Autumn has returned serenity to the
river once again. For the most part I have the river to myself, along with the
migrating birds. The weekends still have a fair number of visitors, savoring
some extra days on the water. This past weekend was ‘summer like’ and Saturday
brought out plenty of boaters and anglers. Boats of all kinds either sizzled
across the river or crept, according to the whims of the operators. Everyone
finds pleasure in making one last wake of the season.
Friday I gave it another try for
walleye off of the Ironman… until the wind changed the plan. I noticed small
mouth bass jumping near the old ‘Light keepers’ house on Carleton island. This
prompted me to switch my bait to a J-7 Rapala from a spoon. I trolled into the
wind approaching the area where I had seen the bass (feeding on minnows). A
fish of sizable quality took the jointed bait and ran in the opposite
direction. It stripped half of my line and I expected to see a tail dancing
Muskie. The fish in question decided to submit to the ‘thing’ dragging its jaw
and came to the Lyman. She was a 36” pike and had the barbless lure hooked in
two spots.
When I pulled out the first hook she
slapped her tail and gave me a bath. I was in an area out of the wind and
appreciated the cool water on my face. Her last effort was a short run to the
bottom and she bobbed back up within reach. I slid my Pap’s pliers under her
jaw and released the second hook. She finally realized that she was no longer
attached to the strange creature above her. I can only imagine her perception
of that experience and her interpretation of what just happened. In a somewhat
dignified motion she used her tail to return to her lair. Her body motion
reminded me of a child’s hand playing with the wind, from an open car
window.
I moved down river to fish for perch
and the bite was light. There were more geese in the air than there were fish
under me. I have to say that at least two thousand honkers passed over head
going to Canada. There was a steady stream of flock after flock for over an
hour. One flock had a snow goose leading them and I was surprised to see one
(of those) in September. All but that one snow goose are probably local birds
who have merged. I think that our local geese have united with the local geese
across the channel. Field corn has recently been harvested on our side of the
river; they eat here and return to Canada to rest. That’s my theory… when the
fishing is slow I have time to think, dangerous.
Evenings have drawn me to the river
to watch the geese return as dusk settles in. They fly in from our mainland and
follow the orange/red glow left by a vanishing sun. Their black silhouettes are
like shadow paintings in flight. Waves of them at varied heights make
chattering honks, to the ones already at roost. The river surface appears to be
on fire each evening while rolling waves pulsate as if carrying glowing ambers.
The geese fly over Feather bed shoal with the flashing eyes of the wind
turbines, blinking at their return. In the stillness I am inundated with tiny
white bugs who attach to me and the boat. Soon minnows notice the easy meal on
the river surface. They rise to snatch a bug leaving a circular pool of red rimmed
beauty.
Saturday afternoon was as delightful
a day as one could wish for. The air was warm, the sun high and the river calm.
I went out to sit and enjoy the day claiming that I was going to fish. I did
not care a lick about catching a thing, I just found a spot kicked my feet up
on the gunnels and relaxed. Soon my shirt was off and the sun was working on
burning my legs and arms. A lawn was being cut on the island near me. The sweet
aroma of cut green grass will soon be lost. Two boats came down river and they
were associates. They obviously were out to drink up this sensational bonus
afternoon. The laughter, joking and singing soon surrounded me.
“Hey, Mike LaDue!” Waving arms and
hands were in the air, gestures were made to mimic my casual fishing effort.
They knew me but I did not recognize them, as they circled the Lyman. I could
not help but laugh at the festive time they were having. I appreciate them
acknowledging and including me in their day. I watched as they motored casually
down river, with without a care in the world. I was not the only one who enjoys
the river for what she is and what she offers. It is a big pie and there are
plenty of pieces for everyone to share.
Around 2:00 PM I began to feel the
sunburn and took a ride to cool off. I stood up and let the wind rustle the
remaining few hairs I have left on my head. I was going to head home and call
it a day, but how could I leave? It was just too dang nice to walk away from a
day like this. I spied a spot where I had not fished for perch since spring. A
slight breeze worked my jig for me as I was too last to jig myself. With my
feet up on the gunnels again, I began to catch one perch after another.
Suddenly I became interested in fishing. These perch were not little ‘bait’
grabbers but big hump backs. On my first pass I caught four that were 10” and
as scrappy as they come. A jet ski went past me and a pair of women hollered
out my name “Mike LaDue!” I acknowledged them with a wave.
My eventful day of well wishers,
relaxation and over exposure to the sun was suspended at 4:00 PM. I had a
stringer of 20 perch to fillet, diner to cook and a sunset to catch. I may not
look busy to the casual onlooker; some might even say that I have too much time
to spend on the river. A wealthy person is one who can achieve satisfaction with
the simple luxuries in life; jus call me Rocker-fella.
