Newfound Confidence

It was with newfound confidence that I invited my friend, T, to accompany me on another afternoon trip to Lake C.  For the first time, I felt pretty good about the odds of encountering, if not actually catching, a muskellunge.  And while T and I have fished together for almost 20 years, and have caught many fine fish, we'd never encountered a muskellunge together (although he has a well-worn 25-or 30-year-old Lake C story of one involving a Dardevle and some bad luck.  This story did make its anticipated appearance during the trip.) I felt I had a chance to net somebody else's muskie in my boat (a personal goal), but I felt even more confident that maybe I'd get one and he could take a picture.  Because I still don't have that picture of me holding a fine, legal muskie.

There aren't any pictures associated with this entry, so you know we didn't get one.  But Man, was I close!  After 5 hours or so of throwing bucktails, topwaters, and trolling, having not seen a fish, I declared "10 more minutes."  I also switched from a bucktail to a Shallow Raider jerkbait; I'd convinced myself that it just wasn't a bucktail day, and I'd go out at least having tried an erratic jerk bait.  We were in a "new" part of the lake, but over my favored weeds, and clarity seemed a bit better than earlier in the day and in other parts of the lake.  It was starting to think about getting dark, and knowing that a single fish could change the day, I was still fishing hard.

I saw her eat my jerkbait on a pause at my feet.  She engulfed the bait.  I saw it; I set the hook.  The result was that I pulled the bait straight out of her mouth, but she was super-motivated and continued to chase the bait.  The lure's momentum caused it to break the surface and she followed, half out of the water and rubbing against Numenon's port bow, desperately trying to eat my bait.  But she lost sight of it, realized how out of control she was, and shot into the depths.

It was quite a sight, and another feather in my cap of muskie failures.  She almost seemed destined to be caught, but I still came up empty.  Oh well, Terry enjoyed the commotion, and we'd now had something of a successful day.  After all, we were on a streak of encountering muskies on 100% of our targeted trips together.  How many partners can say that?

Her appearance bought us another 10 minutes of fishing, and within 50 yards I had another, larger fish strike the Raider about 15 feet off the bow.  I had just paused the bait as it came into view, and she flashed up and inhaled it.  Again, I saw the whole thing.  Wary about setting the hook too soon (again), I waited until I felt some weight.  And I waited a little more, and then just a scooch more.  Still having felt nothing, but seeing the fish, and not my bait, I swung hard to the side.  My rod loaded, she erupted, panicked, shook her head, jumped, tumbled and promptly threw the lure back at me.

I've said it before, and I'll undoubtedly say it again; it was quite a sight, but just another feather in my cap of muskie failures.

*****

A few days later, I had the choice of chasing local pike or trying Lake C for muskies again.  I'll be honest, it wasn't much of a choice; I had to go back for more.  Even though the cold and blustery conditions were probably more conducive to trolling for pike, and the pike most likely would have been fun and generous, I knew a glimpse of another muskie was worth more than catching some pike, and that the upside of catching a monster muskie far outweighed the current value of the best imaginable local pike excursion.  At least to me; T declined the opportunity to join me this time.

Another combination of bucktails and jerkbaits; another couple of fish raised.  Both were fairly distant, lethargic followers, and neither seemed too inclined to bite.  But one was large, even by muskie standards, and the other revealed itself in a "new" part of the lake.  Water temps are still in the mid-50s and so we have lots of time left in the season.  I'm doing a lot wrong, but I'm doing more correctly.  I'm having fun, making progress, and etching images into the memory bank.

*****

The next trip was a quick, after-work effort, but included my friend J, formerly of C's.  It was a beautiful, calm weeknight, with the promise of moonset, sunset and a partial lunar eclipse all coming together.  I imagined the water turning to blood and masses of crazed muskies chasing our lures, but I guess because it was cloudy, and visibility was further reduced by an abundance of rural leaf burning and woodsmoke, the muskies were unaware of their opportunities.  We raised no fish, but J is an accomplished muskie guy, and I enjoyed his company.  I was also pleased to see that my locations, lure choices and presentations were all in the ball-park.

