Chapter 1
The doldrums are over and the guns are zeroed, the jerky is made and my favorite fishing season is here. It’s so fun that anywhere else, it would be considered poaching. By the grace of God, I’m allowed to fish for spawning walleye in select tributaries that run to Lake Erie near the great tourist destination of Toledo. That’s where you’ll find me for the next month or so, frozen with a smile on my face.
It is not all gravy. I will not be alone; it is a bit of combat fishing to get into the good spots on the river. The fish like in any other river have preferred real estate they like to crowd into and I have to find it. A savvy angler can use “caster coordinates” to find the fish. This method is to find a crowd, work your way in and hope you do not cross lines with someone quick with a line knife. Muddy will be along so, he’s a secret weapon towards crowd disbursement. Say what you will about the man but at least he has a knack of being annoying enough to clear a river.
Another problem is that walleye are just as picky in the spawn as they are in the lake. You give them what they want and you’ll pull them in all day but the trick is finding the spectrum, of size, weight, color and frills they desire at that moment. Loving walleye fishing is a lot like a marriage.
The river is high and muddy, so it gets physical out there fighting the cold and current for hours. A misstep and slip can lead to some real hazards into the deeper faster water in waders. A fellow fisherman in the middle of a good bite cannot be trusted to stop fishing and lend a hand. Luckily, we are surrounded by undercover officers who, being trained public servants, will ‘come out’ to save you if you fall and are getting sucked under…as long as they can get a pinch out of it. With the limit being six fish, my safety plan is to scream, “Omg, my eight fish stringer is getting away!” That way I’ll be sure to get attention as no officer is coming out of cover just to save a life. I know because Muddy tried that last year to distract a warden and no one moved. To be fair, last year an honest to goodness tornado hit the river, stuff was flying overhead, trees were bowing to the ground, the river started flowing backwards, and yet, not one person stopped fishing nor did one warden stop watching. We did have to change our casts though to kind of an underhanded skip up stream. There also some praying; that the fish wouldn’t stop biting.
Regulations are tough there. While you can fish through a hurricane, there are limitations. It’s “spawn” regulations which means they are vary wary of snagging. As such, using anything other than a single hook is illegal, no trebles. Any fish not caught by the mouth and kept will insure there will be a smiling guy in dry fishing clothes leaning on your truck when you finish and get back to the road. I am impressed with the amount and quality of the observation powers on that river. I know these things because I was that guy for twenty-four years and, for the record, still believe over the limiters and snaggers deserve to have their wallet lightened.
There are so many finicky fish there that it is common for there to be snags. You can feel the fish bumping into your leg and some rubbing on your leg as they work upstream to spawn. You can feel them bumping into your line if you are in good real estate. What is interesting is while learning how to fish the river, I went a couple of days without catching a fish or snagging one. Then simply by going down a size on a jig head not only did the bite pick up but I started getting foul hooks, too! Why are there no snags with a different jig? Best I can figure is either the depth of the jig or a lot of foul hooks are from the fish “swiping” at the lure and missing. It is a phenomenon that I am willing to study more and in detail.
So, early in the morning, I will hit the road and travel west to try my wares on what has become a highlight of the fishing season. Don’t worry, I will try to help someone if they fall in, unless I have a fish on the line, then they’ll just have to wait a second or two. I’m more religious than superstitious but I have to go to make sure I pack the same socks as I had on last year…they were warm.
See you along the stream
