AUGUST 30TH

Where did summer go?! Someone tell her to come back! ☀️🍂

September is already here, the leaves are starting to slowly change colors, and you know what that means… fall fishing is here! Are you excited? Because I am! 🎣

Now for the true Minnesota weather report: we’ve had some chilly mornings with temps in the lower 50s, warming up to the upper 70s by afternoon. This upcoming week, we’re headed back into the lower 80s! It also looks like some rainy days are ahead, so make sure you pack your rain gear. 🌧️

And if you’re thinking, “I probably won’t need it…” — I’m speaking from experience when I say BRING IT ANYWAY. 😂

As for the fishing, things have slowed down just a touch with the changing weather. We’re still fishing the mud around 32 feet, and spinners and minnows are the way to go. Some days they’re biting great, and other days… well, that’s fishing! 🎣

But that’s all part of fall fishing on Lake of the Woods. 

See you on the water!

Set the Hook!

SEASON 5, EPISODE 18

Season 5 – Episode18 (Northern Lights)

Topped with jet fuel and wheels up… the pitstop took thirty-eight minutes if you count the knock-out punch. Sally’s jaw was fine, but her disposition was not. The Dakar (BDI) incident served notice that she was not properly shielding herself.

The next leg of the flight would cover 3990 miles. About eight hours in Ron Heimburg’s chartered jet. After that… a quick touchdown at Harare (HRE)… and then a short forty-five-minute blast that would take Team Eagle into Kariba (KAB). Sally had dealt poorly with Sage Golden by letting her guard down. Such would not be the case moving forward into the Kariba International Tiger Fishing Tournament.

At 45,000 feet the temperature outside the aircraft was the same as the mood inside… quite chilly. No one had yet spoken with Win Dixie, and she remained in the forward cockpit with both pilots.

“Sally, maybe we back off a notch on Win, hey,” suggested Hazel. “You might not have seen it, but I felt like she had your back in that kerfuffle with Golden.”

          “From here on, I go with facts,” replied Sally. “And until HQ confirms her credits, I’m not backing off anything. You copy?”

Turned out, Win was not the only one getting a stiff dose of medicine, without a doctor in the house.

“Ouch! Celine. What the hell is that?” winced Rusty. An orangish sticky goo ran from where his eyebrows used to be… down into his eyeballs… burning the core of his retinas.

          Stop squirming, sir. This is a salve my Great Aunt Tootie conjured using tree sap from a jack pine. I didn’t have the mix of rhubarb root to go with the sap—you wouldn’t transplant a patch to the island like I asked—which again I’m telling you would grow exceptionally well on the northwest side of the bath house—so I dug through the fish guts from today’s cleanings and sorted out thirteen walleye livers—each the size of a small plum. Which also explains why your eyes might be burning—I quite possibly or mistakenly—however you arrive at the summation—may have gotten some bile from a few gallbladders in the mix—now, is it easing the pain of the burn—or are you just blithering like a baby?

Rusty’s long, bushy brown eyebrows were gone. The fishing contest had blazed to a halt some thirty minutes ago… and was ultimately canceled.

Side by side competing against Celine for honors of Best Wednesday Night Walleye Fish Fryer, Rusty was going fillet for fillet with the chef from Quebec City until conditions went awry. YES, Rusty’s portion of the campfire was overheating his legs, and the occasional rocketing ember was piercing through the chest of his shirt. NO, with Elly Waylayer rooting for him from the site of the judge’s panel, he was not going to back away.

The first crack of lightning dispersed the crowd of camp guests from the fire pit area. They scampered toward the covered portion of the deck on the lodge and continued viewing. Then Minister Nev, counting aloud, the contest is tied at twenty-three fillets cooked per contestant, made the sign of the cross on his chest.

When the second bolt unleashed from the skies and lit up the woods across the harbor, Ellie suggested a postponement, but her suggestion fell on deaf ears. Mainly, Rusty’s.

“At least it’s not raining,” said Rusty… about three seconds before the first raindrop hit the frying pan. “No need to panic—we can finish.”

          “I’m taking my fillets and heading for the lodge, Rustacean,” said Celine, as she pulled four more crispy fillets from the pan and added them to her existing stack. “Not that I’m conceding, but where I come from mixing rainwater and hot frying oil is like lining up a row of your cousins and licking their eyebrows.”

Rusty did not ask for an explanation for her analogy. He was occupied with a steady rain, with the needle pointing toward a downpour. Holding his mesh truckers cap with the FSFO logo over the pan did little to deter the explosion. Even Ellie bailed on him at this point in the game.

