thinking about how many I was about to catch.

This next riffle where the trout were making a spectacle of themselves was really nothing special to look at. A small riffle came into a little run along the right bank, there were a couple big rocks, and it was maybe three feet deep tops—definitely not a spot you would think could hold more than a few trout.  Despite the fact that it looked like a marginal spot at best, there appeared to be at least a dozen trout rising steadily.  I had re-rigged while sitting on the log, I now had a trusty comparadun on my tippet, greased up and ready to go. After stepping in, I was hooked up within a couple of casts, and then almost every couple of casts after that. I can’t remember how many I pulled out of that little run, but it seemed like for everyone I caught, two more took its place.  It really was bizarre, because it just didn’t seem possible that there could be that many trout in there, but no matter how many I caught, they just kept rising.  I finally decided to move on, and every likely spot was the same—seemingly unlimited rising trout.  They rose steady though the afternoon, and I never saw another angler.  Throughout the day I changed flies regularly [I had to, they kept getting waterlogged from all the fish!], and I tried a little bit of everything. This confirmed to me than when trout are rising to mayflies, you just can’t do better than a comparadun.  I caught some on other designs, but nothing worked better. It didn’t even seem to matter if it was the right color or size either, as long as it was a comparadun.

It was getting later in the afternoon, and I was working my way up through what we call the “Bread and Butter” run.  There were trout rising all over the place, and I was catching them steady.  I looked at my watch and it was 5:30.  I decided I would catch five more and leave.  I forced myself to keep track of the next five I caught and then I looked at my watch again.  It was now 5:40.  I made a few more casts, caught one more, then had a smoke while I watched them rising for another five minutes.  Every run and riffle that I walked by on my hike out of the canyon had trout rising in it. I have never seen a river so alive with trout. How many did I catch that day?  The rate at which I caught the last five were representative of how the action was all day, so figure conservatively 20 per hour for five or six hours.

The Willow River has long been my favorite stream.  Light pressure, easy access, and while the trout population has never that impressive as far as numbers, due to warmer water and abundant forage, the average size can be impressive.  And this was the case on a fine spring day sometime in the late 90s.  Or early Oughts, I don’t remember.  Rarely a place for good dry fly action, the Willow’s dark waters are better suited for dredging big wiggly nymphs or swinging bunny strip streamers or buggers.  I had my favorite 6 weight rigged with a clear tip line.  The clear tip is slow-sinking, and provides just the right amount of sink for the streams around here, and it allow for the use of a shorter leader for better accuracy when casting at close range around bushes and other cover.  When the streamer bite is “on”, the exact fly hardly matters—what matters is that you cover water and show your fly to as many fish as possible.  I was using a favorite pattern that is really nothing special.  I call it the “Strip Club”, it’s got a bunny strip, lead eyes and some rubber legs. I tie this fly [and many other trout streamers] on a 4x long streamer hook, size 4.  This is more important detail that what the pattern was, or what color the fly was.  This hook is just the right combination of length and wire thickness for a trout streamer. [This is a also a good fly for steelhead and smallmouth.]

The Strip Club 

Hook:  4XL streamer; Tail: Flashabou; Body: Sparkle Braid with 3-4 sets of rubber legs; Wing: Bunny strip; Throat [optional]:Contrasting marabou; Eyes:  Medium lead eyes

There are many days on this river when I might get a fish out of every 5^th spot.  This day, every big fish in the stream wanted to play, and by the time my session was done I figured I had had landed around 18 fish.  I know, not exactly insane numbers, but the funny thing is the one I remember most was the smallest one of the day, and it was a foot long.  I chuckled when I released this guy, ‘cause he was just a baby compared to most of the other ones that day.  I don’t think I had any others under 15 inches, most were 16- 18 inches, and a couple were over the 20 inch mark. These were serious, “put-’em-on-the-reel” browns that could have just as well been measured in pounds.  Not bad for a stream 30 minutes from St Paul.

I have had other great days on the creeks over there, and I hope there comes a day when it is again possible to have a “big day”.  And to be fair, I have plenty of great memories of trout fishing where the things I remember most wasn’t the fish catching.  For some reason this memory just popped in my head—I was over there with the Gunnar, we hadn’t brought any food with us [SOP in those days], so we subsisted on berries we picked along the stream.  At one point we were both sitting on the ground off the trail, chowing all the wild raspberries we could reach.  We probably caught a few trout.

