After being on the road almost non-stop since January, I was pretty excited to head out for a walleye fishing trip. We had planned three days of fishing, but with the wind forecast being terrible, I cut it to two days, knowing the futility of fighting Montana prairie winds.
While packing and loading the truck, boat, and trailer, it seemed the cranking battery for big outboard finally laid down after way too many years. Run around Bozeman to find one that would work. A three-hour delay. No biggie. Instead of getting to the motel at 10pm, it would be 1am, making a 4am wake up seem like a short night.
The alarm went off. I hit snooze, noticing Mrs. Fin was not even phased by the alarm noises. Next time I woke, it was 7am. Crap, missed the best fishing hours. Oh well, we came to relax, even if it came at the cost of prime fishing.
By the time we got loaded, gobbled down breakfast and coffee, drove to the ramp and launched the boat, we were finally motoring out of the bay by 10:00 am. Before turning the corner, I noticed the a familiar boat. I pulled up beside one of our friends, already on his way in, having had a good morning bite that had died down. He gave the report, bait used, depths, speed, and other essentials he and I share with each other. Always a great shortcut when a trusted friend, who is one of the best fisherman, gives you fresh intel.
Within minutes after dropping lines at the first point, we had bites. An hour in and we had nine walleyes. Then a about an hour lull, with some pike and perch annoying me and stealing spinners and baits.
Then, for reasons I don't understand, it was fast and furious. Those fish we had been seeing on the electronics decided it was lunch time. At one time, all four rods had fish. Tough to net that many walleyes in one net at one time. It was big laughs, and a much-needed break.
Mrs. Fin outfished me in a big way. Since I am the “tender,” baiting lines, netting fish, navigating electronics, retying spinners devoured by pike, I feel there is adequate reason for my second-rate fish boarding.
When we had plowed through the first three dozen night crawlers, I switched over to Gulp worms while she fished the last remnants of crawlers. I caught zero. I estimate she boated 8-10 more. Truly one of the best days we’ve had in some time.
Watching the few other boats and talking to some people, I think we just lucked out and found hungry fish. Sometimes it works that way. I’ll take it. It makes up for the days when I hadn’t lucked into a pod of hungry fish and others fishing nearby had a day like we had.
And here is why the fishing was "too good." For those of you who have a Lund Pro-V with the very wide rear livewell, you’ll relate to this part of the story.
I bleed my fish about ten minutes before I fillet them. They bleed to death, and with walleyes, their meat becomes almost transparent if done properly. Just a quick poke between the pelvic fins, up toward the gills, and the heart gets a bad leak. They are done in a minute. Once bled, I dump them in starboard side of my livewell. There is a removable divider between the starboard/port side of this 48” livewell that makes it handy for sorting fish when you are upgrading on the good days.
When it's "guttin & gillin' time" I always keep two fish “unbled” and alive to make sure of my count. Maybe math isn’t my best subject, but when it’s fast and furious, it’s easy to end up with a livewell that holds one more or one less than the daily limit. The two “unbled” fish stay alive until I’ve counted the dead bled ones.
With a daily limit of five each, Mrs. Fin and I are good for ten fish each day, twenty in possession. So, I start counting the floaters who have been bled and placed on the starboard side of the livewell. One, Two, Three,…….Six, Seven, Eight. Great, eight dead and bled. Grab the two live ones and bleed them.
I fillet all the fish, rinse them well, and get them on ice. I set the livewell pump to “empty.” Pull the livewell plug and watch it drain, plucking out whatever these walleyes puked up in the livewell. As the water level slowly drops, I see a white belly over in the dark corner of the livewell. What? In 50 years of fishing, I’ve never messed this up before.
Now, I’ve got eleven “bled” fish, ten of which are in a cooler, one of which is floating in the livewell. I tell Mrs. Fin of my mistake. She’s in disbelief. I tell her that I’m not wasting a fish. I’m going to fillet that fish. If I see a warden, I’ll fess up to my stupidity and I’ll pay the fine. If I don’t see a warden, our limit tomorrow is nine and we’ll be at the possession limit of twenty.
We head to shore around 3pm. I load the boat and Mrs. Fin drives the trailered boat, with me in it, up the ramp to park. I start securing the boat to the trailer and I see a warden drive up. I tell Mrs. Fin I’ll take the hit on this one. As he walks towards our truck, I meet him and explain that he’ll need to go get his ticket book.