*****

Here's to a prolonged fall.  After all, how else can I take advantage of all this, plus the newly opened access to my favorite home-town pike lake?

Low Expectations

Maintaining overly high expectations is a surefire path to disappointment. Even if you’re successful, you might not be as successful as you’d allowed yourself to imagine.   Conversely, entering a project with low expectations of success might lead to a pleasant surprise.

*****

I was feeling pretty good about my recent muskellunge exploits, having encountered three fish in the last trip, as I prepared to return to C Lake.  But I was going fishing out of convenience, and I knew lunar and weather conditions were probably against me.  It was simply too nice; brisk, calm and bright; with no major lunar events in my window of availability, for me to expect much in the way of actually catching a muskie on this particular day.

So I kept my anticipation in check, and simply enjoyed the process.  It was a beautiful day and not too crowded.  My electronics kept me positioned over green weeds and I had a smorgasbord of choices to offer the fish.  I was simply enjoying The Grind; the relentless, meticulous covering of water with long casts, employing varying lures and cadences, totally in tune with the feel of the lure and always watching for a shadow, flash, bulge or boil from a fish.

She materialized behind and under my bucktail about 30 feet away from the boat and she tracked it under my feet to Numenon’s port side.  She entered the first wide turn of my Figure 8, and then, as quickly as she appeared, she dissolved.  I continued my Figure 8 for several laps, hoping she’d return.  She didn’t, but the day had now exceeded my expectations.  I’d been close to real success again, and this fish was a tank!  She never appeared to be really fired up; I could accept that she was simply a looker and not an eater.  I hadn’t caught her, but she had revealed herself.  I added another waypoint to the GPS and burned her location into my memory; I was making progress.

Perhaps an hour later I detected a slight hesitation in the flutter of my bucktail’s blade.  Hook-sets are free, so I was swung hard, and was super-pleasantly surprised to have the rod buckle.  When I felt the first head shakes, I knew she was an Esox; and when she raced past the boat I could finally say (again) that I was hooked up to a muskie!

She wasn’t that big, and the fight, although violent, was brief.  When she was clearly subdued, it became very important to me to get her safely secured in the net and get a picture of her.  That would end my Mighty Slumpellunge!  It wasn’t easy or pretty, but the pieces all came together, and after an easy hook extraction and a very brief photo session, she vigorously swam away.

Finally, another muskie in the net.  A mini-muskie at 32 inches, but still a muskie!

She's still looking at the black Harasser.

One angry freshwater fish.

For perhaps the first time in this game, I had more than the beginnings of an effective pattern.  My black Harasser was raising fish, and these fish were on the inside weed edge in a specific corner of the lake.  The sun was going down fast, but I still had some day-light left.  And while I didn’t hook up again, I did have two more follows.  Each was a very respectable fish that I will be pleased to encounter again.

I was off the water before full sunset, so I might have missed another feeding window.  But I was pretty pleased to return home. I hadn’t expected much from this trip; but I’d gotten a lot from it.  Rarely has a “small” fish been so fulfilling.  Still, it’s not the actual fight and capture of this particular fish that will keep me going.  Instead, it’s the images of the Ghosts of Muskies Past (with their undocumented and so therefore virtually unlimited size) that will keep luring me out there.

Ebony and Ivory; a black Harasser and a white BPS double-bladed spinnerbait raised 7 fish in two days.  The Diawa Lexa 300 high-speed reel was an important part of this equation.

Strike Three!