EPILOGUE

I fished on the Wisconsin creeks the other day, it was pretty warm but windy.  I visited the Rush for the first time in a few years.  First thing I see is the Red Barn Cafe has turned into a Bar and Grill.  Figures.  What happened to the big metal bridge?  I guess some would have called it ugly, the cement one that took its place is sure nothing special.  And most importantly, where did all the trout go?  I know there are trout anglers more skilled than me who are catching some fish there, but seriously—I can remember being there when a hatch was on and walking right by a riffle full of rising fish if there weren’t any big heads popping up.  On this day I was “zero for zero” after nymphing through a bunch of good water that I have caught hundreds of trout out of. All I caught were a lot of memories as I walked up the canyon.  I could tell stories about every pool in this section. Stories of fish caught, of people I was with, of bugs that were hatching, of big trout seen and big trout caught. There was a guy much younger than me working a streamer through the bottom end of a deep pool.  I really wanted to tell him about the time when I was 15 and caught a 16” brown on a black ghost streamer around the boulders at the top of the pool.  I wisely just asked how he was doing as I walked by on the well-worn trail.  “No fish on the streamer, might try nymphs”.

This is the very Black Ghost streamer, my grandpa tied it in around 1980, and it has lived in my Perrine fly box since. He used jungle cock saddle hackle for the wings, the fly is about 2-1/2 inches long

I finally came to a canyon pool where there were what were obviously tiny trout rising to tiny bugs.  I looked at them dimpling, and shuddered that it might come to fishing for them.  I fished my nymph rig through the fast water at the top and then down through the meat of the run against a bluff with a few logs thrown in for good measure.  Didn’t get a bite, and since the dinks were still rising I reluctantly re-rigged with the smallest fly in the box tied on to some ancient 7x tippet.I have never been so glad to land a five inch trout as I was when I brought in the first of a half dozen or so.  At least I wasn’t skunked.  I did catch one brook trout that was maybe 10 inches, and broke of a slightly larger fish. [I was using tiny flies on a 7x tippet, and the only 7x I had in my vest was some Seaguar that I KNOW has been in my vest since the 90s.]

I left the Rush to try a favorite “hit-and-run” spot on the Kinni, caught exactly zero.  Drove to the Willow, not really planning to fish, just to “have a look”.  I took one look at the water and knew it wasn’t going to happen.  As you may know, a dam was removed last year and this released a lot of sediment.  Now the Willow, not known for great water quality anyhow, was flowing a sickly greenish grayish tan color, with less than a foot of vis.  The Willow hadn’t been fishing well for me for the past two years, I don’t know what to make of this.  It will be a while before I go back.

Don’t get the impression that I’m only concerned with numbers of fish—I enjoy steelhead and muskie fishing, neither of which is known for non-stop action, and I’ve had plenty of nice days on the trout stream where I only caught a few fish.  I’ve just become accustomed to being able to have at least steady action on these streams.  Some days, steady may have meant five or more an hour.  Other days is might mean one ever two hours.  But I am hoping for some version of “steady”.

Any of you out there that have been fishing the local creeks for more than a few years must admit–we had it good. Those streams being what they were for the last 40 years really have a lot to do with who I am.  There wouldn’t be four fly shops in the Metro Area if it weren’t for how the streams used to be.  And I know things are cyclic.  It may take a few years, but the streams will come back.

I do know that I will be learning some new trout water in Southeastern Minnesota this spring!

“Mille Lacs” is French for “1,000 lakes”.  This is a pretty accurate description, since Mille Lacs sprawls over 132,000 acres–about the same size of 1,000 small lakes, and it has been estimated than when it was at its peak in the 80’s that the walleye population was as high as 1,200 per acre, which equated to a walleye population of over 15 MILLION WALLEYES!  Fast forward to the 20-teens, and the population has dwindled to less than a tenth of that number.  No one seems to know for sure who or what is to blame for the decline.  Could it be over-fishing by sport anglers?  Maybe spearing and netting by Native Americans?  Global warming?  Mismanagement by the DNR?  Climate change? Aliens? Invasive species? Terrorists?  I think it may be a combination of all the above. Whatever the situation, there are many thousands of Minnesotans that depend of the Mille Lacs walleye fishery for their income or lifestyle, sometimes both.  And despite the fact that there are plenty of other species of fish to pursue in Mille Lacs–fish like perch, pike, muskies or bass, it is the ‘eyes that get all the attention.

