From the Gone Fishing Archives: Personal best

This picture documents the most glorious achievement of my fishing career. I believe it occurred in June of 2000.

Tortorello and I were stalking big channel cats in the fast water just below the Ford Dam. A few days earlier, Donovan and I had good luck working a spot next to the powerhouse on the east bank. After losing a few lunkers, I realized I needed stouter tackle, so I finally made myself a proper cat rig.

I caught this horse on a circle hook with a gob of chicken liver, weighed down with a three ounce bell sinker. It was a wild, rod-bending fight. As the fish struggled to stay at the bottom, I knew I had something big. She ran into the current a few times and I thought I was going to lose her. I prayed to the fishing god, 'At least, let me see the thing!"

Tortorello manned the net. Once we horsed the fish into the boat, we sat there and gawked, giddy at the sight.

Being a cat novice at the time, I didn't understand that I had landed a flathead; I just thought it was an unusually homely channel cat.

I didn't weigh the fish, but the measurement--36 inches--suggests something in the 20 to 25 pound range.

From the Gone Fishing Archives: Carp on chicken liver

Weird but true.

Happened on November 8, 2004 while I was shore fishing for channel cats on the Mississippi.

No place like home

After fishing unfamiliar waters lately, it was nice to hit the Sip this morning. The smallmouth were hanging where I expected them, mainly around the sunken rock islands between the B-N railroad tressle and the Lowry Bridge.

From the Gone Fishing Archives: Winter pike on Cass Lake

I ran into Bob Bruns at Star Island on January 28, 2006. I asked him how the fishing was and he hoisted this chunky northern from the bed of his pickup. He said he caught the fish a couple hours earlier on a sucker minnow. I think his shack was on the drop off by Dougall's place.

I asked him how he prepared the pike and he explained--in considerable detail--his pickling process. The thought of eating uncooked northern sounded a little gross but Bob insisted it was delicious.

The next day, I scrambled down the bank and discovered a jar of pickled pike Bob had dropped off for me earlier in the morning. He was right about pickled pike; it is delicious.

From the Gone Fishing Archives: Windigo is a mirror

The date: April 21, 2006, shortly after ice-out
The place: Lake Windigo, near the south portage
The experience: sublime

That crayfish I mentioned

We detained him briefly in a bucket, along with Molly's bluegill and walleye. All three were later released.

Check out the meaty pinchers on the crayfish. When I boated him, he was stubbornly clinging to the minnow on the jig.

He didn't have the usual orange color of the native Cass Lake crayfish, so I suspect the aggressive little bruiser is an invasive rusty crayfish.

Probably should have snuffed him.

The Diva and Her Fan

As she landed perch after perch, Lucy clowned around. Whenever she saw a perch in the water chasing her jig--or felt a tug--she exclaimed, "My fans love me."

Her self esteem appears robust.

Molly gets a good 'gill

For an hour or two on the evening of July 19, I fished Cass Lake with the nieces. We worked the weeds south of Murray's dock, mainly with little shiners and twister tails.

Molly fooled the fat bluegill in the photo, along with a little walleye and a few rock bass. Lucy landed perch.

Not to brag, but *I* caught a rusty crayfish. He was a real bruiser, wouldn't unclamp my minnow even as a I reeled him from the water.

Gettin' my Homer on

Lake County walleye. Hmmmmmmm...

Life is hard

unless you are in Lake County, with a cooler of food and drink, a fishing rig, and nowhere you need to be anytime soon.

So we rented a canoe

So we rented a canoe
From Crooked Lake Resort
Where they keep minnows
In two clawfoot bathtubs

The kid at the counter didn't ask our names
And didn't want a deposit
Fifteen dollars a day, he said,
Take whatever canoe you like.

There were three,
Down by the water.
Tipped upside down,
Dented, scratched, mangy.

We took one
And strapped it on the car.
It leaked
But we didn't care.

The weather was hot and thick
So the water that pooled
in the bottom of the canoe
Cooled my feet.

When you camp in the Arrowhead,
And summer comes on strong,
That is a glorious feeling.

A question answered

Why are chipmunks called chipmunks?

Because they love chips, specifically Lunds brand organic red hot and blues.

This fellow, one of several animal friends we made in Lake County, came back time and again to collect the dregs of our chip bag, which J thoughtfully poured out on the beach for his consideration.

The next time I go camping...

...this is where I want to pitch the tent.

