Nordinger!

Because we were in Minnesota and it was November 3rd and it a bizarre and balmy 70 degrees, PK and I had to go fishing yesterday. He had heard promising rumors of big walleyes roaming the shallows at dusk along a certain spot on the western side of on Mille Lacs. We had high hopes on the hour and a half drive north.

As it turned out, we didn't catch any walleyes. But shortly before sundown, as I was wading in two feet of water and casting a big blue Rap, I was startled to see this dandy northern in hot pursuit of my lure.

I was using light line and no leader, which worried me, because I was sure the fish's sharp teeth would put an abrupt and unwanted end to my sport. But after a couple of minutes, a few strong runs and an awkward and excited scramble across the rocks for a net, I managed to reel the big fish in.

Right away, I noticed that the fish--which I initially mistook for a muskie--had completely swallowed my Rap. Thinking that was a death sentence, I put her on a stringer and told PK I'd steak her out when we got back to Minneapolis. He didn't seem happy about the prospect of having his car stunk up by a big, ripe northern. What he said was, "You're not putting that fish in my car!"

A couple hours later, as we were getting ready to leave, I hoisted the fish from the water, with every intention of stuffing its lifeless body into a garbage bag. I was surprised to find the fish spirited and spunky. I was more surprised when she suddenly spit out the lure. Three treble hooks, seemingly buried deep down the throat, and she just spit it all out. Astonishing.

I figured the return of my lure called for amnesty. I tossed the fish back into the water and watched her swam off briskly, looking not much worse for the experience.

A rare catch

Hesler visited J and me at Cass Lake. Between the grouse hunting and general merry making, we squeezed in a little fishing. There was not much action but Hesler, while still fishing off the dock, managed to land an eelpout.

Over several decades of fishing off that same dock, I have never caught a single pout, so I consider this quite an accomplishment.

J and I ate the fish on our anniversary. Locals call the eelpout "poor man's lobster." If that's true, being poor isn't so bad as it's cracked up to be because that fish was scrumptious.

Some fish-free images from Cass Lake

October kitty

I caught this chunky channel cat on the Mississippi River in mid-October. He (she?) was fooled by a ripe chicken liver.

Fishing Lake Windigo

J and I lucked out with the weather on our visit to the Island. On Saturday, we snuck off for an afternoon Windigo paddle.

The fishing by the south portage was good. We managed to boat a mess of northerns and largemouth. J caught a northern with an unusually big head. I'll post that pic when I get a copy.

Couldn't complain about the scenery, either.

PK snared a dandy walleye

in Ensign Lake on our last day in the BWCA.

It was a bit rugged--rainy and windy--as we paddled our packed canoe to the portage at Splash Lake.

Those clouds looked heavy, too heavy

And there was a good explanation: they were full of rain. Lots of rain.

When we saw it coming, PK and I were fishing our aforementioned honey hole, a quarter mile portage from base camp. The action was good but once the wind whipped up we knew we had to book.

We humped the canoe back to Ensign as quickly as we could and a stiff wind blew at our backs as we paddled back to camp.

We weren't fast enough.

Everything got soaked in PK's tent, including his down sleeping bag. In the end, though, I managed to get a cooking fire going as PK toasted the good fishing.

From that sweet BWCA honey hole

PK shows off a 17-inch largemouth and nice waldo. I landed a chunky bucketmouth, too, as you can see.

A nice mixed bagged stringer from Ensign Lake

PK hoisted fish. I hoisted the food pack (that blue food bag that is supposedly hung out of reach of bears).

Crazy as a loon indeed

So PK and I were fishing a little cove on Ensign Lake when we noticed two nearby loons, feeding aggressively in the shallows. Nothing unusual about that. These birds were much more approachable than the loons that live on lakes where motorboats are allowed. The Ensign Lake loons seem to understand that canoes are slow and harmless.

But what happened right before I snapped this picture was strange.

