Halfmoon Lake is a suitable alternative when the river starts to swell

Last week I was at my spot along the Chippewa River, throwing a spoon, and twice had a northern come after it. The first one hesitated at the last minute and turned back. The second one hit the lure full on, but I didn't react quickly enough. He let go and disappeared.

Neither of these fish was the lunker I had on the line two summers ago, that I called Big Missy (funny, I'd come up with a better name now...), but they were decent sized, what you might call eaters, and both came shooting out of the darkness of the Chippewa River, out from beneath the rock and old street curb structure that lines the spot where I fish, with a speed and ferocity worthy of their species.

Last weekend, we got a lot of rain. We were on the northern fringe of the system that brought so much devastation to Texas and Oklahoma, and the Chippewa is almost at flood stage as a result. I figured it would be, but I headed down to my spot like always, hoping for a chance to perch myself somewhere above the rushing water.

No such luck. My usual spot was under at least five feet of water, and the current was so strong retrieval was almost impossible. In addition, the alarm was going off on the dam, a repetitive descending blare letting people down stream know more water is on the way and to not do something stupid, like trying to carry on business as usual.

I went to Half Moon Lake instead, specifically Braun's Bay, near Carson Park, where Hank Aaron (yes, the Hank Aaron), spent the early days of his career.

Halfmoon is small, 135 acres, and not all that deep, dipping down just 9 feet. But like the rivers (Chippewa and Eau Claire), we are blessed to have this body of water so easily accessible, right in town. And Braun's Bay has a nice park-ish feel to it, which I guess is a double edged sword. On the one hand, it's crowded as hell most of the time, not only by other fishermen and picnickers (and so forth and so on...), but water fowl. (Seriously, there's a resident population of ducks and geese who are not as wary of humans as they should be, and a couple hours shoreline fishing here has revealed that Canada Geese can be real assholes sometimes.) 

But being a park means Braun's Bay is managed. It's kept clean and landscaped. In the evening, as the sun sets, it's exceptionally nice. A calm settles over the water, the city of 65,000 surrounding it is hardly detectable, and you can almost always hear a barred owl on the other side of the water, calling into the gathering darkness. Motorized craft is not allowed on the water (with the exception of a trolling motor), and this adds to the peace and quiet....or preserves it.

I've caught my share of bass and crappie on Halfmoon Lake. All on the small to average side, but full of fight nonetheless. Although they reportedly exist in some numbers, I've never caught a northern, or heard of anyone who has, on Halfmoon...although I might just rent a canoe or kayak and see what I can find beyond the bay.  Kayakers are common place here. One morning last summer, I watched a kayaker ply her way through water like liquid glass in the stillest part of the dawn, and disappear with barely a ripple into the brightening mist. Standing on the little dock, I thought, I want to be her.

Hey, if I fished in a pedal boat, I can fish in a kayak. ;-)

PLENTIFUL - Bass are (almost)  a sure bet at Eau Claire's Halfmoon Lake, if you can put up with crowds and ornery waterfowl. A grasshopper crankbait seemed to be the preferred lure for this and several others, on an afternoon when the Chippewa River was threatening to crest.

2015 opens with the usual headaches and hazards, and a storm rains on the parade, but it still feels great to be out

Yesterday was beautiful in the Chippewa Valley of west central Wisconsin, one of the first days that felt legitimately like summer - clear skies, 80 degrees, no wind, no humidity and no (or few) bugs...which is more like spring, not summer, but still part of a pretty package delivered for the state fishing opener. All of these factors combined made it especially hard to shuffle off to work rather than the nearest waterway.

I consoled myself by saying that all those waterways were going to be snarled up on opening day anyway; more trouble than it would be worth. Might as well wait a day or two, so as not to have to brave the Black Friday-caliber crowds.

I went out late today, Sunday, thinking that by suppertime, my go-to spot along the Chippewa River would be vacant, the initial rush of anglers mostly dispersed, home to face the oncoming week.

No such luck. That stretch of riverbank just below the Xcel Energy dam was more crowded than I've ever seen it, in fact.  I don't really mind. At least, I don't feel like I should have some special claim to private space. I just wish hell that I did, because elbow-to-elbow fishing is kind of depressing.

I really got to get a boat.

On top of all the densely populated fishing space, I was greeted with the usual open-bail reel problems - line jumping off the spool, getting tangled - and in the water, the usual ceremonial feeding of lures to the river. There's a lot of rock and cement structure before the drop-off where I fish, and while this can be attractive to certain species, it's perilous to artificial bait users like myself.

To that end, I really should consider using live bait more often. I've done it before, but the results haven't been good enough to sell me on switching over completely. Besides, I like the challenge of casting out, tailoring my presentation and retrieve, figuring out what works and what doesn't. And I'm not a big fan of sitting there waiting for something to happen. I've seen people with three poles all propped up in a row. They lounge in a lawn chair by river's edge, sipping a beer, watching for the faint jiggle of a rod tip and prepared to spring into action. Groovy. But I can't sit still for that long.

It was a short outing tonight, on account of severe weather that rumbled through the area. While this was a drag, the approach of these storms was itself an interesting experience. As the sun disappeared and the sky darkened, I could feel the change. That is, I could actually feel the pressure drop - the air 'felt' different - and the temperature dropped significantly along with it. I think there's something about being out fishing that makes us more aware of these types of phenomenon, makes us, in the best of moments, more aware of everything.

As a general rule, the time preceding a cold front can be good fishing; the time after a cold front passes usually makes for poor fishing. I didn't really have time to take advantage of the pre-cold front though. I should have been out much earlier for that, but alas, had to work again.

I knew the storms were coming before I went out, but it must have been a fast-moving front, because when I checked the radar before leaving the house, the line of action was over the Twin Cities, an hour and a half to the west. I figured I'd have a solid hour, at least.  But by the time I reached the river, barely ten minutes later, the leading edge of the front was already visible. Within half an hour, the sun was swallowed up and I spotted the first mammatus clouds, which almost always precede a storm. Not too long after that, it was dark enough for the lights along the top of the dam to come on.

I was one of the last to leave the river, stubbornly staring down the approaching storm, wanting to get as many casts in as possible, fantasizing about telling the story of how I wrangled a big northern just as the rain started to come down in sheets. But that big northern never struck, and when I saw my first bolt of lightning, followed barely two seconds later by a clap of thunder, I called it. There were some dieharders still on the river when I left, and two guys who showed up about the time I was leaving. They told me the were going to wait/ride it out. I admired their nerve, if not their common sense. I can't imagine it worked out too well for them; the storm was vicious for a while. It rained like hell for half an hour, with peanut sized hail and straight line winds that really did turn the rain into sheets.

A short season opener, and no luck on the line, but also no complaints. I could stand out there for hours and not catch anything and not want to be anywhere else.  And I did.  And I have.

And I will.