Operation A-hab, Day 12: Summer's holding on, but the river has changed her clothes

Still warm...not hot, but warm. Around 80 degrees this afternoon, but there are unmistakable signs of autumn. The sun shines with less authority now, and there is color in the trees on both sides of the river that was not there just a week ago. I read somewhere that it isn't cold weather that gets the leaves turning, or birds migrating for that matter, it's the change in sunlight. I don't know if it's true, or how true, but it's a nice thought. And the river water is remarkably clear today, providing me a bird's eye view much deeper down than I've had. Don't know if that has anything to do with the imminent change of seasons, but it definitely makes for pretty fishing.

I'm glad to be out here today; I've been busy with work and other things lately, haven't been fishing as much as I'd like, and last week, of course, I got chased off the river by a gang of hornets at this spot. No hornets here today. Lots of flying insects, water striders, quite a few white butterflies, more seagulls than I've seen all summer, a bald eagle...all basking in the warmth...but no hornets.

I was called out by someone recently, someone who did not believe me when I told the story of Big Missy. This guy has fished this spot/area for years and claims he has never caught - or heard of anyone catching - northerns of three feet or larger in these waters. I wasn't entirely sure if his skepticism was authentic, or if he was just being a negative dick about it. There are plenty of those in the world.

In this case, though, it doesn't matter. I have the truth on my side; I'm positive as to the size of what I pulled to the surface, and the exertion it took to do so. I'm slightly less sure of the species, but given it's size, there are only a few things it could be. A musky, a pickerel, or a northern. It wasn't a sturgeon; no bony ridges along the body, and the color was all wrong. Based on its markings, I'm about 95 or 96% sure it was a northern..

He also expressed skepticism that the particular fish I'm after is still around. This was surely just him being a dick. Granted, it's been almost two months since I had the big girl on the line. Pike, like any predatory fish, follow food sources, and they also prefer cooler water, which means that during this month's surprise heat wave, which lasted several weeks, she and other big animals probably sought out deeper water. But I have found no compelling evidence that pike migrate or travel extensively, and am fairly confident that Big Missy's entire life has been/is being/will be lived close to the stretch of river where I first hooked her. They are solitary and territorial, and the fact that I've caught other northerns in this same spot might suggest disbursement. But there's no reason to think she didn't send the others packing. There's no reason to think she doesn't rule the roost around this specific stretch of the Chippewa.

Finally, he expressed doubt that the fish would survive with a spinnerbait lodged in its mouth. I can't argue this point, really; it's a distinct possibility that when Big Missy bit through the line and wobbled back down into the depths with an inflexible chunk of bent wire in her mouth, she sentenced herself to certain death.

It's also possible, as I've pointed out myself, that someone may have caught her already. Possible.

But this guy was taking the whole thing too seriously. I don't think he quite understood what I meant (or how I meant it) when I said I 'want my lure back'. The intrinsic whimsy of that went over his head, and he became in that moment the type of obnoxious blowhard that wrecks the pursuit of just about any hobby (or any whimsy). There's always some jackass around whose job it is to make sure you wind up disillusioned.

I love to fish, always have, but only in the last couple of years have I started going out more, and only this summer have I set out on an auto-didactic quest to learn as much as I can, to tailor my presentation to specific fish and certain conditions, to 'do it right', as it were. It's been, and remains, a learning process, and it's paid off. I've caught more fish this summer than ever before. But I've never claimed to be a master fisherman, and this blog is not designed to pass me off as such.

What I am is a good writer; and I like trying to turn anything into a story if I can.

CHANGE IN THE AIR - Though the temperatures are still warm, the sun shines with less authority now; there is color in the trees. Autumn's lingering around.

THIS PRETTY MUCH SAYS IT ALL - A fisherman about twenty yards upstream from me had his three poles thrown out with live bait. The fishing was so slow, in the span of about a hour he went from sitting and staring out at the water, smoking a cigarette, to reading a book, and finally just lying back on a rock and going to sleep in the sun.

Operation A-hab, Day 11: What's with the f**cking hornets!?

I haven't been out much lately; the weather hasn't been the greatest (that late heat wave was followed by a long spate of rainy mornings) and other obligations (the kind that the worst day of fishing always beats...) have gotten in the way. But seeing as today was a day off - mostly cloudy, with temps around 70 - I stole away to the Chippewa River with a new spoon and what I thought would be a good few hours hunting Big Missy.

Instead, I was immediately harassed by a swarm of yellow jackets that would not leave me alone. And this time, there was nothing funny about it, no good natured philosophy about being able to laugh at myself. I wasn't laughing. In fact, I was left pretty pissed off by my helplessness in the situation.

Late summer is when these insects start getting ballsy, and they stay that way until the first hard frost, which we have not had yet. Usually it's just one or two messing around your soda can or sandwich, and a light swat of your hand will typically keep them at bay, since inquisitive is all they are.

But today, there were several buzzing around my face constantly, flying right up to the tip of my nose with that aggressive wobble they do. I swatted them away, determined to hunt for Big Missy, to make up for the last week of inactivity, but they kept coming, buzzing past my ears, effectively chasing me up and down the riverbank. The 'attack' was so relentless, it got me retreating back to my car.

A week or two ago I lamented my struggle going up and down the stairs leading to my fishing spot after a softball game had left me stiff and sore. But there was none of that today. I bounded up those steep stairs two or three at a time with tackle box and rod in hand, and two of the bees pursued me! I waited at the top for several moments, and determinedly decided to try again. I came back down the stairs quietly, with as little noise and vibration as possible. I returned to my spot on the river and cast out, and before I had retrieved that cast completely, they were back at me, relentless. There were more now, upwards of a dozen, and I was once again sent sprinting to the top of the stairs.