As the inferno made its way past the heights of the island treetops, Rusty’s eyebrows passed with it along the way. Two inches closer to the fire and he would have been Kojak.

Days later, locals on mainland near the town of Jackfish would say there was a volcanic eruption on one of the nearby islands of Lac des Bois. Others who witnessed the blazing ball claimed it was Northern Lights.

Back on the plane that was headed towards Harare there was a light that blinked three times on Sally’s burner phone. The message she had been waiting for read, “WD cleared for landing Eagle ONE. She is part of your flock. Copy? Over.”

Sally thought… and then responded to the text message, “HQ, copy. WD under my wing.”

Just then the door to the cockpit opened and Winifred Dixie entered the main cabin wearing a world-series poker face. She made her way toward Team Eagle and asked if anything was needed…

Hazel said she was good. Ron felt it was close to happy hour—somewhere—and asked for a highball. Jackie, with Sage still on his mind, quizzed Win about the prospects of dating the Sicilian fashion model.

Then Sally said, “Hey, Win… this team of misfits still needs to acquire a guide for the tournament. Any chance you’d join us?”

Without response Win walked toward Sally and took the nearest available seat. With folded arms she remained silent and stared into Sally’s eyes.  

“Look,” said Sally, “I know I didn’t take your word at face value… but the way things have been going sideways—even before I left The States… I needed to know for sure that you were truly an Eagle. And now it’s been confirmed with HQ.”

          “It has?” questioned Win. And then quickly, “Yes, I’m sure it has.”

Pausing for a second, Sally continued, “We need to get locked in for this fishing contest. Anglers from around the world are gunning to win. Can I count on you as our team’s guide?”

          “I’m ready to pull the trigger,” responded Win. “As soon as we arrive.”

“Perfect,” replied Sally. “I’m willing to do whatever we have to, to take first place.”

          “Anything? Including the possibility of facing the Nyami Nyami?”

“Absolutely, YES, anything,” guaranteed Sally.

Across the aisle… immediately to her left… Hazel stared at an inscription on the inside of Win’s ankle. It was printed just below a tattoo of the infamous river dragon.

–To Be Continued–

SEASON 5, EPISODE 17

Season 5 – Episode17 (Let There Be Fire)

“Hey, boss… get dried off… we have a fish fry to orchestrate,” Celine said to Rusty as she pulled him from the lake onto the dock. “And don’t get sidetracked in your bunkhouse,” she winked.

Rusty was dripping from head to toe. Not only that… when he fell in the lake, he lost his favorite pair of Costa blue-mirrored sunglasses off the brim of his cap… along with most of his pride. “Celine, tell me… how did I not see that the bow of that boat wasn’t secured?” asked Rusty.

          “I’m not the head wharf attendant, sir. I flip flapjacks—toss salads—make a mean French silk pie… have you ever mixed wild mushrooms in homemade gravy? Nev mentioned something about…”

“Ok, Celine,” Rusty interrupted, “let’s get ready for the camp fish fry.”

          “Yeah… about that, Rust-Agustus… seems as though there’s been some wagering taking place betwixt the guests as to who and or whom might be the better fish fryer on this island. No serious money from what I gather. Basically, a fun little cook-off.”

“And that would involve who?” questioned Rusty.

“Oh… just you and me, boss… with Nev as the judge. But of course, now that Ellie’s here maybe we should expand the panel just to keep things fair among friends and lovers.”

“Celine, she’s here strictly as a friend.”      

          “Oh? Weird… because Minister Neville, on more than one occasion, has told me I can go to hell for lying. And those noises I heard coming from your bunkhouse earlier today? Sure didn’t sound like two friends playing Canasta.”

Back into the lake. That is where Rusty went next. Headfirst with a brightly colored face. Although this time it was by choice. Too many words from Celine forced him to: A) cool off before the cook-off. B) find his damn Costa’s on the bottom of the lake. C) determine if Ellie was just a friend.

Speaking of cooling off… the crowd on the tarmac was NOT. Matter of fact everyone’s heart skipped a beat as Sally Squatsnfishes’ right leg buckled from Sage Golden’s left hook.

It was Hazel Brown’s trigger finger that twitched first as Sally went to the deck. And Hazel wasn’t waiting for an eight count.

Her first shot was a warning… straight into the air… which may have proven to be more dangerous because bullets eventually come down. But it was enough to scatter the herd of would-be thugs, as she screamed, “OK—everyone take a breath!”

And then oddly… No one sounded off without so much as a peep. For sure not Sally. She was lying on her back—out cold. Possibly this stupefied the protectors of Sage Golden. It certainly dropped jaws on Team Eagle.