And all eyes are on the DNR when it comes to an announcement of new regs for this lake.  It wasn’t that long ago when the state’s six fish limit was an obtainable goal here.  That six fish limit was changed to four, then two, then none.  Anglers out for the abbreviated ice season this winter were allowed one fish that had to be between 18 and 20 inches.  Guides, resort owners, and other local businesses are all feeling the impact of nobody out fishing the big lake.  Spring will soon be here, and many of us are awaiting what the powers at be of the DNR have in store for this year.   Carl and I met for coffee at The Zebra Mussel Diner in Isle last week, I was eager to get some insider information about the upcoming season.  Or lack thereof.  Carl and I go way back, and I knew I could count on him to bring me up to speed. I recorded our meeting, the conversation went like this:

ME:  So Carl, a lot of folks, both anglers and business owners, are nervous about how the 2016 walleye season on Mille Lacs is going to be regulated.  What can you tell me about new rules and regs for this year?

CARL:  What makes you think I’m going to tell you anything?  My phone has been ringing off the hook with calls from actual journalists.  I’m talking about calls from people like Matt Straw, Terry Tuma, Tim Lesmeister, even Ron Schara.  RON EFFING SCHARA is calling me, and you want the scoop?  You’re buying you know.

ME:  Hey, nice to see you too.  Now you know there is no one better to get the word out than me.  My blog is read by tens of anglers, some of them even claim to like it.  I’m not looking for all the details, just give me the broad strokes, you know, the highlights.  I’m hearing grumblings that there may not even be a walleye season…is that what you want me to tell everyone—that there will be no walleye season on Mille Lacs?  Oh, and your phone is ringing off the hook?  Who has their phone on a hook?

CARL:  Calm down, there absolutely will be a season. [Then there was mumbling I couldn’t understand, sounded like he was questioning my background and education] We have come up with a new plan that is bound to increase participation, increase the walleye population, and increase income and sales for many Minnesota businesses.  After long negotiations with several Minnesota companies, Mille Lacs anglers will be participating in the newest, most progressive concept in fisheries management ever thought of.

ME:  Yeah, progressive…that’s what Minnesota walleye anglers are looking for.  Why don’t you guys just stock more fish?  That seems to be a popular default answer for many of the outspoken ladies and gentlemen I see on TV.

CARL:  We are counting on Minnesota anglers being a little more open minded.  But believe it or not, stocking more fish is part of the plan.  Stocking fry or fingerling sized walleyes has never really shown any results.  But we always knew that if only we could stock the lake with “keeper” sized walleyes, like they do with trout in the streams, there would be an immediate and drastic improvement of the walleye population.  Growing walleyes to keeper size, around 14”, has always been cost prohibitive, so it’s never been done.  Until now.

ME:  Alright, this is starting to sound good.  You will be stocking walleyes, keeper walleyes, and there will be a season.  Will Mille Lacs be open for walleye fishing when the statewide fishing season starts in May?

CARL:  Yes, you will be able to um, go out on Mille Lacs when the season opens May 14.

ME:  That is great news.  What will the bag limit and size limit be?

CARL:  This is where things start to become a little more, uh, unusual…I guess you can say the limit will be five, with no size restrictions.

ME:  Really, five?  It’s been a bunch of years since you could keep five walleyes on Mille Lacs.

CARL:  Well, I never said anything about keeping five walleyes…like I said everyone needs to keep an open mind.  Getting this fishery to rebound will take some time, even with our new exciting plan.  And if the anglers are taking walleyes out at a rate faster than they are putting them in, we will be worse off than before.  The limit will be five, but you won’t be able to keep any.

ME:  So it will be what—a catch and release season where you are only allowed to catch and release five?

CARL:  Not quite.  Our statistics show that catch and release fishing, while seemingly without impact, will be too harmful to the population. We tried to come up with a plan that would allow fishing with barbless hooks, and even though our chief consultant Phillip Washington made some convincing points as to how a barbless catch and release season would work, we ultimately decided that anglers would not be able to figure it out, so we came up with something that will be fun for the anglers and still have no impact on the fishery.

ME:  So we can’t keep any fish, can’t even catch and release fish—what can we do?

