More on college

Bob took me fishing at several area locations. We fished most often at the farm ponds located on the university farm.  It was here that he taught me how to fish for bass and crappie. We would often fish in the evening and we were fairly successful.

Bob taught me how to slowly fish a surface lure. He used a balsa wood Rapala floating minnow which was popular at that time. I even bought my own lure which I still have to this day. It was with this lure that I have proved the old axiom about fishing equipment. Lures catch many more fisherman than fish.

We fished several local lakes including the lake at Argyle State Park. This park, best known for beer drinking “lakers”, proved to be not much good for fishing. We caught a few bass and some black crappies, but that was all.

One fishing experience was at a pay-to-fish lake. This was the only time I did this. You pay a small initial fee and the rest of the cost is by the pound of fish caught. No fish are allowed to be thrown back. 

We waited with our rods while a pick-up pulled up the dam forming the lake. An employee banged on a fifty gallon drum and the water began to churn as fish rose to the surface. The employee then threw scoops of fish food pellets into the water and the fish went crazy, hitting the surface repeatedly. We were told to cast. As with Coleta, the fish bit at everything that entered the surface. I caught two fish on two casts and decided this was no fun. I reeled in and gave my two catfish to another person.

Later that same spring, Bob and my friend Jerry W., went fishing without me. I had a final exam, they were graduating seniors and finished early. I saw Jerry in the hallway late that afternoon. He told me to come into the restroom. In the deep restroom sink used for rinsing clothes, there were six huge largemouth bass. Jerry said the smallest weighed four pounds.

I was so jealous. I asked where they had caught the fish. He said they sneaked into the back side of the pay-to-fish lake and caught them there. He said the bass were so active the one hit his bobber while he was reeling in another fish. Now that would have been a sight to see.

Return to the Smokies

A few years back, Don asked if I would like to go back to the Smokies with him. He and Pat had traveled there recently and found a nice hotel just outside of the park. A hotel sounded much better than camping. I made sure the hotel was not named “The Shangi-La.”

We left early in the morning. It was a great drive out which took about eight hours. Townsend, TN is about ten miles east of Gatlinburg, which is at the entrance to the National Park. We arrived at the hotel in the early afternoon.  Don tried to get me in an argument over politics with the owner.  Don told him I was an Obama supporter. The owner said the polls showed the majority of the country was not in favor of Obamacare. He asked why he would push through something the country didn’t support. All I said was “That’s what elections are for”. That ended the conversation.

Fortunately the owner liked money more than politics. He wanted to a make sure we stayed more than one night. He offered to give us help with trout fishing. The owner had access to the river below the hotel. We could park at a caboose/cabin he had and fish all we wanted.

We fished all afternoon. I caught a trout. Don fly fished and caught several trees.  It started to sprinkle and we went in for dinner. I went in to wash up and get the fish slime off my hands. When I got back, Don got up to wash up. I asked him why, since he didn’t have fish smell on him.

The next day we fished back in the National Park, where we had camped years earlier. This was about ten miles from the motel. We parked in a small lot and walked to the stream. It started to rain pretty hard, so we moved under a bridge to fish. The water started rising rapidly. This flash flooding happens often in the mountains.

We decided to get out of the area before roads became flooded. We ran back to the car, stripped off our waders and left. After driving back to the motel, we discovered Don’s fly rod was missing. Then he remembered he had put it on the top the car while he was removing his waders.

We decided to drive back to try and find the fly rod. Driving slowly along the winding road, we kept looking for the rod. We backtracked the path we had driven until we re-entered the National Park. By this time it had stopped raining, but the creeks were running rapidly.

We got out and searched down to the bridge. Frustrated with no luck, we walked back to the car. Then I noticed a fishing rod standing by a post. It was Don’s fly rod, apparently retrieved by some helpful camper.

On the trip back, we saw some crazy guy in a tiny kayak traveling down the rapidly moving stream. The stream bed was full of boulders, but he kept going. He must have been traveling more than twenty miles an hour. We got ahead of him and stopped on a bridge. A small crowd was watching him come down the stream. We filmed the crazy guy as he shot past except I can't find that guy in the video and it won't upload.