It's perect--well isolated from the other two rustic sites on the never-to-be-named lake. There is throne a short walk away, a stout picnic table, and a good sized clearning surrounded by magnificent evergreens. From the looks of things--I admit it: I inspected the latrine--the place gets scant use.

J and I discovered the hidden gem while paddling up the shoreline from the spot where we stayed July 22 to July 25.

Given the terrain and distance from the road, it is not really suitable for the usual car camping. A better approach: park the car at the lake's main campground and load the canoe with the cargo. Unless there is a big wind, it would be a piece of cake to ferry people and supplies to the site--a lot easier than scrambling down the steep, rocky hill from the road.

Lake County--it's the place to get away from all the people trying to get away from it all.

So don't go there. If you do, keep your trap shut.

Low mercury walleyes

Okay, they weren't just low in mercury content. They were small, the best no more than ten inches. But the three walleyes and one perch we kept made for a tasty dinner nonetheless.

I caught one of the fish, J all the rest. She was using a yellow twister tail--Kohlie gold--and a lead jig. We located our hapless meal loitering in thick weeds in six to eight feet of water.

Over all, the fishing at our Lake County paradise was slow. I attribute this to the abundance of shiners (see post below) and a big mayfly hatch. Put another way, there was a lot for a fish to gorge on before testing our odd, artificial baits.

One morning, I lost what I presumed to be a big northern while fishing out of the canoe. The fish bent my rod into a U and then there was nothing. It didn't snap the line, it cut it.

Here, J politely waits for the camp cook to put down the fucking camera and serve the grub.

Something fishy going on

Apologies, readers, for the long silence. I've been away from the computer since J and I fled the cities ten days ago to buccaneer about northern Minnesota and ignore any obligations that might rudely intrude upon our summer.

On July 23, we found ourselves a rustic campground in Lake County. I won't name this lovely site. That might encourage other people to use it--a thought that fills me with deep revulsion. But PK, you know the spot. We camped about 50 yards away with the ladies last year; it's a walk in.

From prior expience, I knew the local waters to be reasonably fishy. While cleaning the dishes in the shallows, I saw why: the lake teems with big shiner minnows. For walleyes and northerns, that must be like a free, 24 hour buffet. One morning, I left two breakfast plates with scrambled egg residue to soak in the water. An hour later, you couldn't see a speck of egg. The mob of hungry shiners had picked it clean.

When I stood still, the shiners swarmed about my feet. It tickled.

The bite bit tonight

But the sunset didn't.

I fished a few of the usual spots with the jig and twister tails. That technique has been producing reliably. Tonight I couldn't raise a decent smallie.

Maybe the smallies, like everyone else I know, have crapped out due to this nasty hot weather.

It's time to head north and cool off.

From the Gone Fishing Archives: A happy day

The date: April 18, 2004
The location: the Mississippi River, northeast Minneapolis
The bait: A gob of nightcrawlers from the Marshalltown, Iowa farm of Carol and Charles H.
The T-shirt: "Narc with a Bark," from the Minneapolis Police Department.
The fish: A big fucking channel cat

The food chain exposed

PK and I hit the Mississippi for some Monday afternoon smallmouth fishing. There was a pretty steady bite all day.

The most interesting moment came when we were fishing the sunken rock island south of the Burlington Northern bridge. PK landed the little smallie in the picture. As you can see if you look closely, the little fella had ingested a crayfish moments before hitting PK's orange and yellow twister tail. The crayfish was still alive. Peter tried to fish with it but, alas, the line got snagged right after he put the poor fella on his jig.

Ruins on the Mississippi

Yesterday, J and I took a late afternoon cruise up the Mississippi and come upon one of my favorite rusty hulks. I suspect this old dredger was used to excavate the holding ponds for the Minneapolis water works (located up on the hill where you can see that little dash of blue sky on the photo at the bottom).

I like the way that lush greenery that has popped up in an area that was underwater not long ago. It's like a blast of spring in the middle of the summer.

The "Fuck You" sentiment isn't entirely original but I think the setting gives it some umph.

To the left, J cleans up after learning that Mississippi muck, deep and dark, can swallow your shoe. She had to root around to exhume it.

