I gotta tell you, I am green. Green, green, GREEN with envy. Green because my muskie hunting crew leaves for Canada tomorrow and I am not going with them. Grrrrr-een!
View of Dryberry Lake's west side.
This is the third straight season that I have missed, because my financial crisis does not permit vacations of such magnitude. Heck, I got myself so broke that I couldn’t afford to get out of sight if it cost a quarter to go around the world. That means Canada’s out – for now. That’s what I get for starting over at fifty. Like it was my idea, right?
I am almost out of the woods, so to speak. And I do plan on using time off when November gets here (Thanksgiving break) to head north of the border, so I can get back in the muskie groove. It’s been a long time coming. Too long! I’m praying – a lot.
I say “I’m green” with tongue in cheek. Actually, I am thrilled that my friends are going and wish them all the luck in the world. I love them like Brothers. But they’d better send pictures back, or I’ll FedEx them each a rotten carp from Joe Pool Lake gift wrapped in a New York Times.
Spanky Joe's first muskie - EVER!
Going on this trip will be Mike and his son, Pat (my longtime fishing partner), Spanky Joe, and Pat’s Nephew. Spring is a good time of year to go fishing in Canada, provided the ice has melted. That statement will send shivers of terror up the spines of my friends from Texas.
No worries, it has been in the 70’s this week on the lake and water temp is 55. You know, that sounds very refreshing after 103 in Ft. Worth today.
We call it “the opener” because muskie season doesn’t officially start until today. They do that to protect spawning Spring muskies and it is a good deal for the anglers too, as we reap the rewards down the road with huge muskies in our boats.
We are all proud members of Muskies Inc., an organization dedicated to catch and release, safe handling, and stocking programs. That all benefits the species we love to catch (and release). So, lots of photos and NO EATING!
Daddio chowin' down on a chili dawg!
We do eat: steaks and burgers and chili dogs, of course! We usually bring our food in, but on the occasion we have a hankerin’ for fish, there are plenty of trout in Dryberry Lake to go around.
I’d like to send a prayer out for my friends’ safe journey and all the fish they can stuff into their huge Beckman nets. Dryberry Lake is a wonderful experience, but it can be dangerous, as well. The nearest medical attention is in Kenora, Ontario – anywhere from two to four hours away, depending upon where you are on the lake when the attention is needed. Plus it’s a long ride up, so God be with my Brothers and their family members.
On that note, my mind will also be on a fishing journal entry that I wrote a few years back after our Fall trip in 2008. It made the pages of both Midwest Outdoors and MUSKIE Magazine one year later in 2009. You know, it’s a story about the last trip I made. Perfect! It’ll wet my appetite for my NEXT trip.
Oh, I have to mention, Dryberry Lake is (usually) a great hunting experience in the Fall too, even though we primarily fish. But we met a group of bow hunters from Iowa that year. It was the two of us and the four of them – that’s it! Six guys on a two-lake area that spans roughly fifty-thousand total water acres and more than twice that much land mass.
With those kind of odds you’d expect us to have the upper hand over the finned and furry critters of the North Woods, right? Uh, not so much.
Here’s my journal entry with eyes, hopes, and prayers on the Fall of 2011:
HUNTERS’ REMORSE By Bob Chochola
Mike bagged this 53-inch monster trolling the Granite Triangle.
It’s hunting season again, but this time of year always reminds me of one special fishing trip. This is the story of three prancing reindeer, one really big muskie, and four not-so-lucky deer hunters.
My fishing partner and I thought October in Ontario was going to be cold and gloomy. What we got was sun and relatively warm mid day temperatures – almost like summer – most of the time. We met our camp neighbors, four bow hunters from Iowa, quickly and every evening turned out for a gathering that featured dinner, cards, and cold brew. We’d sit out on the screened porch until we were too tired to keep our eyes open. We really hit it off with Otto and his crew.
Fishing was pretty good and we boated a few muskies around the 50-inch mark in short order. Smallmouth bass and bunches of northern pike kept us busy in between muskies.
Bow hunting, however, was not kind to our new-found friends.
Morning after chilly morning they would wake-up way before first light and head out by boat to their designated positions in deer stands placed meticulously throughout the forest. They always beat us back to camp and each evening about an hour after dark they’d hear us rumbling into camp giggling like a couple of school boys and spouting great fish stories, only to be forced to tell us that they had no luck at all. They didn’t even see a deer all week.
Pierre Pont facing east towards Gull Island. Can you spot our boat in this photo?
Our fortunes were much better – with one exception. We had located a pretty active muskie on a spot about fourteen miles from camp early in the week. She would follow lures of every kind like she meant business, but never cracked a smile to eat. Every evening we’d return to the spot several times, raise her, and then she was gone. Sometimes we’d raise her three and four times with no luck.
Bow Hunter Otto was particularly interested in our success even though he had never been muskie fishing before. So, when my partner Pat decided to sleep one afternoon, I took Otto out to do some casting.
We took off from camp straight for the spot Pat and I had been raising the big muskie. I figured that I had beginner’s luck riding with me and I would use that tool to my advantage.
I had to give Otto a crash course in the operation of a baitcast reel and he of course made his first two casts just like someone who is used to sitting in a deer stand. Cast number one splashed ten feet in front of him and I had to hold-in a chuckle.
