A Musky Hunter Walks into a Bar…….

If I’m not going to catch fish, I’d rather not catch muskies. If you find this statement confusing, even paradoxical, let me illustrate my point. A guy walks into a bar. From his appearance, you would guess he has spent the day fishing. His face is wind burned, his hands spotted with blood from being pierced by fishhooks and the front of his “I Heart Fishing” sweatshirt is smeared yellow brown from fumbling with wriggling worms all day. Oddly, he does not smell like fish. The angler moseys up to a bar stool, sits down and orders a Pabst Blue Ribbon. After one big swallow of beer to quench his thirst and sooth his soul, the bartender asks “How’djado?”. The angler replies “Nutin”. The barkeep looks a bit surprised and inquires, “Nutin? Really? Wattia after?” The angler drops his head and stares down at his boots. “Bluegills” he mumbles. At this the bar becomes silent. Patrons within earshot turn their heads towards the angler with various looks of pity and revulsion. Some closest to him deliberately pull away. Others, quickly finish their drinks and slip out the door. It goes unsaid but everyone in the bar is thinking the same thing; “You gotta be kidding me! This guy fished all day and couldn’t even catch a freaking bluegill? What a doofus! Even a five-year-old can catch bluegills.” The angler, recognizing the clear fish-shaming, straightens up on his stool and, attempting to salvage his dignity, blurts out; “I saw one!” The bar explodes in uproarious laughter. “Wow, he saw a ‘gill! Must be a real Master Baiter”, someone shouts. The musty air becomes filled with similar disparaging remarks. The man’s reputation as an angler is in tatters. He becomes a pariah in the local fishing community. The pathetic angler slinks out the door leaving a half empty glass of Pabst Blue Ribbon on the bar. This is why some anglers lie. 

Another guy walks into a bar. As soon as he enters, he commands everyone’s attention. From his Orvis fishing boots to the “Andy Myers Lodge” hat perched on his head like a crown, his appearance radiates serious angler. He slips out of his spotless Simms Gore-Tex jacket and carefully hangs it on the rack. This reveals a button-down khaki shirt underneath complete with an embroidered fish leaping out of the water just above the chest pocket. On the opposite side, a label announces “L.L. Bean”. The angler strolls over to the bar, slides down on a stool and orders a brandy Manhattan, straight up. Made with Korbel, of course. He lifts the glass to his lips to draw in the soothing concoction. As he sets the glass back on the bar, the bartender asks “How’djado?”. The angler replies, “Nothing today”. The barkeep looks a bit surprised and inquires, “Nutin? Really? Wattia after?” The angler lifts his head high, looks the bartender straight in the eye and announces “Muskies”. The murmur of small talk in the bar fades to silence. All tilt their ears to hear the rest of the story. The angler draws another sip of red-brown liquid and discloses confidently, “I saw one.” A sharp rush of air is heard as all present draw in a breath. He bartender asks, “How big was it?” To which the angler replies “Sub-50. Not what I’m looking for.” Immediately he is inundated with a flurry questions. “Was it a follow?”, “Was she coming hard?”, “Didja figure eight?”, “What bait were you throwing?”, “Did she come out of the weeds?”, “What was the water temperature?”, “What lake were you fishing?” The angler calmly answers each question truthfully, except for the location of the fish.  To that question he coyly states, “Well, it’s a way from here.”  The bar becomes abuzz with other anglers sharing their encounters with muskies, real or imagined. Another brandy Manhattan appears in front of the angler. “It’s on me.”, says the barkeep. 

You see, all fish are not equal. Even among game fish there is a hierarchy. One can debate the rank order between bass, walleyes, salmon, trout, northern pike, yellow perch, catfish, etc., but for freshwater anglers, there is no debate as to which fish heads the list. Esox masquinongy, the musky. It is easy to see why. Muskies are the top predator in most every body of water they swim. They grow large, over four feet and pushing seventy pounds. They are rare compared to other gamefish. They are cunning, making them difficult to catch which is why just seeing one is a thrill. Muskies have an infuriating habit of following a lure right up to the boat but refusing to strike. When they do strike it is often sudden and vicious. They fight hard with muscular runs, frantic lunges and even acrobatic leaps into the air. If you hook a musky there is no guarantee that the fish will make it to the net. It is the challenge of landing a big musky that draws a certain subset of anglers, Musky Hunters. 