The rain effectively eliminated any fishing. We decided to end the afternoon at a bar. We had an early dinner and hit the sack. We left the next morning. Eleven hundred miles of driving, one trout. Hey, it’s not about the fishing, remember?

Misguided Fishing Boulder Junction

The most recent guide fail didn’t actually cost Don and I any money. Paul wanted to do a combination grouse hunt and fishing trip. He had a new puppy he wanted to train to point, so he made arrangements to go grouse hunting with a guide. He was also a fishing guide.

My brother, Tim, loves to fish. Unfortunately we rarely get to fish together. He has this thing called “a job” and it really messes with fishing trips. My brother, Steve, loves to hunt. He also likes to get away to do some fishing. Steve farms so he has lots of time off. (That’s a joke).

At any rate, Don, Paul, and I planned to go to Wisconsin. I called Tim and Steve to see if they were available too. We planned the great adventure to the north woods.

Steve and I had fished with Paul at Boulder Junction WI the prior year. (Would you ever admit you were from a town whose initials were “B.J.”?)That trip was covered under adventures in Paul’s boat. This post is about guide fails.

Paul’s guide, Neil, was described by Paul this way. If you go out with Neil every other word is “fawckin”. “Them Fawckin’ grouse will be along the fawckin’ road”. So Paul and Steve went grouse hunting with the guy. They  saw , shot at and missed two “fawckin grouse”. Paul’s puppy, Duke, spent his time wandering around looking, but not pointing at anything. Meanwhile, Tim and Don and I fished where Paul and Steve and I had fished the prior year for smallies.

We had no luck. The next morning we had breakfast with the guide. He told us we were fishing in the wrong spot on the lake. “Dey are out by the island, stacked up like fawckin’ cordwood.”  He said with a strong Irish brogue. He also said to try another smaller lake. Again he told us where “Dey were stacked up like fawckin’ cordwood”

We went out again. We fished where he said. Not one fish was caught by any of the five of us. We never saw anything “stacked up” on the fish finder. After fishing for three days we had no fish. Paul had to get home early, so Steve and Don decided with go with him.

Tim and I stayed on. After all we had another lake where they would be “stacked up”. This day BJ weather decided to make things interesting again.  Wind and rain blew up as we searched the lake for “cordwood”. We never saw any.

Since Don had left, I figured the curse we shared would leave. After several hours blowing around, we drifted over a reef in the middle of the lake. I caught one, tiny, rock bass. Tim and I tried to stay on the reef, hoping for some of those “cordwood” fish. All we caught was one  tiny “fawckin’” rock bass.

We changed lakes, but had no results. Coming back to BJ in the rain we decided to leave a day early.  Don had fished for two days,  Steve and Paul had fished for one, Tim and I had fished for four days. We had two very small fish to show for it, but hey, fishing isn’t about catching fish. The motel owner wanted to know why everybody left early.   

I decided Don must be the Joe jinx guy, but I was the fawckin cloud over his head.

Misguided Fishing Kinkaid Lake

Southern Illinois folks must think the Robertson clan on “Duck Dynasty” are classy dressers. When we stopped for live bait outside of Murphysboro at Billy Bob’s Firearms and Formal Wear we heard, “Kin I git ma prom dress and his matchin’ tux in Mossy Oak?” They were out of live bait.

Kinkaid Lake is outside of Murphysboro IL.  The web site says, “Nationally known for its fishing, Kinkaid Lake provides anglers with ample opportunity to catch largemouth bass, crappie, catfish, walleye, muskellunge (muskie), and bluegill.”

I love when we find these lakes with glowing reports.  Nationally known!!!! Wow! We consider this a challenge.  Kinkaid is 2200 acres of “scenic sandstone bluffs and rolling hills”.

Don and I planned a trip. True to our practice on new water, we hired a guide. He was named Phil.  I asked Don if he had told Phil about the curse. He had not.