“Nice and easy – let that big muskie rod do all the work.” I told him, as he was undoing a bird’s nest in the reel caused by the wild first chuck.
Cast number two was better – about fifteen feet – but I encouraged a higher trajectory and a little more focus with the eyes on a target area picked in advance. I said, “Look at where you want to cast and then point the rod tip to it.”
Bingo! Cast number three was a dandy and right to the weed point where we had been seeing the big muskie all week-long. A couple of cranks of my reel handle later I glanced over my shoulder to watch Otto’s figure-eight (yes, I told him on the ride up how to do it and he did a good job on this first time).
It’s a good thing too, because as his big spinner bait neared the boat I saw our muskie turned almost completely on her side, moving-in at warp speed, fins spread out like she was in flight, and mouth wide open – one foot behind the lure and closing fast.
Otto made a left turn with his lure moving towards the bow and the chasing muskie rolled to the right and under the motor area. Then Otto made a costly rookie mistake in assuming immediately that when the muskie turned in the opposite direction, she was gone. He pulled the bait out of the water. Pat and I have both had experiences like this and we know to keep the bait in the water and make big deep circles and sudden speed changes with the lure. This can and will trigger a strike. Otto gave-up too soon and lamented his “almost” trophy the rest of the day.
So, we motored back to camp with heads hanging. Actually I was kind of pumped – this was as close as we got to this fish and I knew she was ready for a photo shoot right now.
The other Mike with a 52.5-inch Dryberry muskie he caught casting in a high wind near Bald Rock.
Pat and I were feeling sorry for the bow hunters by the end of the week. These guys were troopers. While we slept-in, they were stumbling around in the dark trying to get a jump on those elusive deer. All we had to do was roll out of bed by noon and then start casting.
They struck camp a couple of days before we did, but not before we exchanged cell phone numbers for future outings together. We said our goodbyes then Pat and I hit the water, while our friends headed home.
A few hours later we took a lunch break and came back to camp. And guess what we found there? Deer! That’s right – three of them walking right past the bow hunters’ cabin. Of course, we just had to call them on the road to tell them what they were missing – and to let them know they could have bagged a trophy without even leaving the front porch.
Pat and I munched-down a hefty portion of this muskie hunter’s favorite food – chili dogs. We got a bit of shuteye too. Then we were awakened by the pitter-patter of rain drops taping on the roof of our cabin. A sound we both knew would put our hungry muskie into total frenzy mode. We put on our rain gear and took-off full steam ahead on the fourteen mile journey.
I set up a drift down the rock point that would take us out near the weedy spot in a cast or two. Pat was in the bow and aimed right at the sweet spot. We joked about how funny it would be if one of us caught the fish on a third cast like Otto did earlier in the day.
When Pat let cast number three fly it landed pretty much in the same spot as Otto’s third. This time, however, I didn’t have to wait for the figure eight.
I watched Pat’s spinner lure (same one Otto was using) start to work with his first crank of the reel handle and almost immediately a huge head appeared and devoured it.
The elusive beast - finally caught - was successfully released a few minutes after this photo was taken.
Lessons Learned…
We have embraced a number of fishing facts. And I consider some of these to be “myth busters” that shatter conventional muskie wisdom.
First and foremost is the fact that we still cast into the fall – a lot – when everyone else has switched to troll only mode. We find weeds even in Canada late in the year. Maybe not thick weeds and maybe not rich and green weeds, but weeds still do exist in some places and casting is still a favored tactic, particularly in Minnesota, Wisconsin, and points further south where you can find good weeds late in the season.
The weedy point in this story has but one thin line of weeds and is away from the main bed. Even in July this spot has only a few greens on it. But it is a long under water extension of a rock point with deep water on one side and VERY deep water on the other. We have caught and seen some monsters here.
Another myth shattered is that you can “overwork” a muskie, or that once you no longer see the fish on a spot then that fish has left the area. Not true!
How many times have you left a spot where you have raised a fish, because you think that once the fish has seen your boat, or your lure, it is spooked? Not true either.
A scenic point overlooking Dryberry Lake.
Have you had a fish up on a figure eight only to leave the spot quickly in order to not “overwork” her?
I used to think this way too, but have since changed my tune. Once I find an active musky, I like to persist. I will make several passes through the area and maybe change baits a few times.
It doesn’t end there. I like to hit a spot where I’ve seen an active fish several times during the course of a day. Just because there are no fish at 3pm, does not mean there are no fish at 6pm. If it holds fish, sooner or later the beast will show up again. The odds of making contact with an active fish that you have already raised go up by returning to the spot at peak times of the day, or during a change in weather conditions – like bright sun to a light rain perhaps.
I guess the last myth is the effectiveness of beginners luck. Otto raised that fish and
I have some big fish stories of my own!
so did we – at least twenty times. He had the best shot at a trophy though. Until his encounter she had frustrated us as much as those pesky deer taunted our bow hunting neighbors.
I knew all the way back to the dock with Otto that Pat would have been much more likely to bag that fish had he been in the boat. Otto’s rookie mistake had me wondering if I had blown it. We were so close – would she still be there later?
That question was answered in a big way and I was happy that Pat got to hold her for the photos.
Sorry Otto.
Under a Glass Moon 