But not before one of them managed to tag me on the neck.

The obvious conclusion to draw is that there's a nest nearby. But it would have been there all summer, and hornets have never been a problem until today. I noticed as I was dashing away that the trail leading down to the river has been mowed down on both sides, presumably by the city, so maybe their nest was disturbed. Moreover, I was wearing cologne - Old Spice - not exactly the surest way to avoid attracting attention. I usually wear no scent at all when I fish, not even deodorant, for the very purpose of flying under buggy radar.

But still, today's attack seemed unusual, and knowing what caused it doesn't make it any less annoying. I wound up ditching Big Missy all together, went over to Half Moon Lake, a much lamer location; well stocked with fish to be sure, but sporting little or no hope of a lunker.

And here, too, the bees would not leave me alone! There weren't any swarms, but a string of persistent individuals, one after the other, that found me too fascinating for my comfort level, especially having just been stung. I caught a little smallie (a very little smallie...) before relinquishing the day to the obvious bad energy.

Now, as I write this, I'm staring out my office window and have noticed an unusual amount of insect activity, even here, several miles from the river. Amongst the bugs buzzing past, back and forth, up and down, are numerous yellow jackets. Several have landed on my window screen, in fact, doubtless attracted by my cologne, but unable to find their way in. Ha ha...little bastards.

Though honestly I feel a little like I can't find my way out. Like I got chased inside by the neighborhood bullies. And I can only laugh at that thought so much.

Days of fishing have become too precious. Winter's out there somewhere.

NO ONE TO PLAY WITH - What started out as an enthusiastic afternoon of pike hunting ended abruptly when I was literally chased off the river by a swarm of hornets. Here, feeling a little as though I was chased inside by the neighborhood bullies, I stare forlornly out my office window, trying to figure out why they don't like me.  Er...not really, but, you know....

 

 

Operation A-hab, Day 10: Heatwave gives one last push, doesn't fool the hunters

Before going out this afternoon, I stopped by Wal-Mart to look over the lures. Usually there's nothing new to report, but every once in a while a new color combination will catch my eye, a new pattern, new way of mimicking a bleeding bait fish...always worth a few bucks to try something different, and I've amassed a fairly weighty tackle box as a result.

But I noticed something today while I was there: fewer people in the fishing aisle, more people getting ready for bow hunting, and it hit me...

Fall.

I'm never really ready for it, never ready for back to school, football, autumn colors, Halloween, the holidays. There's nothing wrong with any of that (other than the Steelers' rough showing in Week 1...), but I am simply not a fan of Wisconsin winters, of cold toes and runny nose, of any morning spent 'digging out' only to get stuck in an intersection two blocks away, or worse not being able to get out, and being stuck at home. I've suffered through 40 in a row, and have never warmed up to winter, never have felt anything but just a little anxious when the leaves start turning.  I finally understand why people retire to Florida, or the American Southwest...and I have vowed to do the same, to one day become a gray-haired stereotype somewhere warm. I'd be perfectly fine with my holiday dinner being fresh crab and Corona in lieu of turkey and cider. And to be honest, I'd love to catch an alligator gar once.

If nothing else, I'm usually prepared to accept the change of the seasons. But this year, with temperatures in the 90s the last two weeks and straight through Labor Day, it's been hard to get out of summer mode. Seeing people 'tire-kicking' the bow hunting equipment the way they've done so with the fishing gear all summer really drove the point home.

Summer's about to end.

But that's okay. It's been a great summer, the best in recent memory. I've been sweating balls on the river for the last month, and frankly, it's really got me looking forward to casting out on the first truly crisp morning, leaves getting ripped from the trees by a northerly wind, sunlight through broken clouds offering not nearly so much warmth, and Big Missy throwing herself out of the water with a life-or-death lurch.

I have a feeling if this girl's gonna make her move, it's going to be sometime in the next month or two.

Operation A-hab, Day 9: Someone's catching something somewhere, and that's good news

Man, the fishing's been just abysmal the last week or so! I'm inclined to think it's bad joojoo left over from my last post. I really got to watch those dark moods; I think the fish may be feeding off them.

In reality, our late August heat wave coupled with an abundance of natural food is doubtless the reason for the slow fishing. I started focusing on northerns about a month ago, and I was catching some nice juveniles early on. Now, without changing my methods, nothing.

Someone I know knows someone who pulled a 51 incher from the Chippewa Flowage, which is up north, near Hayward. That's quite a fish, considering the world record pike is 55 inches. I'd have practiced a token skepticism upon hearing that story (which has all the makings of a natural born fish tale), but I saw a picture of the animal too, and I'm man enough to admit I felt a little twinge of envy.

Mostly, though, I felt a renewed motivation. Eventually fall will come, the air and water temperature will drop, and the pike that most likely have moved to deeper, cooler water will find their way back into the relative shallows.

I did have a mighty fine smallie on the line tonight. I thought I set the hook securely, but when he jumped out of the water he managed to wriggle off. Frustrating, but the best part of fishing is the strike, the set, and the fight. I just wish I had a picture.

Instead, here's a visual sampling of what I've been catching this summer:



BLACK CRAPPIE - Probably one of the most handsome fish in local waters; beautiful markings.

SMALL BUT SCRAPPY - This little rock bass smashed a crank almost half his length. The hook embedded dangerously close to his eye, but luckily I was able to remove it without doing any damage.





LARGEMOUTH BASS - Always ready for a fight.

SMALLMOUTH BASS - This guy put up more of a fight out of the water than in.

15 POUND CRAPPIE - With a little thought to perspective when snapping a picture,
it's amazing what you can catch. ;-)

NORTHERN PIKE - One of several juveniles I've caught this summer in the same place I'm after Big Missy. Magnificent eyes!