Wally

We did what we always do, my brother-in-law and I.  One guy carries the canoe, the other guy grabs the two rods, a pack of flies, tippet, floatant, bug sauce with Deet and the paddles.  We wear our life jackets and one of us pockets 6' of rope that we hope to use as a stringer.  The drive is paved, then gravel, then bush.  The portage is short...maybe 300 yards. 

The lake is empty. 
As always.

We load the canoe, and shove off and see something out of place.  Maybe we were too quick to assume we were alone.  Its white and moving.  Could be a boat.  Then there are two.

It's early, the hex hatch won't start for at least an hour so we decide to paddle closer to solve the riddle.

It's not long before we know that they are birds, I'm thinking white pelicans because my Mom just told me she saw a couple recently (very odd for this part of the world but still possible), so that's what a blurt out.

The canoe inches closer and I zoom in with my camera...and still, I think pelican.

But no. 

They are a pair of Trumpeter Swans.  When they get nervous from our approach they start up and after a loud, long, thunderous trip down their watery runway, take flight and circle around to land on the opposite end of the lake.

Riddle solved, we put rods together and commit to the fishing.

Years ago I surmised that the hex mayflies that I see getting eaten on the surface could only be a portion of the population sustaining the walleyes.  The fish had to be eating nymphs too. 

Right?

I tied all manner of hex nymphs, copying versions from magazines and fly bins to creating my own.
In the past 5 years or so I've taken to raiding my bonefish fly box for 2" long patterns in tanish, creamish colors....bead chain eyes, dumbell eyes, some with flash, some without. 

One night trout fishing the hex hatch, I didn't get a single fish on a dry but I landed 5 or 6 on a bonefish fly.  I decided right then that I needn't reinvent the wheel.

As the sun started to drop lower I tied one of these bonefish/hex nymphs on my line and sent one via airmail to the bow of the canoe for my brother-in-law to use.  He picked up a couple of small perch on his.  I cast and boated a few of my own perch and one of us landed a northern pike but I can't remember who.

My lapse in memory on this pike is probably equal parts old age and equal parts what happened next.

With the sun dropping below the horizon but still a solid 20 minutes before we expected to see flies on the surface, I cast and began another slow strip retrieve.  I was pulling the fly in short 3-6" strips trying to envision the swimming speed of a hex nymph.  With only 15' of flyline out of the tip-top guide the fly stopped and the rod bent, the water swirled in that incredible upwelling that occurs when a fish turns near the surface.

I was pretty sure it wasn't a perch.  When its head just cleared the water 20' out, I did that instant computation where you figure body of water, species available, fly thrown, weight on the line and visual cues.

I said, "It's a decent Northern!" My brother-in-law said, "No.  It's a walleye."

My Dad started me walleye fishing when I was 5 or 6.  Walleyes are 3/4 of a pound to 2 pounds.  Maybe 3.  I'm 44 now and I've caught some walleyes.

The fish bulldogged and turned.  It bore down as deep as it could go, which, in this section of the lake, was 3 feet.  It came up again and I saw that I had been in error and that my brother-in-law had correctly identified the species. 

But it was big.

And we had no net.

I asked my brother-in-law if he could grab it and I worked the fish toward him as he put his fly rod down and got into the heron position...or at least as heronlike as one can get sitting in the bow of the canoe.  

It took three attempts before the fish's tail cleared the gunwale. 

I said, "I'm thinking about eating that fish."
He said, "You have to, I gave it the death grip to get it in the boat."

I tied it to the stringer and admired it.  The mosquitoes started their incessant buzzing and converged on us and I kept sneaking peeks over the gunwale at my fish on the string.  The hex hatch started and two more walleyes were added to the stringer but I can't recall who caught them. 

I do remember adding them to the stringer because I had tied the first fish on with such a fool-proof knot that took some creativity to add other fish to the rope.

When we got back home, we put a tape to it and it was 1/2 inch shy of 30.

The biggest walleye of my life, on a bonefish fly.

I probably would have a little more remorse about killing such a great fish except it was absolutely delicious.  My wife and two kids said so too....two nights in a row.  

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.

Oyster mushrooms before

Oyster mushrooms after

Perch Non-photogenic

SMB

Evening on a secluded lake in N. MN