More Wally

Despite the fact that its the 4th of July and fireworks are planned at 10 PM, you've just come off the biggest moment in your walleye fishing career.  Your walleye fly fishing career.  You say to yourself, "I need to do that again." 

You think about how tomorrow you'll drive 350 miles south toward a home that has lakes without hexagenia mayflies and lakes that are full of other boaters/anglers/jet skis and how you'd never eat walleyes from those lakes anyway. 

You think about what calms your soul and what fills your spirit. 

You think about how you started doing this 25 years ago and how few years left you may have to do it again.

You think about how lame fireworks really are.

And you go.

And you catch fish.

You also catch some hell the next morning....but at least you brought home dinner.

 

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.  

Not Much to Report

Marker sized walleye

Impatient white bass

Going Deeper (again)

The wind was out of the west as I launched.  By mid-lake it became obvious that I needed to fish the windward shore.  The chop was heavy and forced me down to 1/4 throttle.  I turned west and got mostly out of the blow before taking a look at my phone for an alternate set of closely stacked contur lines to fish.

I found what I was looking for and motored over to a point, out of the wind, with a drop that went from 3' to 15' in fairly short order.  I heard the anchor hit gravel when it settled and figured that wasn't a bad sound.

The very first cast was smallmouth impaled itself on my clouser.  I was starting to feel pretty smug about my deep water fish finding ability.  10 minutes later and a second smallie ate.  Yes, I was pretty sure I was awesome.  The walleye ate just before the wind switched. 

The ego can be distracting, but almost losing my hat to a sudden gust of wind made me look up and realize that the weather had changed.  A bank of dark clouds that I was certain were tracking to the east now loomed nearly overhead and were on a southeast course.  Things were dark and creepy, but I decided that with the wind now coming from the north, my recently found crappie hole would be a safe spot to fish while this all blew over.

I hugged the windward shore and eventually dropped anchor with plans to showcase my talent for a few more hours.

The anchor wasn't holding on a short rope.  This, as many know can be easily remedied by lengthening the rope.  Easy, and I would have made this fix but the wind was screaming hard enough that my 8 weight line wasn't following the directions I was giving it either. 

Somewhere in the universe, the cosmic balancers of ego and smugness, called on the Njord, the Norse God Of Wind to settle me down.

OK. 
So I had it coming to me. 
Fishing is over for the day....I get it. 
I will go home and try to regain my center and try my best not to be a dick.

Except that wasn't the end of it.  The landing was on the south shore.   A small fact that I overlooked as I started my motor and waved the white flag.  The crests built and the wind blew the tops off of them.  My 15' boat was highsiding on the waves and the prop was grabbing air as I attempted to navigate through.  It took me a minute to figure out how to adjust my speed to keep the prop wet.

I safely (if a bit wetly) made it to the launch ramp where waves crashed and new set of problems required me to dock, then spin my boat around so that the bow was into the oncoming fury.  I kinked my back, scratched my leg and almost broke the push pole.  The motor came dangerously close to being skegless and I was actually winded by the time I pulled the trailered boat out of the maelstrom.

As I finished strapping the boat down and stowing my gear in my truck, I noticed a small white cube on one of the wooden parking pilings.  It was a drinking game die and the message on the upside read:
"Drink 2 Cups"

I went home and drank 4.

Meow

JH has been hitting the white bass beat.  Sometimes with me, sometimes without.  It's been kind of a bust year as far as white bass go.  I heard recently that they go through population cycles.  Maybe that's our problem?

At any rate, we were out again tonight, hoping that we might meet head-on, the massive schools that we've seen in the past.

Instead of white bass, my first fish was a drum.  A drum eating a 3" deceiver a few inches below the surface.  Pretty Cool.

The second fish was a walleye.  Same fly, same drill.  Also pretty cool.

The 3rd fish walloped the fly so hard it kind of startled me.  When it stayed on the bottom and pulled line through my fingers, I started to mumble.  Once on the reel it pulled line back out and bent my 8 weight severely...that's when I started to curse. 

I thought maybe a decent pike or musky clobbered the fly and that I had hooked it somewhere that the sharp teeth had not yet made contact with my 15 lb tippet.  I tried to play it gingerly at first, but the scrappy nature of this fish made me doubt my assumptions.  After what seemed like 10 minutes (which is a LONG time to be fighting a fish when you were planning on white bass) I got it in close enough and switched on my headlamp.  It stayed deep and swam circles around me. On one pass I lifted and saw the fish about 15" down. 

"A walleye?  No.  What IS this thing?"

The Channel Cat's head broke the surface.  I was a little stunned, pleased and confused all in the same moment.  By this time JH (at my request) had waded over to assist.  He offered to lift it out of the water for a quick measurement and a couple of photos.

Later that night, when I got home I held a tape up to the mark on my rod and figured it to be 26 1/2".

A quick internet search and I came up with a conversion chart showing that the fish was probably between 8 and 9 lbs.

