Tooth Missile

Way up in the north woods of Wisconsin there lurk monsters. Some of the biggest, meanest freshwater predators in North America prowl murky tannin-stained water with one thing on their mind: destroying the egos of fisherman. Walk into any bar in the north woods and you'll see one on the wall. Chances are you'll hear the story of how it was caught and by who and what kind of epic battle ensued. You'll also probably hear about how long the guy fished for it before catching it. It's not uncommon to hear stories of people fishing for years just to get a shot at one. So when the chance arose to go throw flies at the mighty musky, there was only one thing to do.

Down the road we went, Andrew D. and I, and 30 hours and 2000ish miles later we arrived in the muskie capitol of the world. Of course there were the usual delays with gear, middle of the night truck repairs, and having only a vague idea where we were going. But there we were, staring bleary eyed into steaming cups of coffee as our buddy Tim Fisher pulled out his camera. "This was yesterday," he said, as he flipped through picture after picture of giant fish. "You boys ready for this?" Tim is one of the guides at Musky Country Outfitters (www.muskycountryoutfitters.com) and was pumped that we finally got to come up to his neck of the woods when he had a couple of days off. Some of you may remember Tim from the last Wisconsin epic. Off to the river we went, dropping the boat in at a beautifully manicured launch site that I'm pretty sure Andew was not a big fan of, it being his truck and boat. Hey, what harm have concrete and rocks ever done?

We quickly learned that musky fishing is just like throwing streamers for trout. That is, if for trout you were throwing a 10wt. rod, sinking line, and a small dog as your fly. It's a good thing we had the helmet. The first fish that came in got us going. A few hours into the float we saw a tail break the surface just a little way downstream and Andrew's fly got smashed a minute later. It was on, it was hot, and it was pissed.

With the skunk out of the boat, we pressed on, smacking our huge flies into every seam, pocket, and riffle that looked fishy with nothing to show for it. Then, in the fading daylight, as our hope of another fish was fading, my line came tight. With a vicious strip set I drove the hook home and the next thing I knew the water exploded. A missle streaked across the river and erupted from the surface. The fish tried to jump several times, with violent gill plate rattling head shakes that I just knew were going to throw the hook. Putting my ten weight to the test, the fish ripped back and forth across the river. I didn't give him an inch, hoping that the 60lb. leader and 80lb. tippet would hold, and it did. With victory in sight, Tim slammed down the anchor, grabbed the net, and guided the beast in. It turned out to be the biggest fish of the trip, estimated at around 44", and my personal best for any fish on a fly.

Over the next three days we pounded water in several different locations and were able to land two smaller musky as well as a few smaller northern pike, but nothing quite like that first day. We saw plenty of other fish, even having a few supermonsters follow flies right up to the boat, only to turn away. That was just fine, that's Musky fishing for ya. Four days, four musky, no complaints here. A big thanks to Tim Tim and Willan the flymaster at the musky shack, I'm looking forward to partying down with you guys next year.

Muskie Madness

Quick update...on the road to Hayward, WI, muskie capitol of the world. More to follow. Things are about to get interesting.

Some Might Call it Epic

This past week has been a bit absurd to say the least. After many hours on the road and in the air, I finally arrived in Northeast Wisconsin last Saturday and met up with Andrew Drasch and Tim Fischer to do a little exploring on the Menominee. We'd heard it was a great smallmouth fishery that should be picking up right about the time we rolled in. It was and it did. The first night sitting around the fire, organizing gear, and fantasizing over the next day's fishing had the three of us so amped up that I don't think anyone got any sleep.

Day one started with three or four smallies and two nice pike in the first half hour and the fishing kept up consistently enough that we didn't get back to our basecamp until almost 11pm. While most of the action was from the smallmouth, there were plenty of smaller pike in the mix, so the 40lb. shock tippet was a good choice to avoid losing our perch patterns.

We spent the second day on what the Wisco boys call a flowage (the rest of the world calls it a lake) created by one of the many dams on the river. Pounding the shore with baitfish patterns was the ticket for smallies in the two to four pound range as well as small pike and even a muskie.

Working our way into a weed-choked slough that seemed perfect for largemouth, I tied on a big hairy topwater pattern and started drawing strikes in the patches between weeds. After a few fish clobbered it and didn't stick, I cut the weed guard off and proceeded to nail two bucketmouths. The violent strikes that these fish destroy a fly with are impressive to say the least, which would probably account for my big shit-eating grin in the pictures. The larger of the two was not at all happy about my fly invading his space and put on quite the show when he decided it was time to destroy.

Not long afterwards, Andrew decided it would be a good idea to break my 8 weight on the biggest smallie of the day and we got mocked by some good ol boys zipping by in a little outboard. Quote of the day goes to one of these goons, apparently totally boggled by our motorless driftboat: "Dude's rowing!" Our lack of motor notwithstanding, we appeared to be having a hell of a lot better day than those guys. Pulling off the water long after dark once again, we were already formulating our plan of attack for the next day.

We decided to head back to the same stretch of river for day three and fished it a bit more effectively, focusing on the areas that produced well the last time. It paid off big, with pretty consistent smallie action in the morning and a bunch of lively pike through the afternoon and evening.

After such good fishing and spending three days with two world class ball-busters, I had a bit of a hard time getting back on the road to head to Idaho. Little did I know just what we were in for, but more on that later. I feel I should point out that in the slideshow over on the right there, I appear in a picture with a baitcaster. I admit it, I went there. After three days of throwing an 8 weight nonstop 50 to 75 feet on every cast, my wrist just couldn't take any more and needed a break. It didn't take long before I was back on the flies, I got bored with not catching anything on it. Bait is sissy.