Phil was famous in the area. In addition to his work as a fishing guide, he has worked on fishing shows. He has been on multiple shows because of his success and reputation. However, Phil was about to take on his greatest challenge.

We drove down to Murphysboro and arrived in the afternoon. We had stopped in Raymond along the way to see the sheet metal progress on my brother, Jeff’s, Minneapolis Moline tractor restoration. We had stopped by earlier in the month and Jeff needed an update. We were driving right past there, so we stopped in. Little did I know that I would be making weekly visits that summer, but that’s another story.

We stayed in another “family” hotel. I think the owners must have been related to people in Sullivan (See Almost Holiday), but at least it wasn’t the Shangri-La. They were trying to plant a garden in mud, and they did have a live dog. Anyway it was cheap.

Our appointment with Phil was for all day the next day, so we decided to bank fish until then. It was windy, so we stayed on the dock. Unfortunately it was so windy that my custom fit sunglasses flew off and sank. You know that feeling of moving in slow motion as you see something fall away? They sank slowly, but I moved even slower. Equipment issues surround us and penetrate us, you know like “The Force”.

We met Phil at the boat ramp around 8:00. As was typical of guides, he had all his own equipment. I thought it looked a little beat up. I was to find out why later in the day. Phil took us across the lake and into a cove. We were fishing for muskies, but bass would work too.

We fished, we moved, we fished, we moved. Anytime we were in a cove. Phil would have us fish near a tree or a bush. He told us about good spots for crappies, but we didn’t fish for them.

I came to realize why Phil liked trees and bushes, and I also understood why his gear looked a little worn. Phil was a believer in lure and rod retrieval. By that I mean, every cove was scouted for lures that were stuck in the trees or bushes. He also looked for lost fishing rods. Phil found several lures on our trip. We found plenty of lures, but no fish.

I finally decided to fess up about the curse. Phil just laughed it off. After all, he was famous for putting celebrities on fish for fishing shows. Sometime during the day he made a confession to us. He said when big time fisherman with TV shows scheduled a show at Kinkaid , he and other guides would “pre-fish” before the big time people arrived to film; except he had a new definition of “pre-fishing”.

Tournament fisherman pre-fish to get to know a lake.  They do this the day before and release the fish. TV people want a sure thing for the cameras, especially when they are sponsored by fishing lure companies. Every year fishing lure companies advertise the latest “must have” lure.

 Phil and the other guides would catch fish for several days before the TV shoot and put them in underwater cages. When the TV personality was throwing the featured lure, the guides would attach one of their captive fish to it and let it go. The camera caught the fish rising out of the water sporting the featured lure in its mouth. I always knew “reality TV” was everything but real.

Soon we had traveled completely around  Kinkaid Lake, hitting all of Phil’s sure to produce spots. As the sun was getting low, we moved to the last cove on the lake. As we entered the cove, we saw a sign on the hill "Beware of Rattlesnakes". Don and I decided if we had to pee it was going to be off the end of the boat.  

The cove was shallow and located where the feeder stream entered the lake. We were casting to the shore. Suddenly Don had a strike. Excited but careful, Don worked the fish back toward the boat. It was a muskie! With Phil’s guidance, Don eventually landed the big fish. We took pictures, and released the big girl.

Since we were using Phil’s lures, I asked if he had another like Don’s. He said “No, only one”. They were custom hatchet blade spinner baits made by a local guy who hired disabled workers to make them. We continued to cast in the cove. Don never volunteered to let me use the lure. As darkness fell, we returned to the ramp. Phil said we should try dock fishing if we wanted to catch bass. Since I hadn’t caught anything for two days and all I had accomplished was to lose my sunglasses, we decided to fish a little in the morning before we left.

The next morning, we stopped in the marina and I bought a lure like the one Don had used on his muskie. I made one cast off a dock and caught a largemouth. The next cast the hatchet blade on the lure went flying into the lake. I figured it was time to go home as the curse was now adding lost equipment to our misery.

p.s. I lied about the girl asking for Mossy Oak.

I can’t remember what type of camo she wanted.