It's Almost Fishing Time

I awake to birds singing and the succulent smell of bacon, eggs, and coffee. After a brisk morning on the porch recapping the highlights of yesterday's adventures while staring out at the loons dancing their latest jig on the lake, my eight-year-old and six year old join me to make our way down to the marina. I make chit chat about the weather with a few other souls as blessed as mine, sip my last of the coffee, and climb aboard our boat. I help my youngest into the boat since he can't quite see his footing beyond his life jacket.

It is mid morning as the crisp breeze causes my toes to start tapping. There is no better cold than that of a swiftly moving boat leading me to our fishing destination. A few ducks fly off in front of us as we near our spot. In mid morning it's bobber fishing live minnows at a beaver dam so secret, even the beavers have forgotton its place. The crappie are quick and eager to take, and we bag our limit.

Late morning, we switch to dare devils and shadraps. We troll the weedline edges for northern of various sizes that stack up on the breaks waiting for a careless baitfish like our lures. The strikes are sudden and jolting. The runs at the boat and nets rising with toothy fish leave us high-fiving and hugging.

At noon, we come back for a quick lunch and swim. The water is cold but so clean and pure. We splash and jump and live - really live. Late afternoon arrives as I sneak off to my favorite largemouth haunts. The football jig brings them out from their weedy timber forests. They are fat and round like footballs with the zip, explosiveness, and fight of a Brett Favre pass.

After I get my thrills, I head home. We sit on lawn chairs as the burgers sizzle and smoke. A beer and one hand and my wife in the other, we tell stories of our year. The tougher days seem funny now when woodpeckers trumpet and lake waves gently push and pull the shoreline. Late evening arrives with a sunset painted in wild hues and shapes and forever tranquility.

We all pack the boat and troll shadraps on a calming windblown shoreline as the sun fades to another worthy memory. The walleye strike again and again, mostly of eating size, but mom tustles with one of the many new giants of the lake. We release this copper momma to her watery depths, congratulate each other, and say a prayer that we were gentle enough with her. We come home tired and satisfied.

I help put the kids to bed, and when all are asleep, I sneak back out to the lighted dock hanging over now placid water. Easing a minnow under a tiny cork, I lay it out just past the lighted gaze into the dark water. Giant walleye and northern come cruising into the shallows moving between the shadows. Silence and more silence leave me to my thoughts. It is me and the lake. A deer can be heard walking a hundred yards away stepping on yesterdays leaves. The minnow flounders in his own nightly terror. The bobber slips under. Did I see it right? I pull back to heartpounding resistance. The water explodes with clear amplified sounds of a beast from the depths. The thirty inch walleye is within range. Exuberance fills my every vein with triumph as the walleye fills the net.

I come home how now well after midnight beaming and eager to tell all of my sleeping family. The story will have to wait. Starving, I open the fridge to find one last catch. They saved me a slice of apple pie. I eat it alone while grinning from ear to ear.

Are you ready to go fishing at Leech Lake?


Steve K.

Yep!!!!!!!!

Nice!!!!!!!!