Fishing Through the Fog

There are few friendships among men more sacred than the “fishing buddies.” Like all friendships, it is a bond forged from the passage of time together. Most friendships develop from time spent together during an activity or social function or a shared class in college: doing something. Fishing buddies develop from doing nothing. That is what most fishing consists of, sitting in a boat or on the shoreline doing absolutely nothing but waiting for a fish to make a bad decision.

Paul Rossignol and Jack Judd have fished together for 30 years. So when they invited me to go fishing with them I gladly accepted and prepared for a seminar on the proper way to fish for walleye.

When I arrived at the FlatIron boat dock just outside of Thompson Falls at 7 a.m. I was prepared with a disclaimer. I was told by a common acquaintance that Paul was a professional, champion walleye angler. I therefore felt compelled to warn him about my reputation as a fisherman. I use that term loosely because back home in Missouri, my fishing buddy has a name for me. My friend Aaron calls me “the anti-fish.”

He calls me this because when I am present in the boat or on the shore, the fish seem to have better things to do than bite the hook. Then, he will go out the very next day, in the same exact spot, at the exact same time, and catch more fish than he can carry. The only difference between these two night and day scenarios: me.

The point is I wanted Paul and Jack to be aware of my fish repellent qualities. If their reputations as fishermen were going to be on the line, I wanted them to know that they could blame me and not suffer undo scrutiny at the hands of their colleagues. They did not seem swayed at all by my disclaimer, demonstrating confidence in their abilities and not a glimmer of comprehension of whom they were dealing with. The power of my capacity to drive away fish that otherwise would happily hook themselves or probably jump in the boat on their own, saving the angler the trouble of catching him, is truly impressive. Just ask my buddy Aaron.

Despite my warning, Paul and Jack invited me aboard the fishing boat, an impressive vessel about 15 feet long with a shimmering maroon paint job and decked out with top of the line fish finding equipment. While I remained skeptical that this gear would overcome my presence, we set out into what can only be described as the thickest fog in the history of Noxon Reservoir. I could barely see the front of the boat from my seat about five feet away. Since we were the only anglers crazy enough to be out on the water at 7 a.m., I was not concerned about the lack of visibility or of hitting something. I was more concerned that if I were to fall out of the boat for some reason, Paul and Jack would never know because we could barely even see each other.

As Paul cranked up the enormous outboard motor and got the boat up on a plane, we proceeded to find a spot deemed promising for catching the elusive walleye. According to these experienced anglers, part of the appeal of catching walleye is the difficulty of landing one. I was not happy to hear that part. The walleye typically lays on the bottom of the lake so the technique used by Paul and Jack is to cast the lure out a few feet and let it drop to the lake bed about 20 feet down.

The next step is to take up the drag and then gently lift the tip of the fishing pole about six inches repeatedly, a sort of underwater dance for the lure. Gradually bringing the line back toward the boat using this motion, the lure is reeled in and the process repeats until a walleye makes a mistake. This method proved itself twice during our fishing trip though not in my case.

The first walleye caught by Paul was about 12 inches long, a small specimen and thus followed the time-honored tradition of catch and release. These guys want them to grow and provide a decent meal. This is the other reason walleye appeal to fishermen. They are a very tasty fish, easy to filet with very few bones. A “keeper” is also a good-sized fish. One would need to catch a dozen or so perch to match the yield of only a few walleye.

With the pea soup not burning off and keeping us enveloped in a fog usually reserved for B-class horror movies, we were joined by another boat of avid (or psychotic) walleye anglers. Paul and Jack traded tips about good spots while I wondered if they would get mad at me for snapping a few photos for the paper. I needed something different because I knew my normally level-headed editor would strangle me with a fishing net if I came back from my trip with nothing but white, foggy photos. Paul saved the day by catching another walleye so I snapped a few frames of the squirming fish instead.

While the dark gods of fishing provided an offering to Paul and Jack, I remained unchallenged for the title of champion anti-fisherman. My lure sat sadly ignored, by what I can only imagine were thousands of ravenous walleye prepared for a feeding frenzy as soon as they felt my departure. I obliged them after a few hours, having Paul and Jack drop me off at the shoreline so the bounty could commence.

I did not catch any fish. I did learn much about the walleye and how other people catch them. Fun was had, new fishing buddies were made and that is what it is all about at the end of the day. Paul and Jack will be back and they might invite me along for another trip. I think they may schedule an outing they will not tell me about though. Otherwise, they will not catch anything more than some weeds, a few twigs and possibly pneumonia.