CARL:  Underwater cameras have become very popular, and we decided that it would be best if anglers only viewed the walleyes with a camera, thereby eliminating all contact with the fish.  Of course, you would be free to make video recordings of the fish you see so you can enjoy them later, or even share the clips with friends on YouTube or Facebook.  Just make sure that once you have viewed five walleyes, you quit.  The limit for this season is five walleyes, any size, but they can only be seen, not caught.  DNR enforcement will be checking the recordings on your SD cards, so make sure you don’t go over your limit.

ME:  This started out sounding so good, but now that I’ve heard all the details, this sounds like a disaster.  Won’t all those “keeper-size” walleyes you guys are stocking help out right away?

CARL:  You missed one detail.  I said keeper walleyes were going to be stocked, but not by us—it is just too cost prohibitive.  It costs about $22 to grow a walleye to 14” and stock it in a lake, and we just don’t have the budget for it.  The walleyes will be stocked by all of you—the Mille Lacs anglers.  In fact it will be required that in order to fish on the Big Lake, you must bring one [or more] live walleye from a registered vendor, and release it into the lake before you launch your boat.

ME:  [blank stare]

CARL:  I’m sure you are wondering where the registered walleye vendors will be located—we have arranged for walleye vending machines to be installed at several popular bait shops surrounding the lake, and they all take credit cards.

ME: [blank stare]

CARL:  The walleye vending machines work like this—swipe your card, select the number of walleyes you want to purchase, hold your five gallon bucket under the chute, and pull the lever—instant walleye in the bucket.  Are you OK?  You’re not having a stroke or something are you?

ME:  Oh sorry, no, that just caught me by surprise, all these regs…I was thinking I would have good news for my readers, but now…well, I’m not sure what the average angler will think of this.

CARL:  I said these new regs would be progressive.  There have actually been similar plans used in Europe.

ME:  [blank stare]

CARL:  Quit doing that, it’s freaking me out.  And a blank stare can’t be heard on your little recorder.

ME:  Alright.  So for review, there will be a season, but in that season we can’t keep any walleyes.  And during that season, we can’t actually fish for walleyes, at least not with hook and line. But we can look at them on a camera, but we are only allowed to see five a day.  And we have to bring a live walleye, one we paid for, and stock it into the lake before we can launch a boat.  So the bag limit is actually negative one.

CARL:  You got it.  We think it is going to be popular.  J.C. Munchall from Nanook Underwater Cameras has already predicted record sales of their Mille Lacs Special camera—it has built in recording and has software that will calculate the length of the walleye on camera.  A software update scheduled for release this spring will also calculate the weight.  We may as well embrace the digital age.  Walleyes Unlimited have already scheduled a “Camera Only” tournament for June, and this event could get national coverage.  Now even vegans can participate in fishing tournaments!

ME: I think these new regs will be met with…resistance.  You know these fishermen will want to have some fish to bring home once in a while.  Or do you expect all the anglers on the lake to also turn vegan?

CARL:  We have thought of that, and we want everyone to be able to have a fish fry. Whenever an angler purchases a live walleye for stocking, he will get a coupon for 20 percent off of frozen tilapia fillets at any participating grocer.  Did you know tilapia are farm raised?  Eat all you want—they’ll make more!

ME:  I’m starting to hate you.  Let’s change topics…what about the muskie management of Mille Lacs, you have to admit this fishery is very popular, and continues to bring tourism to the area. It’s one of the only things still good about the lake.

CARL:  We are absolutely going to continue with the muskie program, with a few changes.  The muskies have done well in Mille Lacs, maybe too well.  There have just gotten to be too many big muskies in the lake—did you hear about the guy that caught a fifty pounder on a fly rod?  On a goddam effing fly rod!  If there are so many big muskies in the lake that even fly fishermen can catch them, it is definitely time to scale back. We are going to revert back to stocking “Shoepack” strain muskies.  They are native to Minnesota, but rarely get bigger than ten pounds.  We feel it is a much safer choice for the lake than the giant Leech Lake strain currently in there.

ME:  I’m glad you guys aren’t in charge of anywhere I regularly fish.

