“The gods envy us because our life is fleeting.”
Greek warrior Achilles said this quote on the battlefield, according to legend, but its sentiment rings equally true on the water.
Over the years, I have grown to appreciate unique fishing moments more because I recognize that my fishing partners and I will never witness those exact sequences again.
A good example occurred on the St. Croix River, my home body of water between Minnesota and Wisconsin, on a chilly spring evening several years ago. On my stretch of the Croix, I often pick up one or two incidental channel cats over the course of spring walleye fishing, but never any flatheads. But on this particular evening, fishing slightly deeper water than normal and allowing my son, Joe, to stay up late on the river, a whopping five flatheads played tug of war with us over a two-hour span that was pretty darn cool.
None were monsters — if memory serves the largest was maybe 15 pounds — but Joe had an absolute blast reeling them in, and the rarity of the moment made it all the better. I don't think we've caught a flathead since, and in that stretch of water we may never duplicate that action, which makes that night all the more vivid in our memories.
Making More Memories
Last year I shared a story of Joe catching his first musky which, by definition, will never be repeated. This year, my father, son and I once again enjoyed our annual pilgrimage North during the summer solstice. Our trip started with a bang as Joe caught a fat, 35-inch pike the afternoon we arrived at Fireside Lodge, near Sioux Lookout, Ontario (photo below).
The following day, our first full day of the trip, found us pike and bass fishing with great numbers of fish being caught, but no giants.
We went to bed early that night, knowing the next day was our special "portage" day where we'd motor 20-some minutes across Little Vermillion Lake before sunrise to a protected bay in the lake's upper arm, tie up our boat, haul all essential fishing gear thru the woods, and load into a 14-foot puddle jumper powered by an 8-hp Yamaha outboard to chase muskies.
It's a lake you dream of, not only due to the sheer volume of muskies, but also because of the atmosphere: It's just you and the lake, no other boats or anglers in sight for the day.
By good fortune, on my third cast of the morning I saw a musky dart out from the darkness and snatch my bait a dozen yards from the boat. "Got one," I hollered. "Get the net!"
Ten seconds later and we were high-fiving, smiles all around and the "pressure" of hoping we'd catch at least one musky if we grinded through the day instantly gone like the flip of a switch. It's a weight you notice the instant it's removed; subtle, but persistent until the monkey is off your back.
A couple hours later, my dad had a strike. Not huge, but large enough to get our hearts pumping. After all, that's really what musky fishing is about, isn't it? We landed the beautiful fish, snapped a quick photo, and sent it on its way, entirely pleased that we caught a pair of muskies that morning.
Third One Is a Charm
My son Joe, just 10 years old, remained an amazing sport, especially considering his father yanked him out of bed at 3:55 a.m. Joe would cast for a few minutes, take a break, then we'd troll and he’d veg out in the boat or write in his journal — a comic strip he invented, titled “Marlyn the Mouse Goes Fishing.”
The comic begins with the protagonist mouse unsuccessfully hitting the snooze button while Papa Mouse wakes him up for a fishing day of misadventures, including getting pulled overboard by a giant fish, breaking a pole and ultimately Papa Mouse driving their boat into a rock at full speed. Where do kids come up with this stuff?
Early afternoon brought dark clouds. Significant thunderstorms were forecasted, so we knew our time was limited. We circled back to our best spot on the lake, a stretch of reeds that had produced many a musky for us over the years. Joe took several casts, and during his retrieve I happened to see his lure 10 yards from the boat as it got inhaled by a musky.
Because the fish overtook the lure from behind, Joe didn't feel much, but I yelled for him to set the hook and, a second later, for my dad to grab the net. A quick fight ensued and we all cheered as the musky was landed.
After a quick photo and healthy release, we raced to the makeshift dock and started hauling our gear back across the portage to our primary boat on the main lake. We had to wait under birch trees for a few minutes of lightning and hail, then, when the storm broke, we boated back to our cabin for a round of hot showers.
A Fireside Celebration
We were tired, happy and hungry come dinner, served in Fireside Lodge’s historic main lodge, a wood building dating back to the early 1900s teeming with moose heads and fish mounts, as well as antique saws, axes and voyager gear.
During the past century-plus, the lodge has stood silent witness to countless fish stories. To reach the lodge dining room, anglers walk past a stone fireplace on a floor that, over the decades, has become warped and slightly sloped on the west side. Over steak, ribs or breaded walleyes, excited anglers tell tales of that day's adventure, often with the extra joy of having just caught a new species, a personal best or having experienced their single greatest day of fishing.
Like those before us, and those who’ll come after us, we feasted and laughed as we looked out at Little Vermilion Lake. We reflected on the unique, special day we had shared on the water. Three generations alone on a little boat in the boreal forest, each one catching the fish of 10,000 casts.
“That was pretty awesome today guys,” my dad said as the sun started its descent behind the trees. “There’s probably not going to be many times, ever, that all three of us each catch a musky on the same day.”
The truth of his statement made the moment all the more special.
