Fishing Alone

I don’t mind fishing alone. In fact, at times I prefer it. When I fish by myself, I am always the best angler in the boat. I never get out fished and if I get skunked, there is no one there to witness my shame. If I find a hot spot, I have it all to myself. I can head out on my schedule, fish for as long as I choose, and head home whenever I darn well feel like it.  That said, there are some distinct advantages to fishing with a companion. No, not just that they can help pay for bait and the boat launching fee. There is something to be said for having someone to talk to during the long empty hours when the bite is slow. Misery loves company, they say. A fishing partner who can set lines, drive the boat, net fish and perform the other myriad chores involved in a fishing expedition is appreciated. When trolling, having an extra body in the boat also allows the setting of three extra lines, increasing the probability of success. It is a thrill to have a witness to any fishing success you may have and, of course, the fish pictures are much more impressive with a competent photographer. 

There are times when having a fishing partner is not only desirable but prudent. Launching and recovering even an 18-foot craft such as the Maggie Leigh on a steeply sloping ramp with wind and waves blowing in can be a daunting task when attempted solo. Trust me, I know. Just few weeks ago I took a nasty fall at Bues Point and almost put the truck into the lake when the tires started sliding on the icy launch ramp. It was only with some desperate scrambling and a bit of luck that I avoided disaster.  Once on the water, everything is a whole lot easier with an extra pair of hands to share the duties. Having an able person at the helm is invaluable when deploying rods or battling a fish. And then there is the job of netting the fish. Now, this may not seem like a difficult task if you are talking about bagging a 10-inch perch or even a decent sized smallie. Bringing a 15-pound pike or three-foot long salmon to heel is a whole different problem. Add a pitching boat deck and a bevy of lines for the fish to get entangled and you can appreciate how difficult this would be without an experienced person at the net. Then there is the safety aspect. Being on the water, especially early in the year when the water temperatures hover in the 30s, demands care to safeguard life and limb. Fishing with a partner is a judicious practice. Being an old guy makes these precautions even more critical.  At the very least, there is someone to call 911 or hail the Coast Guard.  

For all these excellent reasons, as I was planning to head out on the lake this week, I was looking for a fishing partner. There was a brief window in the weather and, although still chilly and a bit choppy, it provided an opportunity for some early season action. I needed to round up the usual suspects. Unfortunately, my regular fishing partner, Paul, was unavailable. He mumbled some excuse about his family, Easter or whatever. Terry insisted that, as a poll worker, he had duties in preparation for the upcoming election. Really? Does preserving democracy really take precedence over time on the water? Anyway, Ed was on his way back from a spring trip to Florida. Some family thing, I guess. Jeff begged off because of recent back problems and “spending time with his wife”. Even long-time fishing buddy, Greg opted to chase walleyes rather than take the two-hour drive from the Fox Valley to spend the day with me freezing his butt off. Go figure. 

