Last week I had the opportunity to spend time at the Philmont Scout Ranch for some leadership training. While there, I had the opportunity to try out the Rod and Rifle Rag Bonehead Fishing Shirt made by Columbia. It’s a fantastic shirt.

It kept me cool in the dry heat of the southwest.  It looked good.  The RRR and logo was sharp and I had a few questions about it, which I was happy to answer.  It’s many pockets are great for gear.  The only quibble is that it’s currently only available in large, I would have fit better in a medium.

After wearing “in the field”, but not fishing, I highly recommend this shirt.

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The Minnesota Walleye Opener was this past weekend, although the weather on opening day (Saturday) was a bit brutal, cold and windy, Sunday made up for it. A true holiday weekend in the state of MN. I’m sure there were some who did well, others who didn’t and yet others who may have had the walleye of their lives on the line. Thinking about that last statement is what made me write the following to hopefully lend a helping hand…

Everyone wants to catch a big fish, that is what we go fishing for. It seems like almost everyone has their moment with at least one gargantuan fish and blows it. From personal experience and talking with others, it seems that big fish always seem to hit at the most unexpected time. They grab your lure, let you fight them close enough to the boat so you can see them and get really nervous, and then throw the lure back in your face. It is almost like a game to them…we try to catch them, they try to break our hearts.

This past winter when I was doing research on a fishing book, one of the sections was on catching trophy fish. I called a lot of the most successful trophy anglers in the country and asked them what they do to be successful. In one way or another, everyone said the same thing – you’ve got to put every thought and action toward one thing, hooking a trophy.

That is good advice, but difficult to do. These trophy anglers sometimes forsake home, family, and normal lifestyles to be on the water continuously. They know big fish are not usually found in groups and will fish for days before getting one hit. They disdainfully pass up schools of fast biting medium-sized fish and move on. When they do finially hook onto a big one they are like machines, for they have rehearsed the scene many times. Skillfully they land the fish, admire it, perhaps take a few quick photographs and then usually carefully release it back into the water. They often show little emotion, take a moment of rest, discuss why that particular fish was there, and then it’s back to fishing. That is how you really increase your chances of a trophy fish.

Even though these trophy anglers account for most fish in the record books, they miss out on a lot of the fun of fishing. My recommendation is to slow down and enjoy fishing a little more, the big ones will come if you fish intelligently and get out on the water as much as you can. But when the big one hits, be ready, it may be the last one for a few years.

Though it pains me to say it, the two biggest walleyes I have ever hooked got away. Both probably would have weighed well into the ‘teens. One was lost because I didn’t check my line after catching a few other walleyes. The line had been nicked and frayed by their teeth. I fought the big fish right up to the boat and with just a flick of it’s head, it broke the line right above the jig. No matter how fast the fish are biting, check your line after each fish. If the line is nicked or worn, snip off the line and retie. The other lost trophy was a result of a tight drag. Many excellent walleye anglers still preach to crank the reel drag as tight as you can and then back reel on the fish when it runs. If the fish runs real fast, they will let the reel handle spin crazily and slap against their hands to prevent a backlash. That may work on smaller fish, but on big fish you are just asking for trouble. I had fought this particular walleye up to the boat and was ready to net it when it decided to head for bottom again. It took off with a burst of speed, not typical of a walleye, and I couldn’t back reel fast enough. With a sick heart I reeled in a broken line. Since then, I still back reel but still leave my drag set so if they want line, they can pull it out.

Now I have caught several trophy class fish since then, but none can ever make up for those two. I learned how to handle trophy fish the hard way. I hope you will read this and land your big fish, rather than just be able to tell people about it, like I am.

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Many moons ago, I made a commitment to never go fishing at midnight again. Oh, yeah. I know all about the die hards who drop their their lines at the stroke of midnight on opening night, or day, or whatever the correct definition is. Their line of thinking is to get first crack at naive fish that haven’t seen a real lure since last fall.