With the apparently successful closure of another fiscal year at work and a favorable short-term weather window, I planned to go fishing October 1.  Muskie fishing, of course, and with a current tip that “C Lake” was hot, I decided to go there for my first time.  At first I planned on a simple, after-work trip, but as the morning of October 1 progressed, I started getting antsy.  Boat chores, tackle preparation and so forth were calling me from my desk, and when I determined that moonrise was scheduled for about 2:45 PM, I decided I needed to be in place by that time.  So my cubicle was vacant by 11 or so and I was on the water by 1 PM.

The lake conditions were quiet (it was after all, a mid-week afternoon), but I was surprised to see the water was pretty turbid.  All I really knew about the lake was to target shallow weeds with bucktails, so I stayed in the shallow-basined lobe of the lake and headed across to some marshy cover with lily pads.  I’d casted almost half of the available shoreline in 5 feet of water or less, and neither my lures nor my sonar had revealed any submerged weeds of consequence.  Moreover, the edge of the pads seemed lifeless.  Neither a bucktail spinner nor a prop-bait topwater had moved anything.

As I trolled my way back to a new starting point, my Humminbird revealed patchy, yet consistent, weeds from about 6.5 to 11 feet of water.  I purposefully dredged some up with a deep-diving crankbait, and I was pleased to identify the weeds as native milfoil.  Most importantly, they were green and healthy, and with two to six feet of open water above the growth, they were pretty easy to fish!  I keyed on these depths for the rest of the day; per my tip, I had to throw bucktails as the bait of choice, but I chose to throw some topwaters, too.

I was therefore comfortably and confidently positioned just before scheduled moonrise when the first fish of the day appeared.  As my Windell’s Harasser approached the boat, her outline briefly crystallized, but then she was gone in a flash.  She didn’t leave as explosively as last week’s Thornapple Lake fish, but something had clearly bothered her; she didn’t glide by or simply disappear from view, she fled!  But I’d seen enough to confirm her as a muskie, and while not a giant, she would have been a nice fish to catch!

Now with enhanced confidence (because somehow in this sport, even failure is success!), I continued casting this weed-bed.  I was around some fish for the important lunar event of the day!  That’s why I was here, after all, and I was shortly rewarded with a second follow!  This fish was smaller, probably about 36 inches, and followed my bait with interest.  She showed herself well enough that I could discern her coloration and markings.  She then simply disappeared as I went into and continued my Figure 8 antics.  She never re-appeared.

So my black and red Harasser was now 0-for-2.  I tweaked my presentation to a white, double-bladed spinnerbait.  This bait offered a little less flash, but a bit more displacement, and also offered a distinct clatter and vibration as the blades spun and ticked the lure’s main body.  Very soon thereafter, the third muskie of the day came into my view, tracking down my bait.  She was clearly the biggest of the day; probably in the mid-40 inches range.  And she looked hot!  She was positioned with my bait just in front of her left eye and cheek, and as I swung the lure past the bow and trolling motor to the other side of the boat, I swear I could see her eye focused on the bait.  She tracked my bait deep into the first turn, but then her momentum seemed to carry her away.

Strike Three!  I’d taken three in a row and had nothing to show for it.

It was now 20 minutes or so after scheduled moonrise.  The wind was freshening and the skies were clearing.  Soon it would actually be pretty nice out, a pretty drastic change from the session’s start.  I’d stay for another three hours or more, and I’d not encounter another fish.

Was it the lunar schedule or just a little front pushing through with the accompanying change in weather that had activated the fish?  I don’t know.  I don’t really have enough data.  The Moon looms large in muskie fishing literature, and many respectable folks believe strongly in its influence on muskellunge behavior and fishing success.  On the other hand, for the most part I’ve simply chosen to fish when I can.  I’ll continue to do that, but I’ll be sure to remain aware of lunar cycles.  I’ll try to be on prime spots at prime times, at least for muskies.  And if I occasionally stretch or re-arrange my muskie fishing schedule to include an occasional, extra lunar event or two, that’s possibly (probably?) just plain smart.

So I struck out.  But I was in the game!  I had struck out in a glorious setting; and I should have plenty more at-bats in the future.