From the Gone Fishing Archives: Lock carp

I snared this handsome carp with an artificial, which is rare for me. Seems like carp usually want to taste an offering before committing. This was an unusual circumstance, though. My pal PK and I were fishing above the Upper St. Anthony Lock in Minneapolis. When the lockmaster opened a valve to fill the lock, there was this wild rush of water right where I was jigging with a yellow twister tail. The carp, apparently feeding in the turbulence, banged the bait and then fought mightily. Say what you wish about carp, they are fun on light tackle.

From the Gone Fishing Archives: Winter is beautiful

March 17, 2005. View from northeast Minneapolis.

Words to live by

J brought this souvenir home from her trip to Seattle. It reminds me of that scene in the movie Goodfellas where Jimmy Conway (Robert DeNiro) tells Henry Hill (Ray Liotta) about the two greatest lessons in life: Never rat on your friends and always keep your mouth shut.

From the Gone Fishing Archives: Chunky kitty from yesteryear

Date: August 27, 2006
Place: John's houseboat on the Mississippi River in northeast Minneapolis
Catch: A chunky channel cat that nearly broke my ultra light spin caster

One of the many reasons I love my wife

She knows how to relax.

Dicked: Guess who's to blame for the west's biggest salmon kill?

You have my permission to kill me if Gone Fishing turns into a political blog. As it says on this very title page, I try hard not to think about George W. Bush.

That said, my interest in fishing occasionally intersects with politics. This gives me license to gas on about the Washington Post's series on Dick Cheney--Angler: The Cheney Vice Presidency.

It's a great newspaper work, heartening in an otherwise bleak time for the industry. What it reveals about the Beltway is utterly appalling.

Did you know that Dick Cheney is responsible for the death of some 77,000 coho and chinook salmon on the Klamath River? That his scheme to shore up the support of ranchers and farmers in Oregon--at the expense of a drought stricken river--led to the worst salmon die off in the modern history of the west? I didn't until I stumbled across this story.

Now, to take your mind off this odious matter, I suggest you contemplate thelovely sunset photo above this text. I shot the image at Cass Lake on May 13 while fishing for walleyes with Paul H.

Henceforth, I will try to avoid mention of Dick Cheney.

From the Gone Fishing Archives: Fat smallies of spring

Where do the real fat smallies go this time of year? That's a mystery to me. On April 26, while fishing for kitties with nightrawlers, I caught the well proportioned gal you see to your left. In spring, the big pigs seem to like to roam the shallows on my stretch of river; sometimes it seems like they move in loose packs. But once it gets hot, they pull the old Keyser Soze. It's my suspicion that the big 'uns are hanging in the deep holes by the Soo Line Bridge. But, damn, I don't know how to lure them out.

When the fishing is easy: Smallmouth in July

Rolled out of bed, cooked an egg sandwich and hit the Mississippi for some Sabbath smallmouth fishing. Given my heathen ways, it doesn't really matters to me that it is the Sabbath. When I was working stiff, Sundays always had a flavor I didn't much care for--kind of like mouthful of soapy water. Now it doesn't matter much.
On to the bite: I found a bunch of smallies who were up to no good. They were decent sized--14 to 16 inches--but not big. Most were loitering near the submerged rock piles by the main channel. I fished between the Lowry Bridge and the Burlington Northern tressle, using quarter ounce jigs with big green twister tails.

From the Gone Fishing Archives: The year's first nice kitty

Caught on March 14, on a fathead minnow, by the dock ruins south of the Port of Minneapolis.

See that little glimmer in my eye? Obviously, I was dreaming about retirement but who could have guessed it would come so soon?

A lot of people, actually.

From the Gone Fishing Archives: Dead herons tell no tales

Living along the Mississippi River, and poking around as much as possible, I've come across many dead animals. Lots of fish, of course, but also beavers, dogs, fox, deer, Canada geese, raccoons, ducks, possums, one person.

This recently departed Great Blue Heron was floating in the center of the river, just below the Burlington Northern railroad bridge on May 25.

When a wave passed over it, the corpse undulated and looked alive.

Fin me once, shame on you. Fin my twice, you're dinner

Actually, you're dinner either way. Here my nephew Jack, fresh from London, examines the dorsal fin of a 19 inch Cass Lake 'eye at the cleaning station in the backyard of Granli.

This tasty creature used to live in the eight to ten foot water off Lodge Point. She wound up being eaten by Mosedales after mistaking a perch-pattern Rat-l-trap for a live fish. Sucka!