Now all that sounds fine and dandy, but I have never done well fishing during the grave yard shift. I guess I’ve caught a few fish, but never enough to make up for the hopelessly tangled lines, chilly temperatures, and debilitating hazards associated with nocturnal angling.

I recall one lusty fellow who insisted I go out with him for the opener. “Those big walleyes are like werewolves. They only turn on after the sun has gone down, and no night is as good as the first night of the year. Just meet me at midnight, Howard, and I’ll show you a thing or two.” I would like to think it was an invitation, but it wasn’t. It had the ring of a challenge, a dare I couldn’t back out from. “You got it, Wally. I’ll meet you down at Headstone Landing at 11:30″  I replied.

I wanted to portray my enthusiasm (of which I had none) so I showed up early. But Wally was already there, along with another guy I didn’t know. Actually I still don’t know the man because I never saw his face, it was dark. All I know is that he answered to the name of Leo.

Quickly I jumped in the boat with my gear and away we went. Wally and Leo were brave like Columbus, I was with the crew headed for the edge of the world.

The darkness was thick and penetrating out on the water. No one made a sound, except Wally who made a grunting sound as he rowed. Across Headstone Bay we went and stopped where a rock point jutted out into the lake.

“Now we need a little light” Wally stated. From his end of the boat I heard a rustling noise and the squeak of lantern being prepared. I was just ready to say what a good idea that was when I heard a crash and a curse. “Anybody with a match on his body must leave the boat immediately. There is kerosene all over the boat.” Wally moaned.

“Forget it, let’s just fish.”  Leo muttered.

“Yeah, well you’re on my tackle box.”  Wally retorted.

“It was that or sit on your lunch up by Jeff!”

I suddenly realized it hadn’t been a soft boat cushion I was sitting on.

“You always screw things up, Leo!” Wally yelled. And away the two cohorts went. For several minutes they fumed about borrowed tackle that had not been returned, who’s mother was ugly and who’s wasn’t, and on and on. During all this I decided to toss out a jig and lay low. I was just ready to vote for an aborted trip when a big fish nailed my jig. Like a wild horse it stripped off line and doubled my rod. Wally and Leo immediately ceased arguing and started yelling encouragement.

By the thumping and head shaking I could tell this was no small fish. After the initial frenzy the fish stayed deep. Around the boat it swam with me and two enraptured men following, jumping from seat to seat.

“How big is it? Feels good, eh? Where’s the net?” Oops, sorry about your rod, Wally. That’s OK. Your new thermos just went overboard, Leo.” After slugging it out deep for ten minutes the fish surfaced. Somewhere in the dark we could hear it thrashing. Like a madman Wally found the net and somehow got the fish entangled in the mesh. Frantically he heaved it aboard.

The big fish hit the bottom of the boat and freaked out. With it’s great tail it scattered stray lures, over turned tackle boxes, hooks, and smashed sandwiches. But undaunted we leaped on the great fish and pinned it to the floor.

“Do I dare light a match to see this baby?” Leo gasped.

“OK, just be ready to head overboard if that spilled kerosene catches.”

There in the pale yellow glow lay a huge, monstrous, unforgettable, 14 pound…………carp.

That did it. Lost tempers, broken gear, and over all mayhem couldn’t deter us. But that old carp took the wind out of our sails. In silence we rowed to shore. At the landing was another boat that had just come in. One of the men waded out to grab our bow and help us in.

“If you gents did as good as we did, we’ll all celebrate.” he crowed. Quickly he waded over to the dock and lifted a stringer of huge marble-eyed walleyes. “I’ll never miss another opening night again!” he laughed.

“Me either, I thought.  Me either.”

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Even with all today’s emphasis on technology, gaming stations and cell phones, most youngsters still find a certain fascination with fishing. A youth’s excitement at pulling a fish from the watery world of a lake, stream or river is something that has endured for ages.

