The time of year has finally arrived in Minnesota….the 2012 Walleye opener weekend is knocking at the door of anglers all over the United States. A great weekend to spend on a lake or river with family, friends and children. Read More of the Story…

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Perhaps no other place in the country offers more to the walleye fisherman than right here in Central Minnesota. Our glacier-styled lakes and the winding Mississippi River make the perfect walleye habitat.  Read More of the Story…

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So I was ice fishing at Gull Lake in Brainerd, MN and I was using a swedish pimple. I use them because I like them, also there really nice. I went out Thursday and Friday and caught nothing. I was in 20 feet of water. I went out deeper to 80 feet, put down the swedish and right away Read More of the Story…

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I don’t need to tell anyone in Minnesota how tight-lipped a walleye can be. I recall an instance a few years ago that taught me just how fussy old marble eyes can be. I opened up season on a lake in northern Minnesota, and as many did, I was excited about stringing up some walleyes. By noon I had only a few “cigars” to show for my efforts. The bigger fish were there, I could see them on the depth finder, but they completely ignored my baits. Read More of the Story…

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This small town is typical of many communities in Minnesota. There are people of varying personalities, means and persuasions, but almost all share one passion: making a huge deal out of the opening of walleye season. This day that falls on the Saturday in May that is closest to the 15th has a strange influence on the citizens. Normally sane men, and a few women, forsake their everyday mediocrity and become intoxicated at the chance they may catch a few walleyes.

Mr. Randolph is a banker – as tight and conservative as one can be. It is said his miserly ways are known in several counties. But before this opening day you find him spending money at the local tackle store like a drunken sailor. Spools of line, two new rods and reels, a minnow bucket, landing net – he’ll buy them all.

Mr. Sanders is an aspiring fishing expert. His dream is to host his own fishing show on TV. The trouble is his passion for fishing notoriety dulls his mind and, thus, he is chronically broke and amounts to nothing. His wife and kids go without food, but Sanders has the latest fishing gear. His six-year old girl weighs 45 pounds, his tackle box of jigs weighs fifty.

Of course there is Mickey who invites a bunch of buddies from the Twin Cities to come up fishing every opening day. About six guys will arrive Friday night with $5.00 worth of fishing gear and about $200 worth of beer, beef  jerkey and microwave sandwiches. They always threaten to go fishing at midnight, but invariably are drunk by then. Once four of the guys stumbled down to the dock to actually go out fishing, but they got in the wrong boat (it belonged to the sheriff) and they ran it on a reef. Now they figure they are ahead if they just stay in the cabin and forget the fishing.

Then you have the mayor, who’s dream is to one day host the Governor’s Opener on the small lake next to town. Each year he sends a 40-page proposal to the Capitol about the fine accommodations, the excellent guide service, and outstanding fishing in their area. Once the lieutenant governor made an incognito trip to the town and hired Mr. Sanders as a guide. He had his check refused by the banker and was mooned by one of Mickey’s friends. The Governor’s Opener will never be in this town.

So where is this quaint little town who’s fate is often determined by the fickle nature of a goldish-colored fish with staring glassy eyes? No one really knows. It describes many towns in the land of the lakes and walleyes. It could be the town you live in!

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Have you ever thought about why a walleye will bite on a leech, or even a nightcrawler for that matter? Unless there is some sort of natural displacement phenomenon that I’m not aware of, I doubt a walleye happens across a leech or a night crawler very often.

In all the icthyology (study of fish) books I have, only one mentioned that leeches were a part of a walleye’s diet. There’s a chance that a leech may wander into deeper walleye haunts and get gobbled up. Yet do you know where they get the kind of leeches you buy at a bait store? They’re caught in swamps and ponds with lush cattail, lily pad, and algal growth. Not exactly what you’d call walleye waters.

How about nightcrawlers? No fish book I have says nightcrawlers are standard walleye fare, or even a fraction thereof. Now a river walleye may run across a ‘crawler that slithered into the current, but in a lake it’s not likely.

So why do walleyes, and other fish, devour these unlikely baits? My guess is they just seem like darn good food at the moment. What does a fish care if they’ve never seen them before?

Actually, fish like baits that are even more far fetched than leeches and nightcrawlers. I’ve caught sunnies on bread wadded up on a hook. Once a bunch of us kids at a family reunion caught some on potato chips. The tough part was getting a chip on a hook. There was a time in desperation when I hooked a chunk of bacon on a big hook and added a piece of orange peel. The bacon would ripple through the water just like a snake. And the orange peel gave it a neat color contrast. I thought it looked great – and a big northern or bass did to. That fish swallowed it right down but I managed to lose it before we could get a hand on it. Now that I think of it, that piece of bacon came through the water just like one of those new Sluggo baits that are so popular. There was even a lure called the Porko made of pork rind. Another great idea I didn’t capitalize on.

I have yet to catch a fish on a cigarette butt, however. That used to be the vogue saying years ago. You know, “the fish were biting so well they’d hit a cigarette butt flipped out into the water.” Anyway, who would want to eat a fish that had a butt in it’s mouth.

So unlike humans, fish are not what they eat. That’s a good thing. They don’t know what they like anyway. Leeches, bacon,  potato chips, nightcrawlers, and cigarette butts. If there’s a common denominator present, I can’t see it.

