Bird is the Word

While I as out fishing Friday evening, my uncle had already planned the trip up for the weekend. There was a chance of others joining but that fizzled out, so it left Paul and I running and gunning for walleye. When he arrived in the morning, we headed up to Cottonwood on a whim. Even though I found fish on Indian, Cottonwood has treated us well in the past.

We fished for the better part of a two hours with only three very tiny pike to show for it. This was not working and we knew it was time to pull the plug. We stopped by the house on the way home for only the deadbait, and then blasted back out to Indian. Not only was there someone in the holy-grail spot, it was three permi-shacks. I wanted to say I was surprised, but out here, nothing surprises me anymore. These locals are sharks.

Paul said screw it, we will just fish close. I never like that mentality, but this seemed to be the only spot on the lake that the walleyes were biting, so we drove the snowmobile right up to the point, not 60 yards from them. As I augered holes, I could smell the beer and the smoker running on the ice. These were a bunch of frat guys out for an evening party. To each their own I guess, but I wasn't about to join them.....

As is usually the case in this spot, it didn't take me long to find a fish. A respectable waldo into the bucket. Of course, it took a long time after that.

As we hole-hopped trying to find a fish, I was watching Paul set up near the snowmobile. He postured up, jigged a little, and lit into a nice fish. Once he set the hook, drag started peeling out. Pike, and a good one by the looks of it. Run after run, we could not get the thing to come to the hole. We had seen it three of four times before finally guiding it up from the icy depths. As I guided it up, the hook caught on the ice and I knew if I didn't grab the fish immediately, she would thrash and be gone. I dropped my gloves, and dipped in, pulling up an outstanding 36 incher. Not the waldo Paul was looking for, but a blast on light tackle!!

As the evening progressed, our success did not. I drilled a few more holes the opposite direction of the frat party, and I even managed to catch a waldo. It was no bigger than a hotdog (seriously). I motioned for Paul to grab his stuff and come on over. We jigged in this spot for fifteen minutes or so when I felt a disturbance in the force. I looked up to faintly see my jawjacker flexing next to the snowmobile. It was obscured by the gear, but I felt the hair on my neck stand up. I jumped up and ran over as fast as I could. The longer it takes the great chance of the fish getting off. When I grabbed the rod, the fish was still there, and it was a decent one to boot. I looked down the hole to see a pretty nice walleye working his way through the hole. Up he came and a 23 inch waldo to finish off our evening!!!

Paul razzed me later about pulling him across the point as he was literally sitting next to the jacker before I pulled him away. Oh well....


Shortly before dark, we pulled the plug and headed home. Pan fried walleye was calling our names!






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