SEASON 5, EPISODE 4

Season5 – Episode04 (Too Little Too Lake)

 “Going someplace?” Rusty asked.

The wind outside exhaled and shook the windows of the bunkhouse. Sally exhaled as well. “Rusty. We need to talk.”

          “Why? What’s there to talk about? Unless you’re going someplace,” he responded.

Clearly, she was. Unless a person jamming clothes into a Patagonia Black Hole backpack is just practicing the art of organizing a carry-on bag.

“You know I’m going someplace. I’ve asked you a million times to go and fish this Kariba International Tiger Fish Tournament with me,” she replied.

          Rusty stared down at his toes—carefully—attempting to choose the correct response. “Oh really? Is that why I just heard you on the phone with Ben T., your agent?”

Sally’s spine stiffened and her jaw thrust forward. “What are you talking about, Rusty… Were you standing outside listening to me talk on the phone?” she snapped.

         Rusty folded his arms across his chest—bracing against her tone. Then he cast a rebuttal. “You know what, Sally… Go ahead and leave… You obviously want your career more than you want me.”

Sally shook her head from side to side. Her taut shoulders lost their tension and dropped. “Why are you saying this… Am I not proving that I want to be with you… What’s wrong with both of us having our careers?” she asked.

          Now, refusing to back off the throttle, Rusty took one step forward and glared—wide-eyed. “Two words—Jackie!—Loonsuckle!” he replied and then unfolded his arms and punched a closed fist into the palm of his hand.

Sally’s face ignited with three shades of anger. The first shade—you had popped the top. The second—there was an uncontrollable force released from the bottle. And the third—the explosion went from ground zero to full-on nuclear.

“Get out!” she screamed. Then the lamp on the nightstand became a victim as she picked it up with her throwing arm, cocked it back, and breezed it past Rusty’s ear. The base missed him by less than an inch, and the ceramic body shattered against the wall. “How dare you!” she shrieked.

          Rusty had sidestepped the lamp and retreated to a neutral corner. His index finger may as well have been a Colt revolver as he pointed directly at her heart. “How dare me what—I heard what I heard—and if it’s Jackie Loonsuckle you want, then go for it!”

The slightest raindrop of a tear began to form under Sally’s right eye. And then the current began to flow. It was Too Little Too Lake, and for the first time in their relationship Rusty had thrown a dagger. Speechless and sobbing, she turned her back to him and wiped with her sleeve.

“Just leave me alone, Rusty,” she pleaded.

          Rusty stood statue straight—legs frozen—feet glued to the floor. He had never witnessed Sally being anything more than hard-natured—impenetrable—dominant. Then an overwhelming sense of regret washed over him like a waterfall dropping a million gallons of water from a hundred feet above.

He took two steps forward, and with palms up extended his arms to her. “Sally, I’m sorr…”

Her eyes burned as she turned to face him. There would be zero chance he finished his apology. “Goddammit, get out of here, Rusty!” she screamed.

With his entire being shaken, his feet popped loose from the flooring, and he turned for the exit. “I’ll have Cos give you a ride to the mainland,” he whispered.

Outside the bunkhouse, all appeared to be normal. Cos was busying himself staining a picnic table… Tawny was standing near the outdoor fish cleaning table down by the boathouse, getting rods and tackle ready for tomorrow’s arriving guests… Link was swimming around the harbor chasing a beaver who had a birch limb in his clasp.

No one seemed any the wiser per the verbal exchange that had just unfolded indoors. Or at least they gave the appearance of not being aware.

Rusty was deflated. Enough so that he could not muster the strength to yell at Link and tell him it was a bad idea to try and take a stick away from a beaver.

He wanted to immediately sit on the steps of the deck outside the bunkhouse. He was feeling nauseous as though his body was going to collapse. But he had to make himself sparse—tough to do on an island.

Then came the hum of a Yamaha outboard. It was Celine and Nev returning from their morning adventure. They pulled into the slip nearest the boathouse, and Rusty could see they were carrying a cooler toward Tawny and the fish cleaning table.

“This blow-up wasn’t my fault,” Rusty tried to tell himself, and got off his keister and made his way down the hill toward the crew. Even Cos was meandering his way over to see what the catch was.

“Hey, you guys, look at these!” Celine announced with glee. “Nev says they’re one-eyes, even though to me that seems odd, because they have two.”

          “No, dear, wall-eyes, walleyes,” he corrected.

“Nope, pretty sure you said one-eyes. Did I ever tell you guys about the one-eyed goat I tried to use when making Cretons? Anyway, it was too lean, and I couldn’t get it to thicken,” Celine rattled.

          “It was a glorious morning on the lake, my friends,” added Nev. “We even had a surprise visit from a musky.”

“Yeah, no… Thing almost swallowed the boat, hey,” added Celine. “Speaking of swallowing things, I’m hungry. Where’s Sally at, Rusty?”