Then Ron Heimburg intervened. Money talks, or so he thought.

“Ladies and gentlemen… Ladies and gentlemen…” he began. “Might I question as to how this fracas started and to what means we can sort this out? If it’s something regarding financial matters, I’m certainly afforded the luxury to discuss…”

And before he could say the word “possibilities”, Sally sat upright… attempting to shake the cobwebs from her cage and asked, “What the hell, Sage?”

Tremendous question. One that produced a bitter response from her peer.

“You know damn well, Sally!” expressed Sage. “You show up outta nowhere… your fancy-ass chartered jet… then bounce across the landing strip with MY fishing guide for the Kariba International Tiger Fish Tournament!”

          “Whoa—whoa—whoa,” Sally replied as she lifted herself off the canvas. “First, everyone put your testosterone filled guns away. Second, what guide? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you,” replied Sage with a pointed index finger. “You, taking my guide Win Dixie away from me for this tournament.”

          “Wow—so that’s it—you punched my lights out because you think I’ve undercut you on a fishing guide. HA!” Sally laughed. “I’ve known Win Dixie for a hot sec, as a flight attendant, on this plane that Ron Heimburg rented. That’s what I know about Win Dixie.”

“Ms. Sage,” began Jackie Loonsuckle, “if you’re lookin’ for a guide ma’am… I’d be more than obliged to…”

          “Shut up, Jackie,” said Sally with a snap. “You’re on Team Eagle; you drool covered cow-chip.”

Then, from Hazel’s peripheral she caught Win Dixie’s face in the headlights. She could not interpret the tear on her cheek as one of anger for Sage Golden—or one of disappointment in Sally’s lack of trust.

“You two fashion-elites can both go fly a kite,” declared Win, and then she stormed back to the plane.

Sitting in the cabin lounge she glared out the window at both Sage and Sally. Then she pulled a hidden burner phone from under the cuff of her pant leg and pressed the #2 key on the speed dial.

On the opposite end a gravelly voice said, “I’m out of Africa.”

Win replied, “The Eagle has landed. She’s with the Riptide. Over…”

Meanwhile, back at Flathers and Scales Fishy Outfitters… still no luck on the sunglass dilemma after multiple dive attempts. The first trip to the bottom produced a pair of women’s camo panties with the initials CMC embroidered on the left butt cheek in blaze orange.

“Are those yours, Flathers!” chirped Tawny Bishop while looking on from the cheap seats in her guide boat. “You looking to smuggle some grapes!” They belonged to Celine—thank goodness no skid marks.

The second plunge was more of the same… no glasses… but a True Temper fishing rod circa 1950s. Rusty tossed it onto the dock with rabid frustration.

“Flathers, are you jigging for Jesus down there! Bring up a fish next time!” Tawny roared.

His encore dive produced a carpenter’s level. Same one he dropped in the lake earlier this spring. A sign from above that he needed to level with Ellie, but there was so much water soaking into his ears—loon muck in his eyes—crayfish clasping to his forearms that he just wanted to abandon the salvage diving.     

Then Tawny blasted, “What sort of underwater construction project you got going over there, Blathers? Or is there a Canadian Tire store having a sale under the docks!”

Within the hour a crowd of camp guests gathered, and Rusty made it to the fire pit for the official fish fry cook-off betwixt he and Celine. Ms. Ellie Waylayer was in tow… participating as a judge.

“Rules are rules,” informed Celine as Rusty attempted to connect a propane tank to a nearby fish cooker. “No gas… we’re going old school. Right, Nev? Open flame campfire.”

          “That’s correct, Mr. Flathers,” said Neville, reaching his fist to the sky, “and God said Let There Be Fire.”

“I’m pretty sure it was something about feeding a man with one fish—feeding masses,” murmured Rusty. “Either way, let’s light a match, I’m up for this challenge.”

–To Be Continued—

AUGUST 22

HEY SPORTSFANS

It’s been another busy week in camp, and the fish have been keeping everyone on their toes!

Once again, the mud has been where most of the success is happening, with anglers finding fish anywhere from 3–8 miles out. If you’re heading out, that’s the zone to focus on. Key note the first drift is always the best.

As for presentation, worms and spinners have been the boat snacks of the week. They’ve been producing consistently and are definitely worth having in the tackle box.

For those of you who are looking for your trophy fish now is the time to make your trip up the slot fish have been looking good. 

My funny story this week was when one of the guides came in told me that they reeled up a 16 inch sauger that threw up a 5in walleye. How crazy is that. 

Good luck on the water, and we’ll see you back at camp!

SET THE HOOK!