A Three Day Bender

It was bound to happen. After almost six weeks of imposed abstinence, it was inevitable. A red-blooded angler can only take so much. There are desires that must be attended to.  Since hip replacement surgery earlier this winter, my fishing opportunities were much limited. Open water options were non-existent. Ice fishing was problematical. My surgeon and physical therapist forbade me from venturing out on any slick, hard surfaces. I assured them that “I would be real careful.”, but to no avail. I reluctantly took the prudent approach and stayed off the ice. This left me fishing vicariously through my fishing cronies who magnanimously sent me pictures of their successful outings. I voyeuristically trolled the internet searching for lurid videos of huge fish being caught by other anglers. I watched episodes of “River Monsters” and gawked as Jeremy Wade fished the same stretch of the Nile I had several years prior. This only served to heighten my lust to get out there and catch fish. I did not want to watch someone else doing what I wanted to do myself. The frustration grew.    

As I approached the end of the rehabilitation period and my strength and confidence grew, I knew I would soon be able to get back to catching fish. Long time fishing sidekick Terry offered the opportunity to take a ride in his boat to target some early season walleyes. We had a good trip, and my hip felt fine. The next day I strapped on crampons and hauled my sled out on the ice. I did not fall on my ass. So far so good. In some strange way, these tentative steps back into my fishing habit made me voracious. Like offering a mere morsel of food to a starving man. I wanted more, a lot more.  I needed to go on a three-day bender. 

Day one was a trip with Terry back to the lower Fox River below the DePere dam. For the uninformed, you need to understand that the spring bite out of Voyageur Park is only for the serious fishing addict. It is not for the faint of heart or someone who merely wants a few fish for supper. No, this is hard core, mainline fishing. This time of year, conditions are almost always brutal. You can expect near freezing temperatures, biting wind chills and frozen fingers. And that is during the daytime. The real masochists get out well before dawn when the bite is better and the conditions even worse. Oh, by the way, you can’t even keep any of the walleyes you manage to catch. Well, you can keep one, but only if it is a “trophy” over 28-inches. Anglers are here first and foremost because they love to fish. Anytime, anywhere, in any conditions, for any reason.  Judging by the river scene jam-packed with hundreds of boats each week in the spring, there are a lot of fishing addicts out there. Or maybe it was just a very long winter. Anyway, I would join this cadre of fellow fishing fanatics. Terry was waiting on the water when I arrived at Voyageur Park. I clambered into his black Tuffy and we set out into conditions that, I must say, were “not horrible”. Moderate breeze, a little sun and wind-chills only a little below freezing. We spent the next 5 hours weaving in and out of the other boats looking for active walleyes. We ended up putting a dozen walleyes in the boat between 18 and 23-inches. We lost several others, and we also boated some nice bonus whitefish, one over 22 inches. It was a great day that served as a temporary “fix” for my craving. I needed more. 

Day two of the bender started innocently enough. Paul texted me that he thought we might be able to launch a boat at the Bues Point ramp north of Baileys Harbor. We had not been out on the big lake year this season and we were anxious for the chance to start our annual quest for brown trout. With the Baileys Harbor marina still closed, Paul was monitoring Bues Point for an opportunity. I was skeptical, but Paul sent me pictures of the ramp, and except for some ice and snow, it didn’t look too bad. We might be able to do this. Oh, one more thing. The launching dock had not yet been put in. This might be tricky. 

Undaunted, Paul and I met at Bues Point at the prescribed time. Paul had sensibly spread salt on the lane leading to the launch to help with traction. I backed the trailer toward the ramp, the truck sliding ever so slightly sideways. I eased the boat hesitantly into the gin-clear water, unhooked the winch strap and released the Maggie Leigh. She was floating after a near three-month hiatus. Now that the boat was in the water, how do we get two septuagenarian anglers into the boat? Maybe we hadn’t thought this out thoroughly. We could attempt to drop off the 6-foot-high concrete pier into the waiting boat below. That did not seem to me a move which would have met with approval from my surgeon or my physical therapist. The other option was to scramble across the icy rocks, crawl over the protruding trolling motor and into the bow of the boat.  Paul and I did just that.  This was not executed in a graceful manner by either of us, but we managed. If someone would have been there to capture our performances, it would have surely gone viral on Tik-Tok. Thank goodness, there were no witnesses.

We made our way out into Moonlight Bay under a sunny sky and light winds. Paul took the helm, and I started setting planner boards for the first time this season. I was putting out the usual array of baits and was only halfway into the task when the first board I had deployed rocketed backwards, a silvery mass exploded at the surface of the water thirty feet behind the board. Fish on!! I struggled to remove the rod from the holder against the force of the battling fish. Paul maneuvered the boat towards open water as I slowly moved the fish closer to boat side. After retrieving the planer board, we could see the outline of a beautiful brown trout streaking just under the surface. Paul slipped the net under the trout, and we successfully boated the fish. First trip, first line we set, fish in the boat. Wow! Paul and I spent a delightful four hours trolling the waters of Moonlight Bay, off Toft’s Point and into Baileys Harbor. We managed to boat two nice northern pike, but no more browns. Still, after two consecutive days of fishing success, I was not sated. I needed more.

I was desperate to get back out on Lake Michigan the next day. There was a problem, however. I could not manage to launch the Maggie Leigh by myself, and Paul was unavailable (apparently, he has a life). I frantically reached out to some local fishing brethren, but it turned out they have lives as well and none could immediately alter their plans for the next day to accommodate my compulsion. I briefly considered attempting the tricky launch at Bues Point solo, but recalled the tedious process of replacing a hip and abandoned the thought.  Not fishing was not an option.  I knew a spot. A lake not very far away where I was assured of scoring fish. I had been there before, many times. This time would be a solitary pursuit to catch fish, any fish.

As I gazed over the frozen surface of the lake, I could see the lake was void of other anglers. This was good. I preferred doing this alone. I dragged my sled across the crusty spring ice to a spot I had visited many times before.  I could see the frozen scars of previous borings. I cut a new opening in the six inches of ice and dropped a maggot-festooned lure toward the bottom of the lake. As the bait descended, the sonar reflections showed hordes of hungry fish rising to meet it. The images of the bait and the fish merged, and my spring bobber bent sharply downward. I reeled up a bluegill. A very small bluegill. One I would not boast about. But it was a fish and I wanted to catch fish. I repeatedly sent my bait down with the same result. 10 ‘gills, then 20, 30. I wanted to catch more. How many would be enough? 40, 50, 100?  As I lifted the fiftieth bluegill out of the hole, I caught my reflection in the mirror-like surface of the water. What was I doing? I then realized, that was enough. I was satisfied. I tossed the rod into the sled, gathered my equipment, and shuffled across the ice to the waiting truck. 

I did not fish the following day. It snowed. However, the fanatics at DePere were out there in full force for a walleye tournament. As I watched the video of anglers launch boats on snow covered ramps and holding fish in the frozen darkness, I had mixed emotions.  At least I was not as crazy as those guys. Yet, I was a bit in awe of their resolve to fish. Anytime, anywhere, in any conditions, for any reason. 

So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish, Bruce