          “Oh… She’s uh… She’s uh… packing,” Rusty confessed.

Eyebrows in the crowd were raised. Even Link exited the lake after overhearing this announcement. He trotted down the shoreline of the beach, brought himself to a halt to shake twice, and then barked in succession, “What’d you do to our girlfriend, Rusty?”

“Well, her loss,” continued Celine. “Nev knows better than to leave me. HA! Right Nevvy?”

Just then, Tawny, who had been whacking the fish into fillets, stabbed a complete carcass with the point of her knife and flung it toward Celine. The bulk of the bloody entrail hit her spot on in the chest, with a portion of the filleted skin wrapping around her neck. “Celine, why don’t you put a wrap on your piehole,” she stated, “and stay out of Rusty’s business.”

           “Cos, did you see what she did to me? She’s a bully,” replied Celine. “Oh my, this one-eye skin would make the perfect scarf to go with my monofilament shawl, eh Nev?” And then she fluttered her eyes and gave him an inviting wink.

Suddenly, amidst the conversation—overwhelmed with emotion—Rusty collapsed on the dock. Eighteen hundred and twenty-three miles away, a handsome flyfishing bum got up to take a phone call from an outdoor fashion model’s agent. Jackie. 

MAY 24

Hey Sportsfans, 

“Dress like an Eskimo to be comfortable.” – TK

This week definitely reminded us what true Minnesota weather can feel like, with temperatures bouncing all over the place from warmer mornings to temp dropping afternoons mixed with lots of rain and wind. Around here, you really never know what you’re going to wake up to! Thankfully, it looks like Mother Nature is finally settling into summer mode. The trusty weather reports are calling for highs in the upper 70s all week, and we are more than ready for sunshine, calm waters, and long days on the lake.

The fishing this week has been nothing short of outstanding. Every evening the lodge has been full of groups swapping stories from the day, comparing photos, and debating who managed to get their limits first. The excitement around camp has been hard to beat, and it’s safe to say the fish are active and hungry right now.

We’ve been finding excellent success up around the islands, especially near Garden and Bridges. Anglers have been pulling fish consistently throughout the day, with some especially strong bites happening during the morning hours.   

Walleyes haven’t been the only thing keeping rods bent either. A few groups have also reported catching some quality saugers and northern pike while working through the same areas. 

If you’re headed up soon, don’t forget to pack layers just in case — this is still Minnesota after all — but it finally feels like summer is here to stay. 

Set the Hook!

SEASON 5, EPISODE 3

Season5 – Episode03 (Fisher of Men)

 Both Nev and Celine waved goodbye as they pulled from the harbor at Flathers and Scales Fishy Outfitters. But Rusty did not return their farewells. Instead, he stood motionless on the deck of his bunkhouse, like a spring walleye that had just been electro-shocked.

“Sure is great that Rusty gave me the day off, eh, honey?” Celine said. “Must have been in a really good mood.”

          “Huh?” replied Nev. Because that was not the body language he was reading. The guy who told them a half hour ago, go and enjoy a day on the lake, appeared to have zero joy in his world at this moment.

“C’mon Nevvy… Let’s go fast. I can’t wait for you to show me how to catch a fish!”

          “Good enough, my dear. Hang on to your hat.” And with that—Nev cracked the throttle.

Spring fishing on Lac des Bois has its advantages. First and foremost, after a long winter they (the fishies) are hungry! As in, H—U—N—G—R—Y you ain’t got no alibi. You hungry! You hungry!

 Early on it is best to work deep points. This was something Nev had just enough knowledge of to be dangerous.

“What’s this spot called?” Celine asked. She was holding an obtrusively large lake chart across her lap while the boat came to idle.

“Um… Shipwreck Point. I’m looking for 28-30 feet of water. Celine, you’ll need to turn the map around if you want it to read correctly.”

“Oh… There it is. Aren’t you the smarty-pants. And why Shipwreck Point?”

          “Well… Because…”

“To me, Nev, here, look… Looks more like a penis to me.” She drew an outline on the map with her index finger. “Maybe we rename it Penis Point.”

          “Ok. That’s enough,” Nev snapped. “Need I remind you that many of God’s disciples were fishermen? And I, a Fisher of Men.”

“Well, you certainly weren’t fishing for a man this morning,” Celine countered under her breath. “Hey, this bait tastes funny. Are these minnows salted?”

One-two-three. One-two-three. One-two-three. Fishing for Nev and Celine was literally the Watusi. Bait your hook, drop your jig to the bottom, get a bite. One-two-three. One-two-three. One-two-three.

“Wow, hey, is fishing always this good?” asked Celine.

          “No, dear, it’s not,” answered Nev. “But as a good friend of mine Tor used to say: The walleye fishing on Lac des Bois isn’t always good, but when it’s good? It’s really good!”

