Long time coming

I posted this to another site. It was more abbreviated than I originally wanted to be, but it's something. This is the story of a trip to Minnesota/Wisconsin in 08.

I get to MN the first week in June, to fish Muskie opener in Wisconsin, then head back to MN. We get to the Shell Lake area, to a cabin owned by my girlfriend's (her family is the reason I come to fish in your great state) sister-in-law's father. For some reason, I didn't take a shower the day I left, figuring I'd do it at the cabin. No one had been there since the previous November. We had instructions on how to turn on the water pump, water heater, etc. We found it easily enough, but when we got in we couldn't see the floor. It was covered by thousands of dead ladybugs. They filled up the Dirt Devil a few times. Of course, if they can get in, so can any number of other creepy crawlies. I ended up with a couple ticks, I think from the furniture. We couldn't get the water going because we couldn't find the valves they took out. So, still no shower. I was with my normal fishing partner, Cliff, my GF's stepdad. He got up early to go to Spooner to hit a hardware store to find valves. Eventually he did, but not soon enough to wait for the water to heat up. So, still no shower.

I had decided to try Ghost Lake first. It was small and shallow so I figured it would heat up before other lakes. Keep in mind I had never fished Wisconsin before, so I'm going by lots of hearsay. The weather hadn't warmed up yet. In fact, the weather didn't warm up in '08 until the second week in July (when I left for good). Me and timing, my persistent nemesis. This is also a new boat for us, we got a '98 Lund ProV 1775 SE tiller so we could fish bigger water this time. New boat, new season, we don't have our launch routine worked out yet. I was also a trailering noob, so another goal was to get me used to backing up the trailer and such. Well, no time like the present. We get to Ghost and get out to the greetings of thousands of mosquitoes. Like, swarms bad. So now we're in a hurry to get on the water. We launch without a hitch and get out to what seems to be a good spot (the lake is max 12' deep and max 10MPH). After a few casts I wonder why there is water in the boat. I ask Cliff, and he remembers the plug alluvasudden (this is one of his responsibilities). He feels around the back and puts the plug in a hole. Bilge running. Cast a few more times. Bilge still running. Five minutes later, bilge still running full bore. I ask Cliff "should it run that hard for that long?" "Oh, yeah, there's lots of room under the boards". "If you say so". Three minutes later "Cliff, really?" He starts the engine and goes forward, tidal wave shifts to the back. We're seriously dragging. We can't really go fast enough on this lake to drain it, both legally and because we'll just hit something anyway. He gets me to the dock, I have to back in for the first time under pressure, which I do successfully. Turns out the plug fits just perfectly into the livewell drain hole. Ah well. Too many mosquitoes, so we head to Tiger Cat Flowage.

While putting in to Tiger Cat, we realize we didn't bring anything to drink (after realizing we brought no repellent earlier). We decide put the boat back on the trailer and hit a market by Spider Lake Chain, which we decide to hit instead (third lake choice of the day). The dude at the market said we should go to Lost Land and Teal instead, so we do. I get a few follows there, but I'm noticing that Wisconsin lakes make me really nervous. Shallow with lower unit killers all over, not well mapped. I succeed in nailing something, thinking I was plenty far away from the hazard buoy. The boat jumped a bit. Was really afraid for my prop, but it didn't look too bad. Ran into the guide Scott Kieper while I was there, seemed like a good guy.

Get back to the cabin. Still no hot water. Power fuse blew (this happened often). I think I eventually take a nervous shower that night (still lots of creepy crawlies). Cliff vomits up the Prime Rib we got in Spooner. I had the same thing, only mine was Medium, his was rare.

Next day we should have just stayed in the cabin like the monster turtle blocking the road was trying to tell us. Went to Grindstone even though it was too early in the year for it (deeper, clear water was bound to be cold) because I wanted to try my new trolling setup (planers out to the sides, two more near sides, sledge in the propwash) and Grindstone was a trolling-allowed lake. We didn't have a kicker, so we were relying on the 75HP Merc (2-stroke) to go slow enough. Seemed to, until about 45 mins in we heard a whining noise coming from the motor that sounded like your car does when you accelerate from a stop with a loose fan belt. It gets louder and higher pitched when you gas it. We didn't know what it was, but figured it couldn't be good, so we headed in. We also noticed that we could no longer get above 2500 RPM.