CARL:  Oh, and where do you fish nowadays?   ME:  You know, the usual spots like the Miss…..uh I mean…uh, Devils Lake North Dakota, yeah that’s it.  That’s where I fish now.  Devils Lake.  Now what about the smallmouth.  You have to admit that Mille Lacs is truly a world class smallmouth fishery.  I know lots of people, myself included, that have caught smallies six pounds or bigger here.  The Bassmasters are even coming here this summer for a big tournament.  Tell me you’re not going to mess with the smallmouth.

CARL:  Yeah, we’re going go ahead and do away with all smallmouth regulations.  Starting this year there will be no closed season, no size limit, and no bag limit.  It turns out all the Iowans that come up here like to eat them, and they do spend a lot of money at the casinos.  And they can’t tell the difference between a rock bass and a smallmouth, so rather than making things more confusing for them, we simplified it.

ME:  We’re done here. Check please!

 Suddenly the room started getting wavy and spinny, a doodly-doo doodly-doo doodly-do sound filled my ears…

And then I woke up in a cold sweat…it was all just a dream!

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.

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!

“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!

I was on the section called “Pool 4”, this is the area from around Wabasha up to Red Wing.  I went down there for a change of pace, and while on an exploratory trip you can’t really expect the fishing to be great, I had gleaned some intel from a friend to get me started.  And I have been on this section before, but it was about 15 years ago and in the spring.

I was hoping to get into some walleyes, but was open to catching anything.  Turns out we caught a little of everything, except for walleyes.  Put a smallmouth guy on a body of water with smallies in it, and well I guess I just gravitate to any water that has a smallie look to it.

Smallies were caught, as were largemouth, black crappie, white crappie, white bass, bluegill, pike, sauger, and sheephead.  We mostly fished around the many wing dams in the area, and most fish were on the top or front side of the wing dam.  What was the biggest surprise were the bluegills–they were big [9″ers], and they were hanging in surprisingly strong current.  The bluegills were caught on bait, but most everything else was on jig/plastic or crankbaits.

Smallies were all sizes, from tiny to big– Sarah had top honors with a 19 1/2″ that ate a white Moxie.  This one ate during the middle of white bass clinic she was putting on–right in front of the oldest city in Minnesota–Read’s Landing.

Fishing in the shadows of the big bluffs was a cool change of pace, and although I can’t say I prefer it to my home water on the Upper Mississippi, I know I will be back next year.

I couldn’t take it any more, and decided to check a section of river I had not been on before.  Despite the low water, I convinced myself I could get up the river far enough from my chosen access to be worthwhile.  Just to cover all bases, I swapped out the good prop that was on my trusty 30 Yamaha to an old, beat up one.  I figured I would be doing more grinding through rocks than running at high speed anyway.  I also brought waders in case I had to walk the boat through any super shallow areas.  I have fished above and below this section, and was excited to be “connecting the dots” between a couple of access points.

I was really on a muskie mission, but this river section also boasts a nice smallie population, which can prove to be a major distraction when I supposed to be targeting something else.  I am convinced that the smallies that live in this part of the river are like a “subspecies”–they look different, and scrap like no other smallies–wild, red-eyed, hunchbacked, jumping freaks!

After about an hour of alternating between put-putting up the river at idle speed, and occasionally opening it up on deep bends [and once getting out to walk the boat through a very shallow section],I recognized a landmark and decided to start fishing.  Depending on the water, I alternated between casting for muskies and smallmouth.  It didn’t seem to matter what I threw or where I threw it, the resident pike were on fire and attacked everything. It was no surprise where the smallies were hanging–you smallie junkies know what I mean when I say “rocky shorelines with just the right size rocks and just the right depth and just the right speed”.  There was plenty of this water around, and wherever the shoreline was sand dominated, every logjam had either a brownie or a pike waiting to ambush something.  All water that was slower and deeper got flailed for muskies, and by the time it was raining hard enough to get me to quit, five nice muskies had shown themselves, no takers though.  That’s alright–I know where they live, and I’ll be back.

It was nice to see I still had it in me to do some exploring, and although I know I would have caught more fish had I spent the day on familiar water, I’m glad to have some new water to call my own.  It may look like all I have to show for the day is a couple more dings on an already beat up prop, but I do know where several 20 lb. plus muskies are living right now, and I do know a rock pile with a bunch of 15-20″ smallies on it, and maybe it’s just because I spend so much time fishing close to the metro, but I do know of a section of river that has far more eagles, deer, and otters than fishermen.