I'm now trying to figure out where I can catch these on a more regular basis.

(Big thanks to JH for being the hand model and for the assistance in landing this one.)

Deeper

The plan was two-fold:
Drop into the river for an evening fish and then trade my boat in for waders and try to find some white bass in shallow.  Boat in tow, I headed out to fulfill this plan.  When I crossed the bridge and peered over the railing the plans changed.  Green and chuffed up.  There was no way I was going to spend my evening cleaning algae off of my line.  No way.

New plan.

I did a quick u-turn at the river boat ramp and headed back west and north to the nearest boat access on the south side of the lake.  The wind had been blowing from the north at a decent clip for the better part of two days and the south shore looked like it.  Prop washed weeds and greenery lapped the shore with each wave.  Despite the debris, the lake water looked fairly clear, so I launched.

I headed north across the lake looking for clear water and at the mid-lake line I found it.  I have been thinking for a few weeks about fishing deeper, giving a go at something other than shallow water sight fishing and it was at that moment that I decided today was going to be that day.  I dropped the E-Tec into an easy idle and pulled up a lake map on my phone.  I was looking for something interesting in the contour depth lines and spotted a relatively quick drop that seemed to be a reasonable place to try.

The Lake Nav app coupled with my depth finder put me on the spot in short order and I dropped anchor in 8.4' of water.  I was rigged with a floating line, 10' leader down to 0x and a 3.5" chartreuse and white clouser.

I got a bump on the second cast.  On the 3rd cast a fish picked up on the pause and came tight on the strip.  I was pleasantly surprised to boat a decent crappie.  Five casts later and it happened again.  Somewhere between the 4th and 5th crappie a 26" pike tried to digest the fly but thankfully I lip hooked it and I was able to release the fish and save my fly.  The 6th crappie was followed a white bass and then a cigar of a walleye.  Then another crappie.  The second walleye, a 2 pounder, that ate the fly wiggled free as I was trying to get the lens cap off of my camera. 

And so my evening went.

By the time I was done, the clouser was pretty well destroyed.

As much as I love sight fishing, there is a certain thrill in shooting fish in a barrel. 
Even if the barrel is deep.

Establishing a Baseline

The local white bass bite is getting close enough that a few of us, RS, MK and JH, decide to spend the evening on the water.  Daytime temps were in the mid to high 50's and the water was in the early 60's. 

The telltale midge hatch never transpired but flies were flung all the same.

JH ranged far and wide covering a lot of water while I stood in one spot and hoped that luck or chance beat exploration.

In the end exploration won in the form of a walleye that JH said was about the "size of a marker".

These forays are always valuable, as much for what does happen as what does not.

It was too early for the smash and grab white bass bit, we established that baseline.

It was also too early to fish with nothing but boxer shorts inside your waders.

MK established that baseline too.

JH and RS heading to the "other side"

JH, sundown prowl

RS changing it up. Low light, zoom and shivers make for interesting photography

Further Upriver

My bro was coming down to help me do some work on my house. 

Mr T and I had plans to do some exploring for SMB's on the Big River. 

The two plans merged and the three of us met late on Friday night for dinner and a few beers and some pregame chatter.

Saturday morning was checking out of the hotel, eggs benedict, hot coffee and dropping the boat in followed by a quick and seamless shuttle.  Sometimes everything goes smoothly.

The water looked good...higher and cooler than my last float here, but it looked good.  The sun was up and the wind (from a casting perspective) wasn't too bad.   The first fish, a walleye, ate an oversized fly designed for esox.  My big brother was on the board.  Our thoughts collectively were that this was a good sign...

It didn't take us long after that to figure out that it was pre-pre spawn mode for the SMB's and that we'd need to do a little digging and scratching.

The warming shallows that held bass last year at this time were mostly devoid of fish which left us probing the edges, fishing deeper, fishing slower.  

The takes were subtle... just the fly stopping.  My brother is an excellent steelhead angler and he converted his soft bite experience quickly to the task at hand.  It was a mixed bag of slowly tempting the bigger fish contrasting with smaller fish crushing pike flies a few inches shorter than themselves.

As always it was a pleasure to be on beautiful water with a skilled oarsmen doing all the heavy lifting. 

It was also great to be fishing with my brother again.  Miles and jobs and families don't allow us this opportunity very often. 

Thanks for making it happen boys.

Mr T...the slim beauty

scrappy

bronze back

I think those guys were playing dirty...is that a jig?

Lunch

rotund

back

Happy 3rd of July!

We rolled into the in-laws this afternoon.  I was running though the Independence Day weekend itinerary with my brother-in-law and it was decided that tonight would be the only shot at hex'n for walleyes.  Normally we miss dinner and hit the lake early, sunburn in the heat of evening sunset and wait for the mosquitoes to drop in.

Tonight, dinner was on the table at 7:30.  We dined on walleye (what else??) potatoes and salad.

By 8:00 we were on the road and we were sliding the canoe into the lake at 8:35.