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Even though tourism marketers insist their demographics and surveys reveal outdoor sports like golf and tennis are equal, or even surpass, fishing and hunting in popularity today, my heart says it isn’t so. True, golf and tennis are admirable sports, games at which I embarrass myself at occasionally. But when ever has a tee shot onto the green or acing an opponent on the serve really made one’s heart race or cause hardened global entrepreneurs to turn giddy? It happens all the time when hunting and fishing!

My friend Jim is such an example. He is a self-made millionaire from out east who earned his fortune with an unrelenting work ethic, nerves of steel, and veins with ice coursing through them. He appears to fear no one, and has enjoyed wild success in all he’s set out to do. Yet a simple walleye unnerved him.

Jim visited the Brainerd area awhile back to speak at a convention of utility professionals. Once he was through he had one request: to go walleye fishing. He had done many things like mountain biking across France and claimed victory at prestigious sailing regattas, but he wanted to catch a walleye.

To better assure success, we lined up guide Rob Rasinski who had fished Gull Lake all his life. He had been guiding his clients to limits of walleyes for a few days, so we left the dock with expectations on high. The day was one of those rare Indian Summer days. The leaves were in full autumn glory, the sky was brilliant blue, and the unseasonable temperatures had the thermometer up over seventy degrees. We agreed that no matter the outcome, just being out on the lake that day had already made it a wild success. Still, we both wanted walleyes.

The recommended bait offering was typical fall fashion – a red tailed chub hooked on a slip sinker rig and fished on the bottom. The first spot held fish, but none that cared for red tailed chubs. Same with the second, third, and fourth spot. I listened to Jim’s stories of high stakes business launches and hard-nosed negotiations. Rob got more serious. Like any proud fishing guide, he said the empty live well wasn’t looking too good.

On our fifth spot, we finally hit active fish. Rob caught a keeper walleye and showed Jim what they looked like. Witnessing a little success got us going. Jim started telling the fish they had better bite. I told him it wasn’t the same as cutting a deal with humans. Then he got a solid walleye bite. He tried to feed it line, fumbled with the reel bail, and tried to keep the tangle out of his line -  all at the same time. High buck investments and Wall Street deals couldn’t rattle him, but a scaly, small-brained fish had him talking to himself.

Jim was quick though and rebounded well. He gathered the line and set the hook. The look on his face was priceless. Nervousness, excitement and joy all at once. Rob netted the walleye and brought it in. Jim was as giddy as a kid at Christmas. Here was a man who had all financial and professional success a person could want, and catching a walleye was at the moment the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

The fascination of all things wild can indeed make grown men and women act like youngsters. And youngsters, well, they are the best to watch as they experience hunting for the first time. Trevor, who is the last of my boys, turned nine earlier this year. He was old enough to come along and watch on the opening day of duck season. Like us older folks, he found joy in all aspects of the hunt. Packing a lunch with favored goodies, loading up the gear, and driving the ATV far into the woods were all just little slices of the day to be savored.

There were wet places to cross and woods to travel through before we arrived at the beaver dam that we expected to hold wood ducks, mallards, and teal. Trevor carried our lunch and some gear in a small scout back pack that I had gotten when I was about his age. There’s something very satisfying in seeing kids today leave the video games and cable television behind and strike off on an adventure with Dad.

We stopped at a traditional spot in the woods for lunch with family and cousins. Season was still two hours off, so some of the younger hunters, and Trevor, sneaked down to the water’s edge to see if there were ducks or not. Trevor’s eyes were fired with excitement when he came back to say there were lots of ducks in the water. I, too, hummed with excitement as we hunkered down to wait for noon to come.

I told Trevor that his job was to keep our retriever Bandit on the leash until we wanted him to go out and fetch ducks we, hopefully, were going to bag. I told him the dog would be very excited because this was his first hunt of the year, and when he heard shots, he would want to run out right away. Trevor assured me he would keep him under control.

At five minutes after noon, a small flock of mallards left the pond and winged their way over us. I rose up and missed with my first shot, but not my second. A drake greenhead in budding plumage splashed in the water in front of us. Behind me I heard a crash in the brush and turned to look as Bandit went tearing out into the water with his leash trailing behind. Trevor was picking himself up and sheepishly told me he didn’t know the dog could pull that hard. He was relieved when I laughed and said we would make the dog behave himself when he got back with the duck.

For the next several minutes, sporadic flocks of mallards left the beaver pond and flew over us well within shotgun range. I showed Trevor how to keep his head down until we were ready to shoot. When we were successful, he would send Bandit out for the bird and take it from him when he returned. He agreed that sending the dog to retrieve ducks was more fun than throwing a stick or ball for him to bring back. Trevor laid the ducks out in a neat row and kept careful count so we wouldn’t go over the limit. When I bagged a green winged teal I showed him how small one duck can be compared to others.

Soon we had our limit and prepared to leave. My cousin, who was our host, asked Trevor what he thought about duck hunting. It was not so much what he said, but how he said it, that made me believe he felt the same excitement that I and all our fathers before had felt when first hearing the whistling wings  of mallards coming in from the sky.

Do not ask me to define the reason behind the passion, the excitement that draws us to hunt game and catch fish. All I know is that it is there and it is powerful enough to make accomplished men laugh with delight. It is the same thing that makes boys’ hearts race when a flock of ducks turn their way. Golf doesn’t do it, tennis either.  In fact, nothing seems to move the soul like pursuing the wild things of this earth!

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