“Meh… That doesn’t make sense,” Celine responded. “But hey, neither does squirrel stew. I’m thirsty. Did you bring any Clearly Cana…” And before she could finish saying Canadian, her rod buckled in half, and she found herself hanging on to the butt end of the rod with ten-pound monofilament line screaming off the spool of the reel.

          “Good gravy, my dear. Are you caught on bottom?”

“Whaaaaaaaa!!! I think I—I think I hooked an Atlantic Wolffish… BIG… UGLY… Like my cousin Phonse. Massive head—the fish—but so was my cousin’s. Nicknamed him A-Dub.”

“Huge—HUGE teeth on these Wolffish,” Celine continued. “Same as A-Dub. Dude could open a can of Bush’s Baked Beans with those choppers. And then his—Whoaaaaaaaa! I’m running out of string, Nev!”     

The anchor was pulled and the motor was already started. Celine, with her hands full, had not noticed Nev scurrying about the skiff preparing to give chase.

          “Rod tip up, my dear!” he shouted.

Celine looked over her shoulder, locking eyes with her fishing partner: “Not a time for foreplay, Nevvy. Get after this damn fish!”

The motor slammed into gear and Nev twisted the throttle while simultaneously pushing the tiller handle away from himself. This catapulted the boat to starboard and allowed the couple to track down whatever this was, below the surface.

“It’s getting away—it’s getting away,” she cried.

          “You must REEL, Celine. Put the rod between your breasts and REEL!”

“I’m not talking to you right now, Fisher of Men. Get your mind out of the fish guts. Fish-gut-soup? Hmmm. And Phonse never had a girlfriend—you keep yelling—neither will you.”

          “Celine, my dear. I am trying to help. We are following the fish. Just crank the reel.”

“Oh, so now my breasts are ugly? Well, so was Phonse’s face. Couldn’t get all his buckteeth to fit inside his mouth. Just like this Atlantic Wolffish. You’ll see. And that’s the only thing you’ll be seeing the rest of the day,” she hummed.

Nev cut the throttle as they were now positioned above the fish in sixty-eight feet of water. The line had stopped singing from the reel. There was silence—an eerie silence—one with Celine not filling the void with her incessant rapid-fire rambling. The second with this massive fish lying motionless on the bottom of the lake. Perhaps both were regaining their strength.

“Get the net, Nev. It’s coming up,” she called out. And in fact, the giant of all giants was making its way to the surface. Done running, it was now stalking.

          “Christ on a popsicle!” shouted Nev. The magnificent fish surfaced. It was most certainly NOT an Atlantic Wolffish—he had known better—they are only found in saltwater—of which Lac des Bois was not. But. But-but-but… It was THE largest MUSKY he had ever witnessed in the waters of Lac des Bois. Big silver himself. A sixty-plus-inch fish appearing from the depths like Satan himself showing up for Sunday service.

The one-quarter ounce jig was hanging on by a proverbial thread, with the barb of the hook protruding through the skin in the corner of its upper jaw. One twist, one turn, one headshake, and the king of the freshwater would be gone.

“That’s no Atlantic Wolffish,” Celine exclaimed. “This thing has eyeballs on the top of its head.”

          “It’s a musky, Celine. A gi-hu-gic musky. Look at the length and the girth. Possibly the biggest I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s what she said,” Celine said. And that was enough—enough to distract Nev into losing his footing, falling to the side of the gunnel, whacking the nose of the musky with the hoop of the landing net, and then watching in disbelief as the great fish swam away.

“Damn glad we didn’t have to get that thing in the boat,” said Celine in celebration. “Fricken fangs were sharper than A-Dub’s.”

Rusty took a breath and returned to his bedroom entry. He then tapped twice on the wall and cautiously pulled the curtain open. Inside, Sally was gathering herself. Along with her belongings.

–To Be Continued–

MAY 17

Hey Sportsfans,

Note to self: wear hats with strings, or you’ll lose them on the Canadian side of the lake.

Thursday and Friday brought some pretty interesting fishing conditions. The wind really started to pick up, followed by little rain, making it difficult at times to stay on the fish. A few boats even came in early because of the challenging conditions. And thanks to the strong south winds, quite a few hats were lost along the way.

We’re primarily out of the river now and moving more into the lake and bay. But don’t let that fool you because there is still fish there. Water temperatures in the lake have started to warm up a little, reaching into the 50s.

That said, the cold water and cooler weather have made for a more challenging opener than we typically see this time of year.

Most fish are being found in the bay, while the lake has been hit or miss. The river has also produced some solid results in 12–20 feet of water.

We’ve heard some promising reports from up around Garden Island, but many other areas of the lake remain pretty spotty. The fish still seem to be in a bit of a spawning period, which has made them difficult to consistently locate.

Patience is key.

Set the Hook!