Perfectly still, calm, perfect.

I've found that certain flies tied with bead-chain eyes and intended for Bahamian bonefish work as a passable Hexagenia emerger imitation in Northern Minnesota.

A passable 3/4 pound fish agreed with me and swallowed my fly shortly after the sun dropped below the horizon.

Though I have done this many times before, the wait for the hatch is always a little nerve-wracking.  It always happens a little later than I remember and there are times when it doesn't happen at all.  Tonight, as if on cue, the sky darkened as the thrum of mosquitoes signaled the end of the comfort and the start of the show.

The first hex popped and stalled on the surface.  The second came a few minutes after.  Then it became a forgone conclusion as big bugs popped and struggled to unfold their wings and take flight.

There is a moment in fishing a hatch, especially an after dark hatch like the hex, when you have to commit to the dry fly.  After the second small splashy rise in the failing light, I snapped on my headlamp and replaced the bonefish fly with a spentwing spinner, or as I was a hoping the fish would consider it, a crippled emerger.

We spent the next 45 minutes getting small rises to our offerings but didn't hear any big gulpers.  We one hand paddled the canoe toward the most likely splashes but the eaters didn't seem to be around.  We opted for a change of location which is always the last ditch effort while fishing a hatch that might last an hour.

We finally heard a good feeder to the southeast and paddled toward it...it came up once, then twice.  In what is probably best described as location through sonar, we triangulated its position until the moon betrayed the rise form.  I dropped the spinner close and waited 3 beats before the next gulp took my fly down with it.  I set and felt the throb and deep bend of a decent fish...

...but just for an instant, before the line went slack.

The 476th mosquito bit my unexposed skin, above my buff and below my hat.

I cursed for a couple of good reasons.

Not a Rapala

I rolled back to the night fishing grounds armed with a 7 weight and a few boxes of streamers.  There are places that I've come to fish often enough and had enough success at that they, by virtue of my history there,  remove the nagging question of "should I be fishing here or should I move?"

My night fishing grounds are one of these places.  After dark fish move into this shallow bay to feed.  This happens often enough that I fish it with confidence and can settle into the easy rhythm of casting and retrieving...auto-pilot.

My trance was broken with the arrival of a spin fisherman on the far bank.  We chatted across the water as my flyline arced out, landed and was stripped back into my basket.  He was soon joined by a buddy of his who took up position down the shore from his pal.

One of them caught and kept a small pike.  Despite the darkness I knew this to be true because I could hear every word bounce across the calm water on this still night.

A 15 inch walleye clobbered my fly.  I was thinking of taking a photo of it as proof of my fishing prowess and fly fishing expertise, but as I was setting my rod down and reaching for my camera it flipped a half corkscrew turn and came unpinned...so much for prowess.

The next tug felt heavier and I was a little more ginger in my landing practices.  A nice walleye appeared in the glow of my, now lit, headlamp.

I inquired into the darkness if the duo across the water were keeping fish.
the confirmed and I offered up my catch.

One of them hustled over and I took a quick snapshot before handing it off.
He thanked me and disappeared into the night with the fish.

As they rustled around hooking the fish to their stringer they mentioned that it taped out at 18".
One or the other of them asked if I was using a Rapala.

"No, flies, streamers...kind of like a baitfish pattern", I replied.

"Oh...", then silence.

Zephyrus

All indicators pointed to a soft breeze from the north.  RS, Brother Bill and I agreed to meet out at the lake at 8:30 PM, plenty of time to get waders on and flies knotted.

By 8:45 the short walk to the lake included the sound of lapping waves and a soft wind in our faces.  With light dropping under the steely sky, we climbed a short knoll to overlook the water.  Wind and waves met us mockingly.

It's not that the three of us couldn't cast or that the surf would pound us into submission.  Rather, the sheltered water and low wind (that we planned on) would be the breeding ground for a million midges and these in turn would tempt our quarry within casting range.  With the the west wind....all bets were off.

Weather IS.  It always has been.  You can plan for it, run from it, embrace it or ignore it.  It still just IS.

I wouldn't say that we embraced it and we didn't really plan for it.  The front that was kicking up Zephyrus also dropped the temps to the mid 40's and that wasn't including the wind chill.  Late May with rag wool gloves and stocking caps, standing belt deep in a lake after the sun goes down is not what I would call comfortable.  It didn't take us long to get chilled


And by "us", I mean Brother Bill and me.

RS was doing just fine.  He was fast into a walleye before I had even got my boots wet.  His second fish, a healthy white bass came a little later.

A few midges blew down the lake and smacked us in the unexposed parts of our faces, which in the dark felt like an errant raindrop...except that it wasn't wet.  So, the midges were around, but they weren't helping us as we had hoped.

After an hour or so we walked out of the lake and down to the river, out of the wind, looking for alternate targets.

We muddled around for 20 minutes and then headed back to our vehicles where heater knobs were dialed to full red.