As I was retrieving a shallow running Rap, I peered into the water just below the canoe and was startled to see something very big and very fast in hot pursuit of the lure. At first I thought it was a big fish. Then I shouted to Kohlie, Crap, it's got legs. The loons swimming motion is something to behold. Those legs are really long--you can see one in the photo--and the wings are used for steering, giving the effect of a fighter jet.

As that loon closed in for the kill--or a mouth full of barbed treble hooks--I yanked the lure out of the water.

In a moment, the loon popped up by the side of the canoe, gave me a crabby look and floated away at a relaxed pace. No fear.

Into the Boundary Waters we paddled

While the economy was plummetting, PK and I decided to respond in the only way we knew how: we headed out to the Boundary Waters for four days of canoeing, camping, fishing and general avoidance of bullshit.

The fishing was good. Mostly, we worked the waters on east end of Ensign Lake. We set up two base camps there--the second one, on a south facing rock landing, was better--and harassed the usual suspects in likely locations. We caught smallies, walleye and northern. Nothing spectacular in terms of size but a satisfying clip.

Our best fishing was on a sweet little lake located a healthy portage away. This particular body of water was packed with largemouth bass and northerns. Both times we fished this lake-not-to-be named, we slayed 'em. Actually, we didn't slay them. We let them go.

Under the Lowry Bridge

When the county closed the Lowry Avenue Bridge, they may have inconvenienced some people. For river anglers, though, it's made for much quieter and more peaceful fishing.

Even on a slow night--and I've had a few lately--you can usually fool a smallie or two there.

August skies

Dog meets catfish

Last night, Daisy was intrigued by Hesler's channel cat. We caught a handful off John's dock.

Yup, another chicken liver caper successfully perpetrated on the mighty river.

For the first time in a couple of years

I kept and ate fish I caught on the Mississippi. I thought the meal turned out pretty tasty but Hesler, my fishing companion on the outing, only sampled it.

Can't say for certain if that was due to my cooking or his concern about eating fish from polluted waters or some combination thereof.

Fortunately, River John, who did not share those worries, stopped over and split the feasting duties with me.

RIP, big walleye

Lily and Lucy conduct a burial service for a big, freshly dead walleye that washed ashore at the Hines place August 7.

Camping

J and I camped for two days in late July. We tramped around a good stretch of northeast Minnesota.

The first night we stayed on the St. Louis River, just north of Floodwood. The next day, we fished a small rapids under a nearby bridge. I kept two smallies and a walleye, which we cooked that night after a mighty search for another suitable camp spot. In the end, we found a pretty little wilderness lake in the Chippewa, Cottonwood Lake. We had the place to ourselves.

We managed to stay dry despite a wild late night thunderstorm. The next morning, we zig-zagged our way to Cass Lake, mainly on Forest Service roads. I shot the lillypads on a little trout lake on the road from Blackduck.

Laker!

Arnie and I snuck up north on Monday to wade the St. Louis River with PK. The fishing there was good--not spectacular, as I have to come to expect--but we caught enough for a nice dinner of fresh smallies.

The next morning, PK took us out on the Gitch, where we managed to fool a nice Laker with a preposterous-looking watermelon spoon. We were trolling in about 30 feet of water off Stony Point.

Jen and I ate that fish last night and it was dee-lish-US!

A grab bag on the 'Sip

My home waters here on the Mississippi were quite fishy the other day. Tropical Bill (shirtless, as usual) rode around in the boat while I harassed smallies. I also managed to land a nice cat in the a.m. As you can see from my full extended arm, I had trouble squeezing the entire kitty into the frame. That's one definition of a nice fish, I guess.

Rock on!

I took Lucy fishing on Cass Lake a couple of times last week. The bite was generally slow--I only had a few dink walleyes and perch to show for my efforts. The exception was the rock bass, which, fortunately, were ferociously hungry.

So I say, "Rock on, you crazy rock bass!"