Took it to the mechanic there and ultimately he told us we were running on only one cylinder of three. He fixed what ailed it (spark plug wire shorn in one, some sort of exhaust valve hosed in the other), but also let us know that if we had an engine alarm (what we're guessing was the original noise) that neither of the things he fixed would cause an alarm. Only lack of oil and overheating cause alarms.

Next day we pick it up and try Shell Lake, since I didn't get my trolling jones sated yet. Sure enough, 45 mins in it makes the alarm sound again. We ignore it for a while, then decide we shouldn't ignore it and head to another dealer/mechanic. He determines that maybe our impeller needs to be replaced, but that it isn't really a big deal since the the alarm will sound way before there's a real issue. He can't reproduce the problem because he's got a hose on the motor, which forces water in. He doesn't have one in stock, so we go on our merry way determined to ignore the problem as long as we can.

Next day we go back to Tiger Cat. Got a few follows, nothing big, and a few fun Pike and a big Walleye (for me, like 27") that hit an aggressively worked Husky Jerk, to my surprise. Of course, we got rained on.



Try Big McKenzie for a little while the next day. Monster lightning storm, so we're done there, too.

I decide Wisconsin lakes still freak me out, so we head back to Minnesota for Muskie opener. Heck, I wasn't enjoying the cabin anyway. If I had a tent with me, I would have put it up in the cabin and slept in there.

Fished Waconia and had a couple of low 50s on. Of course, I couldn't land them. I don't really know how to get them to the net, I determined. I'm perfectly good at fooling Muskies, just horrible at getting them hooked and played properly. One shook it in the air, the other as it passed the boat it just slipped out. Would have easily been PBs.

We head North. Hit Shamineau for a day and missed one. Stayed in Verndale with an Aunt/Uncle of the GF. Dan Narsete of Muskies Inc hooked me up with Brad Waldera to fish Big Detroit. Great guy, very helpful. We had a few follows and then saw a big cloud. Looked like it was gonna miss. We should have known better. Flash hail storm, nailed us good. Cliff went back to the dock pretty fast, which hurt like hell "Ow! Ow! Ow!" all the way back. Of course, it stopped two minutes after we get to shore. There's no way to dry out but to go back out. A few more follows, no fish. Bad lightning storms that night. Power out all over the place.



We head to the next family member that would have us, near Moorhead. The tow vehicle is starting to exhibit signs of wear. It was a late 90s Ford Explorer. They lock automatically when you go over 5MPH or so. It decided to try to lock all the time, sometimes a few times a minute. Sometimes every few seconds. Also, the Explorer decided a door was ajar, even though it wasn't. Every so often, it would tell us with a ding. It became a symphony of "ding ding kachunk" with the ajar and locking sounds. Everywhere we go is at least an hour away, so we get to hear way too much of that song.

After a few days on Detroit, all I have to show is a 20" or so Muskie, which I actually shook off and never touched. The uncle also lost a 40" or so. The weather is never good. The water is still in the low-mid 60s.

I got to fish a day with RoughFisher (Jean-Paul Lipton). We went fly fishing for rough fish in the Otter Tail river (I think?). Caught a bass, some carp and Mooneye. No Buffalo or Redhorse, sadly. Weather and water still nowhere near ideal. This was still a highlight. He is a great guy with a wonderful family. Now he guides as well. While I was doing this, Cliff got the impeller fixed.

Jean-Paul with a bass:

Tried Sallie for a day. Got some nice Pike and had another 50" or so Ski on, trolling with a Dunwright lifelike Pike. Had it on for a while, but again, gets close to net and comes right off. About to cry.

Obligatory ESOX content, my biggest fish of the trip, a Sallie Pike:

Part of my arrangement with work was that if something came up, I would fly out and take care of it. So now I gotta leave Moorhead pronto to fly to San Jose. We back the boat up to the trailer to get it hitched. Windows up, engine running. What happens? Of course..."kachunk". The Ford locked itself, even though it wasn't moving. So now we gotta break in before we run out of gas or something. Luckily the window was not tracking well (another source of constant frustration) and we clothes-hangered our way to the unlock button after a good amount of time struggling. When, after our four or five hours on the road, we got within five minutes of home base (Watertown) we looked at each other at the same time and said "combination lock", which the Ford had. We didn't have to break in, but were too stupid to realize it. Not like we remembered the combo anyway.

In the driveway, we notice splatter all over the boat and rear of the Explorer. Turns out seals were bad. By the time I got back from San Jose (one night) Cliff had gotten another, newer Explorer. After one Explorer proved itself incapable of towing the boat I wouldn't get another, but that's just me. It hasn't been an issue yet.

