Snake Guides: Buzz

It's 5:00 pm on Monday June 24th. Ive been awake since 6:30 am Sunday June 23rd. I fished Sunday night and took a short break only to start again at 3:00 am this morning. At 8:45 this morning I called it quits, took a shower, had breakfast and spent the day with my family and McSteel's family doing things that make kids giggle and smile. And then they do something that isn't giggling or smiling and I think I probably should have slept last night because my patience was left at yesterday's door.

But it's 5:00 pm on Monday and we are going back out fishing. My brother-in-law, my father-in-law, McSteel and me. Easy wading, a short hike, lots of mosquitoes. Hopefully we will get some walleyes after the sun sinks. If not, the lake has Northern Pike, Small Mouth Bass, Perch...maybe some Crappies.

We pull over to the side of the gravel road on the way and my brother-in-law jumps out of the truck to harvest some Oyster mushrooms off of a dead Poplar tree. In the cab of the truck he shows them to me and I wonder why mine come in a foam box with cellophane wrapped over them and his come on a tree.

We get to the brushy turn off and park in a clearing that was obviously logged a number of years ago. Rods are rigged and Deet is applied to my hair and neck and the back of my hands. I'm careful not to get the chemical on my palms. I'd hate to melt an $80 flyline. I wipe the back of my hands on my ears and under my chin so that the mosquitoes will hesitate before biting me there.

McSteel and I wade in and my father-in-law and brother-in-law find a spot among the cedars to cast out into the flowing neck that connects these two lakes. My father-in-law says it's shallow and it should be easy wading. The bottom is covered with bowling ball to desk sized boulders that make the wading slow and deliberate. Plus, I've been awake for too many hours and I'm not feeling as nimble as all of this requires. I cross the narrow channel and head to the shore of the upper lake. Pitching my fly as I stop between steps, I pull in a decent perch and then two 12" pike. McSteel calls them snot-rockets. Good name.

At the corner where the upper lake ends and the narrow flow begins, I double haul out and strip back. At first I double hand strip and then, when I am satisfied that I can allow the fly to sink, I slow it down and retrieve with a single hand.

My spun deer hair streamer attracts the attention of a 16"-17" smallmouth that pulls hard against the graphite in my 8 weight. I realize that I am pulling back hard and the fish is doing the same with some success. Eventually subdued, the bass is healthy and dark with some bronze showing through its flanks. A pretty fish and a hard fight. I count this as a success.

After almost landing a 3-4 pound northern pike that eventually gets it's teeth on my leader and cuts the line as it thrashes by my side, I hear some commotion behind me and learn from my brother-in-law that his Dad has caught the twin to the one that stole my fly.

The sun dips below the horizon and lights up the remaining clouds with a pink glow. I pause and take a few pictures and notice that the mosquitoes are buzzing in the exact same tone as my tired brain.

I am back at the bank having successfully retraced my steps from earlier. McSteel, and my brother-law are watching my father-in-law fish. McSteel has his buff pulled up and when he speaks it sounds like he's wearing a scarf. Still, I wish that I hadn't forgotten my buff back at home. I'd wipe Deet on it and pull it up over the back of my cap, over my ears, under my hood and leave just my eyes exposed. My brother-in-law kneads his hands unconsciously and this seems to stop most of the mosquitoes from getting a bite. I look around me and realize that I'm surrounded by a cloud of them.

The tired buzz in my brain is no match for the din of these assassins. They win and we leave them to find an alternate source of blood for the evening.