So, I was left with two options. Fish alone or not go fishing.  Seriously? Obviously I headed out, partner or no. I again launched at Bues Point as the dredging in the Baileys Harbor marina was ongoing. The conditions were good with winds calm enough to allow me to motor around Toft’s Point and past the Olde Baileys Harbor Lighthouse until I was just off the Hickey Brothers pier. I quickly set up and was soon trolling three lines within sight of the Donny S, an abandoned tugboat grounded near the Baileys Harbor Yacht Club. The water temperature was a cool 38°F and there was just enough breeze off the lake to drop the wind chill into the low 30s. A typical March afternoon. I slowly made my way at a 2MPH pace until I had reached the marina and downtown Baileys Harbor. I was trolling in shallow water, hoping to ambush brown trout feeding in the murky harbor waters. I noticed the inside planer board start to pull steadily backwards. One of the hazards of trolling this shallow is the likelihood of snagging on the rocky bottom. Assuming this to be the case, I lifted the rod from the holder and attempted to free the lure. Something felt different. It was not the solidness of a rock, but a weighty drag. I felt a sluggish pulse make its way up the line, through the rod and into my clenched hands. This was a fish. A big fish. It was not the frantic power of a brown trout or steelhead. I suspected I had hooked up with a large northern pike or a submarine. Baileys Harbor is a fertile spawning area for pike, with females making their way into the marshy reaches of the back bay or up into the swales of The Ridges Sanctuary to drop their load of eggs. The largest pike I have ever caught have been along the lakeshore bays in the Spring and Fall. In these chilly waters, pike are rather lethargic. I was not so much fighting against the raw power of the fish but its sheer weight against the forward pull of the boat. I used the autopilot on my electric trolling motor to head the boat safely out into the bay as I attempted to coax the fish closer. It took a long time before I could make any progress. The fish would not move. Slowly, inexorably, the planer board inched closer to the boat. Once I removed the board from the line, one handed with the rod clenched in the other, I could then feel the power of the fish. I could make out a green-brown torpedo moving just below the surface forty feet away. It was a nice fish, perhaps one of my largest. As I moved the fish alongside the gunwale, the most difficult chore was at hand. How am I going to net this beast? I sure could use a net man. Fortunately, the fish was not very active at this point of the battle, so I moved the fish as close to the side of the boat as I could. Then, with the rod in my left hand and the net in my right, I somehow persuaded the head of the fish into the net. Dropping the rod into the boat, I grabbed the net with both hands and scooped the fish into the mesh. With considerable effort, I lifted the near 40-inch fish onto the floor of the Maggie Leigh. The pike measured out at 39 inches.  A beautiful fish, but several inches shy of my personal best. Gorged with eggs, I estimate the weight of this female at least fifteen pounds. I quickly snapped a picture or two, with the fish lying in the bottom of the boat. (Could have used a photographer!) I then lifted it back into the frigid water and watched the fish slowly swim away. Hopefully, it will complete its pilgrimage to produce many more pike in the lake. 

I was exhausted. It took me quite a while to gather myself, get the tackle set up again, and move the boat back into shallow water. Finally, I was gliding along the rocky shoreline off Bjorklnden, the beautifully wooded property just south of town.  I had just settled in to listen to the radio broadcast of the Brewers Opening Day game versus the Mets when I noticed the outer board thrust backward and begin to pulsate. Fish on! From the powerful lunges and frantic motions, I could tell this was not a slow-moving pike but a fish more amenable to these cold waters. It was a nice brown trout.  The entire dance played itself out for a second time. The autopilot taking the place of my helmsman, I again was battling a big fish.  It took several wild runs along with a few frenzied lunges boat side before I managed to lift the fish into the boat. I placed the fish into my live well to allow it and myself to recover. I planned to release this fish, but first I wanted to get some measurements and perhaps a picture. Before I could, I noticed the inside board acting suspiciously like it too had a fish on. Sure enough, as soon as I grasped the rod, I knew I was connected to another feisty brown. This fish performed a few leaps at the surface before burrowing to the lake bottom in a futile attempt to escape its impalement. Against all odds, I managed to net a third nice fish in about an hour.  The second brown was placed in the live well to await release. Once I had a chance to take measurements, they turned out to be a 28-inch female brown and a 26-inch hook-jawed male. They came in at 11.7 and 7.8 pounds respectively. Now for pictures. I managed to prop my iPhone on the dashboard and aim it in the general direction of the stern. Using the timer, I succeeded in snapping a picture of each fish before releasing both. Perhaps some lucky angler in the Brown Trout Tournament will have a chance at one of these beauties.

At this point, I about had enough. Even though there was plenty of the day left, I considered heading in. The wind had picked up a bit and it was going to be a bumpy ride back to Moonlight Bay. I finally decided to fish a while longer, just to listen to how the Brewers were doing. I manage to pick up one more trout. This one was a nice 20-inch “eater” which I kept for supper. Motoring back to the landing, I was struck with two thoughts. First, how fortunate I was to be able to enjoy the thrill and accomplishment of boating some nice fish in such a beautiful place. Second, how much easier it would have been with some help.

The Brewers won.

So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish, Bruce