A Glimpse of the Future

It’s been a while since I’ve been in a boat that caught 100 walleyes in a weekend. And I’m pretty sure I’ve never caught that many while fishing with my wife, save for maybe our trip to Lake of the Woods last year. Though none of the fish on this warm and muggy summer weekend threatened to pull us overboard, they related to elements I was familiar with from waters I had fished in the past and provided some much needed excitement for not only the moment, but also for the future of the fishery.

Quite some time had passed since I last pulled spinners in search of walleyes, but after reviewing the test netting results and stocking reports all winter, and finally getting a free weekend at home, I’d finally take a shot at the little lake that I had studied in the off season. In preparation for this particular fishing mission, I bought a handful of bottom bouncers, walking sinkers and a selection of my favorite spinners and Lindy rigs from days gone by. With some flex hours banked at work and a warm Friday afternoon on tap, we were on the road with the sound of the lunch whistle.

From my knowledge of the map, and what I could make out from the standing timber and the sonar, the lake was quickly appearing to be a miniature version of many of my favorite walleye lakes from back home all poured into one body of water. There was the sunken road that was sure to hold fish along its gravelly apex, rising to five feet out of fifteen, not unlike the one that still spans my home water – Lake Ashtabula – just a quarter mile from Kelly’s Crossing.

There was the standing timber, providing cover for insects, fry and minnows, not unlike a certain ever-growing lake in north central North Dakota. Certainly, slip floats, split shot and leech on a hook would pay off in these flooded trees much like they do in the sunken shelterbelts of Devils Lake.

The rockslides and sloughing shores that spilled their contents into the water, and the steep breaks that plunged the beaches into double-digit depths just a few feet away seemed familiar too. Not from my cliff diving days in Mexico, but from the trips up into Northern Minnesota where the rocky escarpments dropped sharply into the tannin stained waters and held fish with their structure and instant transition zones.

As we trolled over, through and around the various elements of this textbook “Lake Anywhere,” we found the fish in all the likely places. Feeding around deadfalls, clustered along rockpiles and holding tight to the break of the old road. The occasional jumbo perch of twelve inches came to boat, and a few scrappy smallmouth bass opportunistically slammed our spinners, but the real story was the hand-over-fist action of one incredible year class of walleyes in the lake.

In each of these key areas there were numerous hits and multiple walleyes, none over a foot in length, but aggressive enough to make the sunny and warm afternoon a success. While enjoying the weather and the steady bite, albeit one consisting of smaller fish, my wife and I began wondering what the next year would bring on this lake of eleven-inchers. I was certain that with a little time, patience, and the knowledge we had gained from just a weekend on the water, and maybe a few more trips throughout the summer, we’d be on a swarm of frying pan sized fish after a few more seasons…in our outdoors.