Canada August 2018
Musky fishing…. Basically a sport where you say you are fishing
for a specific fish that’s as elusive and rare as a unicorn that requires
countless hours where success is measured by how many encounters or musky
sightings you have during the day or week fishing trip, not even actually fish
landings. These brief, heart stopping,
throat swelling encounters are just enough to push the insanity over the edge
to almost convince you that you can turn a non interested lazy follow into an
eater. But on rare occasions these fish
of 1million casts come flying out of their ambush spot with reckless abandon
and absolutely annihilate their intended prey with less than a millisecond of
preparation. How rude they can be
catching you off guard like that. Well,
this year I made my annual, sometimes biannual trip to the north country to
fish for a fish I have in much higher concentrations back home. But for some reason fishing for them in their
native habitat is that much more alluring and feels almost as if it should be
easier. Forget that everyone else has
the same expectations and has educated these fish from the time before
man. Just about every body of water in
Canada had musky at one point in time.
But once the advent of gas engines, almost all were fished out except
for the largest bodies of water such as the Great Lakes or massive glacier
depressions known as Lake of the Woods for example. These bodies of water were too large for even
the most cunning and persistent fishermen to ever pry every last musky from
their waters. The vast area of Canada is
littered with thousands of lakes where at one time were all connected. The glaciers scoured the landscape creating
millions of pockets now known as lakes. Over
the course of history the fish that survived in these larger bodies of water
and rivers managed to spread out and recolonize areas that were connected by
rivers or wetland seeps also known as flowages.
I first started my efforts in the vast area at the start of
the St. Lawrence river in Lake Ontario where placing a lure into this ocean
like “lake” is almost like shooting from the hip with a snub nose .38 special
at a squirrel at the top of a red wood two miles away. Some of these shoals in this region attract
musky, some even consider them migratory musky that migrate from the abyss of
lake Ontario to the rivers and shoals to feed but this occurrence is more
common in the fall, not the dead middle of summer. Any educated half experienced guide wouldn’t
even dare bother targeting musky in this area until the leaves are gone, the lake
has turned over and winter is slamming at the door. But with that one in a billion chance of
encountering one of these fish, these leviathan size top predator was reason
enough to look for that needle in a hay field.
The fish of these waters are massive, salmon eating beasts and more 55
plush inch fish come from this region every year than anywhere else in the world. I full heartedly accepted the challenge
because that feeling that it “could” happen is really the feeling we all seek
while pursuing our query. It’s not the
actual accomplishment of landing the fish that we just immediately let go back
to the water, sure that’s a good feeling but it’s the pursuit or the hunt us psychotic
musky nuts seek. It’s almost masochistic
as it’s so unlikely and requires 100 hours of effort per musky according the
Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources. I
fished 8 hours straight after driving for 10 with two restless 11 year-olds in
the car. I was 8% there.
So later in the week
I opted for a much smaller body of water, an area once featured in Musky Hunter
series as having a “good” population of large musky. They likely just filmed the show there to
boost the near poverty economy and convince the novice musky angler such as
myself that there’s a half hearted shot in the dark chance at actually hooking
up with one of these alligator shaped unicorns.
I was fishing the area known as
10000 lakes region of the Ontario wilderness but far from what Canadians would
consider wilderness. If you can drive an
ATV there, it’s not wilderness but in this instance it was a popular lake and
town but just barely reaching the requirement of a lake, more like a large pool
in the middle of a river. I did some
investigation, downloaded some charts and thought I had a pretty good chance…
despite being told by lodge owners and tackle shops that the fish basically don’t
bite this time of year in the heat of the summer and wasn’t even worth their
time targeting the fish until the cool nights of October bring the water
temperature back to that optimum 50 degree range. But I was still somewhat optimistic with 76
degree water as back home would consider that near the lethal threshold but
also near the peak metabolism range and therefore the fish have to eat to
survive.
I was two or three hours into my fishing trip. Mid morning time frame, nearing that 12
ocolock high sun period where just about everything is cooked and
lethargic. But my one musky guide I used
12 years ago with my x wife when she was pregnant with my son had his opinion
on what time of day is best. I almost
though it was a joke. For me it’s dusk
or dawn back home and every other hour of the day in-between you might as well
be fishing for atlantic salmon in Georgia.
But I asked this famous St. Lawrence guide what was his favorite time of
day to get into musky and he replied with a short but precise time of 1130 in
the morning. Hu???? But I’ll never
forget that comment. So, it’s nearly
1130, I’ve spent about 3 hours of fishless, sightingless hours on the water and
haven’t put my double 10 blades down. My
forearm on my left arm is developing this knot about half way up my arm from the
muscle tightening. It’s shooting this
sharp throbbing pain up into my elbow every other cast that doesn’t feel quite
right or normal. In my earlier years I’d
have gone and seen a specialist immediately and performed surgery 12 times when
I felt a pain like that but now just know these pains are just a part of
life. If it’s not too colored up or
bleeding too bad, I’ll just deal with the pain.