I get back and we set out to head North again. I'm driving. The boat was in the garage, but I didn't put it there. I pull out and hear a little "pop" sound and notice the garbage can jump. I ask Cliff if he wants to check it out, he doesn't, we start the garage door a closing, and are on our way. We hit Becker, where we turn on to 94 and open it up. I get to 70 and a 18-wheeler is passing me on the right. He honks at us and points at something in the back. I don't know what he's referring to, but I start pulling over as soon as he passes, the trucker throws his hands in the air like "oh well, I tried". No sooner had I started decelerating than I hear crashing noise from the back and see the boat leaning about 30 degrees to starboard. My trailer wheel then passes me on the right and heads down the highway, out of sight, disappearing (I thought) in the median grass.

Now, I've always had a little chuckle about the town of Becker, just because of one sign, "Bodys by Ralph". I'm a bit snobby about spelling, especially on signs. I always thought that should have been "Bodies" but I'm silly like that. Well, that's exactly where my one-wheeled trailer comes to a rest, the off ramp for the frontage road that leads to Bodys by Ralph, which I was directly in front of. Time to visit Ralph, since he was the closest thing to something automotive within walking distance. Ralph was a wonderful man who drove me a few places to help me out in getting help. Ultimately, we packed the gear in the explorer and set out on our own to find help in St Cloud. No boat dealers wanted to deal with us, since it was a few days before the July 4th weekend and they were already swamped or taking time off. We also took well over an hour finding the lost wheel, which had gone all the way across the other side of the highway, coming to rest near the railroad tracks. I got quite sunburned in the process (finally the weather started to turn). In a last-ditch effort, we talked to Royal Tire, who thought they could do something about our problem. We get a flatbed tow truck and they slid it on and dropped it off in their parking lot. We head back home to contemplate buying a totally new trailer.

Where the Wheel was:

Boat on a flatbed:

As we pull in the driveway, we notice the garage door half open. Since it had started closing when we left, we found that odd. Turns out I hadn't clipped only a plastic garbage can, I clipped the doorway and pulled it off the foundation of the garage, over a foot forward. See, when Cliff put the boat in the garage, he put it in at an angle to the rear corner. When I pulled out the boat, I pull it out straight. The wheel that fell off was the one that clipped it. He hadn't packed the bearings since he got it from the previous owner, so who knows?

The poor garage:

Royal Tire worked with some folks that rebuild axles for farm trailers and such, so they did so for us. Was ready by the next day, which I thought was wonderful. I'm not a religious man in the least (though I often think things like "if I was a Mormon, would I actually catch a fish right now?"), but if the Christian God was trying to tell me something, how much would He make the bill for the axle? That's right, $666.

Heading North, take three. On our way to the Palace Casino we have fantasies about getting there in time to actually do some fishing on the way. Silly us. I don't know what town it was, but I notice the dust cap on our shiny new hub has fallen off. Don't want to go in the water without that, I suppose. We find some tire/bait shop and the guy goes through a pile of caps and can't find one. He finally just saws off half a plastic 20oz Pepsi bottle and duct tapes it to our hub. "That'll get ya down the road." Oregon has mostly very nice people (though too many Californians are moving here), but Minnesotans really go the extra mile, doing anything within their power to improve your situation. We lucked out in Bemidji, finding an odd-sized (it didn't match the others of its supposed size) that would fit on our new hub. We're off to Plantagenette.

Not much more interesting happens. In the three days I have left I don't get a Muskie. Best chance was the end of our last day on Mantrap, we had hot follows and missed a couple swipes on the 8. Only thing I have to show for my trip was a tiny Muskie on Detroit, some holes in my hand from the White Bass spines of Lake St Croix and a much lighter wallet. I have been told that I was getting as much action as anybody in June '08, it was bad everywhere. Whatever. It was only because that's when I decided to be there. I had three fish over 50" on and didn't touch a single one. I quit Muskies for a while. My "local" Muskies, Inc. Chapter 57 had me go out and speak to an old-timers fishing club about Muskies (Washington has seven lakes with Tigers and few people in the NW know anything about them). I couldn't have sounded too encouraging. I started fishing for Sturgeon instead. Bigger fish, better fight, many times more action. Less stress.

In '07 I destroyed three cell phones and two Minnkotas.

Why do I do this, again?