September 8, 2009

Well, I was wrong. We had some beautiful stable weather last week but unfortunately it came along with some on-shore winds. It drove up the water temperature near shore about 12 degrees and shut us down temporarily. A few three year old Kings fell to the night-owls off McKinley, but other than that there wasn’t much salmon action going on.

But they will be in soon, whether the water temps are right or not. They are driven by the urge to spawn. Photo-period, the amount of daylight per day, is their calendar. Their bodies are changing. Many of them have stopped feeding. The area where they were planted four years ago is imprinted into their brains and the drive to return is all they can focus on.

It will be interesting to see what returns this season. The years of thirty pound fish may be gone for now. Although my unscientific observations sure don’t show a loss in baitfish populations, the Salmon are a tell-tale sign. Although healthy, they don’t have the bulk they did a decade ago. Watching Salmon derby results also shows very few over 25 pounds this year. So we may have to be happy with a lot of 12-18 pounders like last year. Still nothing wrong with that.

Back in the 1970’s when the Alewife populations were high and the stocking balance was a little lopsided with Kings, big salmon were fairly common. Twenty pounders were pretty normal. Twenty-fives raised an eyebrow. Everyone was after a thirty!

It was early November of 1976. I was 14 years old and finishing up my second season on the big-lake. The Lakeside Power plant in St. Francis was my home away from home. I felt like I was starting to figure it out, catching my share of fish, and learning the science of the ever-changing lake. Yet, the big one had still eluded me. The big run of Salmon had nearly ended and my goal of a 20 pounder had not been met. It frustrated me to no end.

It was a Sunday. A cold bike ride to the lake left me with a frozen forehead that felt like an ice cream headache. It was probably in the low 30’s but the Packers were on the radio and there were still a few salmon around, so life was good.

It was just me and one other older fellow that I had gotten to know from seeing him down there nearly every day. His name was Alex and he stopped each morning and casted for an hour before work. He had a heavy German accent and cracked me up with his pronunciation of Krocodile (a popular lure) and Brown trout, rolling the “R’s” with a heavy “L” sound. Alex was a great guy and one of the “Alumni” as I called them. The daily regulars, whom I think enjoyed heckling each other in a good humor fashion more than actually fishing.

The discharge at the plant was low that day so I set up close to the chute. A few dark nasty Salmon were milling around the rocks, ready to finish their life cycle. My first lure was a glow and green Tiny Tadpolly, an odd shaped plug that had some attraction to spawning fish. It only took a couple casts and I hooked up. It felt like a good fish, but I couldn’t really see it in the roiled discharge waters. Alex made his way down the obstacle course of rocks, broken concrete and rusted rebar that lined the shore at the power plant. I was about 6 feet above him on a different rock and Alex had now made it to the water’s edge with his net. It was a good fight, but within a couple minutes the fish was near shore and looked like it was giving up and coming to the net. It rolled up by the rocks and we both got a good look at it. Alex blurted out, “Oh my god, that’s a thirty pounder”. I saw it too and had never seen a salmon with a head that big in my life. The Tadpolly was firmly planted in crook of her jaw. Before he could net it, I think she finally realized that she was hooked. She exploded the water with her huge tail and headed east like someone had stuck her in the butt with a cattle prod.

Line melted from my reel and I remember the spool spinning so fast that a rooster tail of water sprayed off misting my glasses. I couldn’t stop the fish. I had about 225 yards of eight pound test on the reel and now praying that it was enough.

I had been spooling the reel first with some heavier blue Stren line (backing). This took up some space on the base of the spool so I didn’t need to replace as much line every time I changed. It also served as a warning that I was about 50 yards from being out of line, or “spooled” as we call it. Particularly in the summer when they have all their strength, these Kings could “spool” you and empty your reel without stopping. I had seen it happen but never had it happen to me. But, now it was starting to worry me. The double uni-knot joining the backing to the main line had just passed through the guides. Fifty yards left.

I started to tighten the drag a little. The fish slowed, but was still taking line in shorter bursts. Every time I recovered six feet, she would take ten. Alex had returned to his casting spot by now knowing this was going to be a while. I was in trouble. By now most Salmon would have tired and attempted their next tactic, run straight back at you faster than you can possibly reel. It would often give them time and slack line to throw the lure. Hopefully it didn’t work, and would give you a chance to get most of your line back. Not this fish. It was sticking to plan A, spool him!

See you tomorrow for the rest of the story.