I’d Rather be Lucky Than Good. 

The steelhead and salmon bite has been excellent so far this summer. The best I can remember in many years. It recalls the heady days of 2012, the first year I started fishing with Paul. That summer we caught so many fish so easily that I got the mistaken impression that I knew what I was doing. Subsequent seasons have shown the folly of this assumption. 

Each year out on the lake is unique. With so many variables influencing the availability of salmonids at a particular time and place in Lake Michigan, it is inevitable that there will be cycles of good years and not so good years. Last year was bad. This year is great. So far. The bite being “on” does not ensure that you will always fill the cooler. Even the very best anglers come back with nothing occasionally. The honest ones will divulge that. Others lie. I have learned that there is much more random chance and pure luck involved in catching fish than most anglers are willing to admit to. We would like to believe that when we catch fish it is due to our consummate skill and knowledge. When we get skunked? Well, that was just bad luck or the “fish were not biting”. It is frustrating, however, when you know the fish are biting and you don’t take advantage. About a week ago Paul and I had a night when we dragged lures for several hours with nary a whiff of a hit. The outing was ultimately saved by a nice Chinook that hit just as the sun was setting.  It was a meager catch for this year. 

So, it was with no small amount of trepidation that Paul and I ventured out on the lake earlier this week. Most of the charter boats were coming in with happy customers, coolers filled with fish, so we knew the bite was still on. However, we had not been out on the lake for a week, and conditions would have changed. We would have to learn the lake again. Anglers today have many advantages over early anglers who gained their knowledge primarily through hard won experience. We now have the crutch of technology. We can view satellite images showing lake surface temperatures. Data buoys can provide real-time sea conditions. National Weather Service RADAR warns us of impending storms and shifts in the winds. On board our boats we have sophisticated GPS systems to navigate. Sonar allows us to probe the depths for bait fish which draw the target predators. The most valuable piece of technology available to Great Lakes anglers is a temperature probe. With this device, we can find that portion of the water column most comfortable for the species of fish we are pursuing. Chinook Salmon like colder water, in the range of 45-55°F. If you can find a depth of water with those temperatures, there is a good chance salmon will be swimming there looking for food. Salmon are always swimming looking for food. Their preferred food in Lake Michigan is alewife, a small silvery fish originally “imported” from the Atlantic Ocean. So, there is a simple formula, (Alewife + Cold Water = Feeding Chinook). Sounds simple in theory, not so in practice. 

Paul attached the temperature probe to the downrigger ball and lowered it through the water column. As we suspected, the water conditions had changed quite a bit. The surface temperature was several degrees cooler than a week earlier, and the layer of coldest water was much deeper. We dropped the probe to 90 feet before we got readings near 50°F. Earlier in the month that water was only sixty feet from the surface. Armed with this knowledge, we set two downriggers with dark-colored spoons at ninety and eighty feet. We put out two planer boards with lines running much higher hoping there were some rainbows lurking near the surface. A couple of other lines were set in the middle depths using weighted line and a Dipsey Diver. To be honest, we did not hold out much hope to get anything on those. We just wanted to cover all the bases. We had started our hunt in about 140FOW near an underwater limestone ridge known locally as Jacksonport Reef. We immediately started to see nebulous images on the sonar indicating schools of bait fish down in the cold water. Occasionally, we would see the telltale arcs of larger fish lurking near the schools. These were our target. We did not have to wait long for some action. 

Paul jumped out of his seat in response to a pulsating rod. Fish on!  He hung on while the fish stripped line off the reel. It was the classic run of a powerful King salmon. We were trolling with the south wind, so I slowed the boat’s speed and maneuvered to keep the fish on our stern. The fish was eventually coaxed to the side of the boat, and I slipped the net under a 30-inch, 13-pound silver beauty. It was a good start to the evening. 

Paul quickly reset the downrigger and we waited expectantly for more action. Then everything changed. The sonar went blank. No baitfish. No arcs. The temperature probe that had been reporting under 50°F, had jumped to 55°F and climbing. Now, a five degree temperature change may not seem like much. Afterall, it is not uncommon to have a twenty-degree difference in air temperature between Fish Creek and Baileys Harbor. But water heats up much more slowly than air. It takes all summer for Lake Michigan to warm even a little.  Rapid changes in water temperature like this occur because lake currents move colder and warmer water around. The fancy scientific term for this phenomenon is advection. We had driven into a mass of much warmer water that had been advected from some other portion of the lake. One thing for sure, salmon would not be in this warm water. We had three choices. We could turn around and troll into the wind towards the colder water and the fish. This would be simple if I were piloting a 30-foot charter boat with autopilot. This was not as easy in a 21-foot aluminum boat. If we happen to get a fish, it would be hard to keep the boat on course. We could just keep trolling with the wind and hope we would be lucky enough to find some cold water again. Not likely. Or we could pull up all our lines and run back to where we started. This was tedious and time consuming, but the best choice. Soon we were motoring back south. To where the fish were. 

Trolling in the cold water again we started seeing baitfish on the sonar. We got a hit on the downrigger but missed the fish. We then boated a “shaker”, a small salmon not powerful enough to trip the downrigger release. Shortly thereafter another hefty 32-inch King salmon was in the cooler. It was turning into a good outing. As the sun approached the horizon over Baileys Harbor, I could scarcely see outline of the shoreline. The smoke from numerous Canadian wildfires had produced a murky haze that hung over the lake. It would result in a stunning sunset. 

With the sky darkening, we decided to call it a night and Paul began the process of recovering the lines. The downriggers would be pulled last, as they were the only rigs that had produced fish tonight. Before Paul got to that point, one of the downrigger rods started to jump wildly. By the time we pulled the rod from the holder, no weight was on the line. The fish had gotten off. A disappointing end to the evening. Then, almost as a response to our disappointment, the other rod bounced up signaling we had another fish on. This one was hooked solidly and as I grasped the line, I felt the power of a big salmon as line screamed off the reel. The fish was in charge, all I could do is respond to its commands. A lot goes through your mind as you watch the line spin off the spool. Is the drag set properly? Did I sharpen the hooks on the lure? Should I have checked my leader for weaknesses? Will the knots hold? A lot can go wrong at this point that will result in losing the fish. The reality is that you can only control so much. I would just try to enjoy the journey I was about to have with this fish. 

At long last, the fish ceased its initial run and began swimming towards the boat. I began reeling as fast as I could to prevent the line from becoming slack. Since we had no other lines in the water at this point, we had shut down the motor and to focus all our attention on the fish.  My wrist was tiring from the rapid reeling action when the King decided to take another run towards the bottom. Hang on! Then back towards the boat. Reel like crazy. Slowly, I was making progress towards inching the fish to the boat and Paul with the waiting net. The salmon was now near the surface and a large dorsal fish cut the surface of the lake. It was a big Chinook! The fish darted left, then right, then another short run, making one last effort to escape its fate. As the fish glided up the side of the boat, Paul scooped the fish into the net and we both lifted the 39-inch, nearly twenty-pound King to the floor of the boat. 

I let out a big “whoop” of elation and a huge sigh of relief. Catching fish is fun. Catching a big salmon is truly joyous. We had won this battle.  Sure, our ability to diagnose the water conditions had put us in a position to catch this fish. Our preparation and experience all contributed to the successful outcome. But ultimately, we were just very lucky, in so many ways. 

So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish, Bruce

Questions or comments to bsmith733@gmail.com