I vividly recall the first fish I caught on a rod and reel. My dad and I were out in a boat fishing for sunfish. He showed me how to bait the hook and instructed me to keep a sharp eye on my bobber. It was only a few minutes before the bobber suddenly sank from sight. Words can’t explain the excitement that sinking  bobber caused in me. All the anticipation and enthusiasm I had been storing up came out in one big rush as I threw my rod and reel on the floor of the boat and pulled in the struggling bluegill hand over hand. I imagine my dad thought it was rather funny, but all I can remember is being embarrased. I think it was the last time I dropped my rod and reel and elected to pull the fish in by hand.

The bluegill was not even a big one. In fact, it was on the small side, but it looked like a whale that day. We continued to catch fish and enjoy the day. I pestered my father with silly questions like “Are they called sunfish because they bite best on sunny days?” and “Would the fish bite me if they had the chance?”

If I had to single out my happiest fishing days it would be those days when I was young. I was thrilled more then by a biting fish, and I took nothing for granted.

When I first started journaling my outdoor exploits, I wrote about taking my first boy on his first fishing trip. Since then I have introduced three more children to the sport – the youngest one just this spring. They have taken to the sport with various amounts of interest. Some consider it fun now and then, others want to go every chance they get. But one thing remains constant with all of them – we get closer when we go fishing together. I’m convinced that if you don’t take your kids fishing you are missing out on a great experience. It is a blast and teaches young people a form of good clean recreation. But most of all, fishing bridges any gap left by a generation of time and gives parents and children something in common. I don’t know who will enjoy it the most, the parent or the child!

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I suppose there’s more than one way to catch a fish!

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For a period of time I was a youth leader for young men in our local church congregation. One of our favorite activities was camping and getting into the outdoors. So, as often as was possible, we would pack up kids and cars and head up into the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.

On one particular trip we had 4 adult leaders and several kids crammed into 2 Suburbans and we were headed up the mountains to do a little spelunking. Like on most trips, a few of the kids, and one particular leader, had brought their fishing rods in the hopes of catching that nights dinner.

I was driving the trailing vehicle as we wound up a narrow, dirt, mountain road that had a cascading creek running beside it. After driving on this road for about 45 minutes, the truck in front suddenly came to a stop on the side of the road, our adult angler jumped out, grabbed is rod from the back and hopped down the bank to the creek.

Confused, I stopped the car, and went to talk to the driver of the first vehicle. As it turns out, for the previous hour our fishing buddy had been talking up his fishing skills with outlandish claims. No one in the car was buying his stories and were giving him a hard time. Finally, in frustration, our friend told the driver to “stop right now, and I will catch a brook trout in that stream running along the road in 5 casts or less.” So, without any hesitation, they stopped.

We looked down into the creek in time to see him make his first cast. To our amazement, he reeled in what was probably about an 8″ brooky. Thankfully, as he lifted it out of the water, it fell off the line. We insisted that it didn’t count and he had 4 casts left. On his fifth cast he brought in a slightly smaller, but good looking brook trout. He let it go, threw his rod in the truck, and continued to boast all the way to the campsite without anyone else saying another word.

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When I was about 8 years old some family friends offered to take my father and I on a fishing trip to Mirror Lake. They talked a lot about this renown lake and for several years, I thought it was the ONLY Mirror Lake (I’ve since come to learn that there are thousands of “Mirror Lake”).

Mirror Lake was a mountain lake in the High Uintas of Utah. After what seemed like a couple of days of drive (probably no more than an couple of hours), we arrived at the location. Mirror Lake was a relatively small lake surrounded by pines and quaking aspen. There was evidence of beaver activity.

Fairly early on, I cast out and apparently hooked the big one. It was fighting. Another member of our party on the opposite side of this small lake cast out and also hooked something.

While we were both fighting, the “big one” surfaced. The beaver. I had hooked it’s tail, and the other guy had hooked something on it’s head. He wasn’t very happy. He thrashed around a bit and the lines broke.

But Mr. Beaver got even. That day we had caught several fish and left them on a line in the cold lake. We walked to another near by lake planning to come back and clean the fish before heading home. By the time we got there, the fish and line were gone. Since there weren’t any other people up there, we’re pretty sure Mr. Beaver had himself a nice fish dinner of rainbow trout.

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