Canada August 2018 Musky or Bust

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.