Any angler who fishes on waters harboring muskies will eventually have an encounter with this fish. Many anglers tell stories of reeling in a nice walleye or perch only to see it suddenly engulfed by a slashing musky. This usually results in a broken line and a good story. On rare occasions this may result in catching the musky. However, just because you catch a musky, does not make you a Musky Hunter.  These anglers become obsessed with the mystique of this fish. Some will target muskies exclusively, forsaking all other species. Others will condescend to go after other fish species but think less of themselves when they do. I once considered myself a Musky Hunter.  All I thought about was boating a monster fish. In my dreams I would see fish lunging after my lure. I took regular trips to northern Wisconsin, Minnesota and Ontario in search of waters holding big fish, perhaps even that legendary “50-incher”.  I would study lake maps and pour over the latest Musky Hunter magazine. I could spend hours in Rollie & Helen’s Musky Shop in Minocqua searching for that one lure (or ten) that would entice a musky to strike. And musky lures ain’t cheap. I would cast musky lures in the local lakes even if there was so much as a rumor that they held muskies.  On one trip to Ontario, I spent so much time on the water heaving huge plugs that I got spasms in my back and could not stand up straight. But I kept fishing. I knew that the next cast would produce a monster. It was an addiction. Fortunately, with the help of some of my fellow anglers, I got past my musky addition. Mostly. It was not easy, but moving to Door County helped. There were so many other fish species to target, and muskies were pretty rare in county waters. I eventually evolved to the angler I am now. I like catching fish, and I am not too particular what kind of fish it is. The sublime act of getting out on the water and fishing became the goal not just a means to catch a meal. Catching some nice fish is a bonus. This, I feel, is the natural progression of serious anglers. 

Opportunities to target muskies in Green Bay and Door County have improved a lot over the years. In the late 1980’s and early 90’s the Wisconsin DNR, with the support and assistance of local musky clubs, started stocking muskies in lower Green Bay. This was an attempt to reestablish a fishable population of muskies. These fish were indigenous to Green Bay, but due to fishing pressure and poor water quality, they had vanished by the early 1900’s. The clean-up of the Fox River and the abundance of forage allowed the fish establish themselves and thrive. There are regular reports from the lower bay of fifty even sixty-inch fish. Another factor contributing to Green Bay becoming a world class musky destination is that almost all Musky Hunters return the fish to the water. As the population of muskies flourished, they started to spread north along the Brown and Door County shoreline. Musky Hunters now target the waters of Sturgeon Bay, Little Sturgeon Bay and Sand Bay for big fish with considerable success. Every year, reports of catches of muskies in Door County waters are more common. Even fish over the bar of 50-inches. 

Although, I don’t consider myself a true Musky Hunter anymore, I do get the itch now and then. When I do, I can find muskie waters in the county or take a trip to the lower bay. I’ll even venture to northern Wisconsin waters in search of that elusive fish. I still want to catch a nice musky, but I don’t NEED to catch one. I did bag two muskies this year. One was with fishing buddy Terry and professional guide Christina Truppe. We spent a cool, late Fall day on a beautiful northern Wisconsin lake. I boated a feisty musky using a live sucker rig. It was just a mid-30’s fish but it was fun, and it was a musky. The other fish was closer to home. Terry and I were fishing out of Fox Point boat launch in DePere. We fished over 5 hours without a strike. Our tenacity paid off for just before we were about to quit for the day a gorgeous musky exploded to the surface as it smashed into our lure. A dogged fight followed with powerful lunges and dives to the bottom before Terry slipped it into our net. It was a fish just under 40-inches. 

It wasn’t my 50-incher, I’m still ready and waiting for that. I’ll go musky fishing again and it is likely I won’t catch one. But that’s alright. I have had days when I have not caught smallmouth, not caught walleyes and not caught Chinook salmon. I’d rather not catch muskies. 

So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish, Bruce

Questions or comments to bsmith733@gmail.com