It’s only been three hours, it’s like I just started. I was still optimistic. I work my way around this island that has a
perfect weed bed, I switch from 3 oz number 10 blade bucktails that feel more
like reeling in a trash bag hooked onto a wet wool scarf than an actual
lure. I’ve purchased the largest,
baddest musky reel known to man because I just had to have it, the Shimano
tranx 500 was built for this. (got
nearly 70% off as part of a trade in with shimano because I kept breaking their
other more inferior reels). I could
have gotten away with just about any abu Garcia but just had to be that $500
reel that was more than 5 times what I’ve spent on any other reel in my
life. But with these number 10 blades, I’ve
broken those 100$ reals hours after removing them from the packages. If you try and burn these saucer size blades,
gears and parts will give way. I’ve done
it dozens of times. So back to the
island, I’ve circled the entire island now, I’m back on the deep side where it
immediately hits 8 feet off the boulders and drops into the deepest area of the
lake shortly there after. There’s
standing cabbage weed, I make my first figure 8 at this spot with nothing in
site behind my lure and BANG. He’s on
and cartwheeling across the surface.
Perfect hook up, pandemonium pursues as I try and grab the 40” diameter
net that’s tangled on everything in the boat.
I somehow drop the hatchery pen size net in the water under the fish,
with two lures hanging off the webbing of the net and somehow get it under the
fish. Success!! I think my kids might
have heard me yell and they were 50 miles away.
Awesome…. Quick look at the clock and it’s 1129am.
My Camera man sucks
That's actually a near 40"musky. That net is big enough to catch deer, lots of them.
I should just leave now I thought. I troll around some, work another point with
a steep drop off, find more cabbage weed but decide to head to the ramp. Only to pass a mouth of the river entering
the lake. A prime spot back home. Everyone knows creek/river mouths hold the
bait and the predators. I work my way
well inside the river to a point where it goes from a large open flooded
wetland to a rocky, shallow smallmouth looking river. I’ve gone too far now. But I run into an old timer who’s quietly
having a smoke on a rock with a fishing rod leaning up against the bushes. I start conversation and ask about the
fishing. He says he’s done well on bass
today. Sure I had enough bass tackle
with me to outfit a boy scout troop but wasn’t interested. But I did throw out the question fully
expecting a negative response… have you seen any musky? He replied with more information than I
expected and said just down the bend at the mouth of the creek was a good spot
to get musky feeding on the small bait fish that enter the lake. He was right about there being a lot of
baitfish. Like two inch long or one inch
long baby bass by the millions. That and
a variety of minnow species. But this
was a mouth opening I had not fished, that I had not seen as I came in another
finger of the mouth of the river on the opposite side of the island. The old timer even said he got a nice 10
pound musky there the day before on a small spinner. I thought sure, elephants eat peanuts, maybe
I’ll try that…. But then again…. Maybe I’ll just stick to pounders and 14” long
jerk baits. Just as I started to leave the
shallows the river dropped off considerably and created a large circular deep
pool. The rocks and boulders of the
river disappeared into the depths. But
just on that drop off were over a dozen sparkling red hue suckers vacuuming the
moss and detritus off of the rocks and mud.
I thought to myself…. Eating small stuff hu? Yea right.
These suckers were averaging 20 inches with a couple near 30 maybe. That’s the kind of meal these muskies are
after, not those young of the year bass.
I drift about 30 yards into the deepest part of the pool and continue to
work my double ten cowgirl with chartreuse blades and black flashabou
skirt. I turn my shoulder to look at the
fishermen and then the suckers, then start my figure 8 only expecting to give
it a single turn and this deadhead rises from the depths right on its
tail. I almost lifted the lure out of the
water but instinct kicks in and I properly continue a full figure 8. The musky that dreams are made of was hot on
its tail. It could easily just open its
mouth and the skirt of the lure was touching her nose. Keep it moving Jon, don’t fucking stop moving
the lure jon! Now I’m into the third
turn of the second figure 8 and she’s still there, picking up speed on the straightaway. Any second now! Another turn and she’s right on it…. Right
until she’s not. She just sinks out of
sight and my heart’s almost plugging my throat.
She’s still there Jon! Don’t
fucking stop moving. I dip the rod
deeper and pull faster to elect that fight flee response. Everything is so text book, I don’t miss a
beat, it’s the perfect scenario and I’m doing everything right. But she’s gone from my life, the good ones
always leave you. Or I leave them in
fear of changing the future and cutting into my fishing time. I switch lures a dozen times. I pry every cranny of that pool looking for
her. I even try catching a sucker to rig
up… ok well tried snagging one anyway.
Bounced chatter baits off the bottom, threw pounders, medussas, crank
baits, top waters, swimming dogs, spinner baits, bucktails in 5 different blade
colors, everything other than electricity to raise her again. She wasn’t having it. I’ll get her later in the week I
thought. I need to be here at first
light or dusk or maybe at midnight.
Navigating back here under the cover of darkness will almost certainly
mean I’ll run aground but so what. That
fish will haunt me if I don’t. She’s
still haunting me now. I’m back home
now, never did go back after her.
Decided to leave on that note to spend time with the kids. Took them after perch near the marina and
drop shotted smallmouth bass in 50 feet of water. It was easy to show them how to do it and
hook a bass and pass a rod to a waiting 11 year old but was next to impossible
to teach them. Back to swimming, tubing,
king of the hill dock fighting. That
musky will have to wait. I’ll be back, that moment will keep me coming back. The hunt, the pursuit is what keeps us
going. If it were consistently
successful and easy, we’d or I’d probably lose interest.
Signing out, Jon, the inflicted, masochistic obsessive compulsive swollen
forearm, opportunistic fisherman will return once again to Stucco lake. I know where you live and I’ll see you again
my dear.