More details: It was about 1:30 in the afternoon--breezy and sunny. She put up an admirable fight. Thanks to that huge ass net Charles gave me last fall, I managed to avoid the customary flubbing at boat side. I picked up another nice eater 'eye off the bullrush bed south of Murray's dock, along with a couple of 9 inch perch.

Pumpkinseed, badass fish of Lake Windigo

On July 7, Sam S. and I fished Lake Windigo for a couple of hours. We didn't raise any pike, which is what I was expecting, but did manage to fool some largemouth and a couple of good sized pumpkinseed bluegills.

Actually, "fool" isn't the right word. Those gills were aggressive! The one in the photograph hit on a big shad rap.

I don't what he was thinking. No way the creature could fit that large lure in his tiny little mouth. But that's the thing about big 'gills--they swagger.

Triple stackers

I fished Cass Lake a bunch of times in June. Instead of heading to the better known early season spots--the mouth of the Turtle River, O'Neill's Bar, the Cedar Island flats--and fishing the low light hours, I worked the 12 to 18 foot water about 150 yards from the dock during midday.

To my surprise, it was very fishy.

I caught these two suspicious characters using some shiner minnows that Jen and I seined by the dock. Because the shiners were small, I used three to a hook. This ridiculous technique led to my discovery that northerns and walleyes share the human weakness for the triple stacker.

J and I ate the walleye with Arnie and Steph (who came up for a night) and saved the northern.

Later, Jen cubed out the fillets and soaked them in lime juice for three days in the fridge. Ceviche is delectable. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Let us now praise the Thunder Pumper

No, this isn't an End Times shot--just a little fun with the solarization effect on my photo editing program.

I caught this fine looking thunder pumper (a.k.a. croaker, a.k.a. grinder, a.k.a. bubbler, a.k.a. sheepshead, a.k.a. freshwater drum) on the afternoon of July 5.

Bridgette, my friend from my now-vanished days of gainful employment and inadequate free time, stopped by after work for a cruise in the Jennifer V. While drifting and discussing the state of affairs at the office (yikes!), I hooked a mess of little smallmouth, as well as the pictured thunder pumper. He hit a gold twister tail.

The thunder pumper is a respectable piscatoral citizen--a dogged fighter with with mild, tasty flesh that is native to Minnesota waters. Still, a lot of anglers leave them to die on shore based on the mistaken notion that killing such "rough fish" will increase the numbers of walleye or other game fish. That's not right.

June 11 was a good night...

...unless you were a channel catfish that swam too close to an unemployed newspaper reporter with a fishing jones. In that case, it sucked because you wound up with a number two circle hook stuck in the side of your mouth.

I nabbed these unlucky kitties while fishing from River John's houseboat on the Mississippi. While I was technically still employed at the time, I was already a retiree in spirit--as you can see from my smile.

The cats hit on--what else?--putrid chicken livers. Despite their filthy behavior, I showed mercy. After detaining them briefly in John's metal washtub, I released them into the river, where they will probably find something even more disgusting than chicken livers to eat.

Hallelujah I'm a bum

I have been unshackled from the bonds of gainful employment for about a month.

Like the man said, it's all good.

Actually, it's not *all* good.

But I don't think about disemboweling the boss as often as I did when I was a working stiff. Sometimes, when the bite is strong, I don't think about it for several hours in a row.

So I have been tooling around on water a lot. Mostly, I investigate the stretch of the Mississippi River that is near the River Ranch, my place in northeast Minneapolis. This time of year, the smallmouth bass are thick here. There are also a lot of channel catfish. Despite their preference for putrid baits that stink up my boat, I love kitties. So sporty, so willful.

I've also fished Cass Lake regularly this season, chasing walleyes (recent victims pictured here), northerns, and perch. I harbor dreams of catching a muskie at Cass in the next few months. I'm also scheming on boating a salmon or lake trout on Lake Superior.

Because my summer of being bum is passing at such an alarming pace, I figure I should start a blog.

In a future life defined by all manner of obligations, I will read this thing and, I hope, remember what is was like to wake up every morning, wondering only, "Where will I fish today?"

Or maybe I'll make the transition from "sport fisherman" to "subsistence fisherman."

That doesn't sound bad. Except for one thing: under the subsistence fishing scenario, I don't know if I'll be able to afford that garlic mayonaise Jen buys at Surdyk's. That shit is seriously delicious when spread upon fillets. I'm not prepared to give it up.

These are the dilemas of a Man of Constant Leisure.