I tell the warden I ended up with one fish over my limit and that I’m willing to take a citation rather than wasting meat due to my stupid mistake. When I tell him what happened, he gives a comforting smile, tells me it happens more than I probably expect, and asks for my information. He comes back and hands me the ticket that was due; $135.
A very nice guy. He has checked us out on the water before. We visit for a while. Mrs. Fin starts to brag about how she outfished me by a mile. The warden jokes that he made a mistake, and he should write the ticket in her name.
So, I sit here at the hotel, embarrassed as hell. Wondering how an accountant can’t count to ten accurately. I now have one speeding ticket in my life and one fishing citation. Hopefully one of each is enough.
Call my buddy who we met on the water and tell him thanks for the intel and what a great bite it was for a few hours. He has a boat almost identical to mine, with the same livewell setup. I tell him what happened. He laughs and tells me a story of how a fish got caught over in the corner of his livewell and was left rotting in there for a week.
Mrs. Fin and I are working on our protocols to make sure we never end up with eleven fish in the livewell, let alone eleven fish “bled and dead.” We might luck out and have a day like today once a season, probably more like once every other season. And when we do, the next day is usually a 2-4 fish day. If that pattern holds course, I won’t have to worry about my fish counting problems getting more in trouble.
Uggh. What a stupid way to ruin a great day of fishing.
Better get showered and sleeping. Not missing the daylight bite tomorrow.
While packing and loading the truck, boat, and trailer, it seemed the cranking battery for big outboard finally laid down after way too many years. Run around Bozeman to find one that would work. A three-hour delay. No biggie. Instead of getting to the motel at 10pm, it would be 1am, making a 4am wake up seem like a short night.
The alarm went off. I hit snooze, noticing Mrs. Fin was not even phased by the alarm noises. Next time I woke, it was 7am. Crap, missed the best fishing hours. Oh well, we came to relax, even if it came at the cost of prime fishing.
By the time we got loaded, gobbled down breakfast and coffee, drove to the ramp and launched the boat, we were finally motoring out of the bay by 10:00 am. Before turning the corner, I noticed the a familiar boat. I pulled up beside one of our friends, already on his way in, having had a good morning bite that had died down. He gave the report, bait used, depths, speed, and other essentials he and I share with each other. Always a great shortcut when a trusted friend, who is one of the best fisherman, gives you fresh intel.
Within minutes after dropping lines at the first point, we had bites. An hour in and we had nine walleyes. Then a about an hour lull, with some pike and perch annoying me and stealing spinners and baits.
Then, for reasons I don't understand, it was fast and furious. Those fish we had been seeing on the electronics decided it was lunch time. At one time, all four rods had fish. Tough to net that many walleyes in one net at one time. It was big laughs, and a much-needed break.
Mrs. Fin outfished me in a big way. Since I am the “tender,” baiting lines, netting fish, navigating electronics, retying spinners devoured by pike, I feel there is adequate reason for my second-rate fish boarding.
When we had plowed through the first three dozen night crawlers, I switched over to Gulp worms while she fished the last remnants of crawlers. I caught zero. I estimate she boated 8-10 more. Truly one of the best days we’ve had in some time.
Watching the few other boats and talking to some people, I think we just lucked out and found hungry fish. Sometimes it works that way. I’ll take it. It makes up for the days when I hadn’t lucked into a pod of hungry fish and others fishing nearby had a day like we had.
And here is why the fishing was "too good." For those of you who have a Lund Pro-V with the very wide rear livewell, you’ll relate to this part of the story.
I bleed my fish about ten minutes before I fillet them. They bleed to death, and with walleyes, their meat becomes almost transparent if done properly. Just a quick poke between the pelvic fins, up toward the gills, and the heart gets a bad leak. They are done in a minute. Once bled, I dump them in starboard side of my livewell. There is a removable divider between the starboard/port side of this 48” livewell that makes it handy for sorting fish when you are upgrading on the good days.
When it's "guttin & gillin' time" I always keep two fish “unbled” and alive to make sure of my count. Maybe math isn’t my best subject, but when it’s fast and furious, it’s easy to end up with a livewell that holds one more or one less than the daily limit. The two “unbled” fish stay alive until I’ve counted the dead bled ones.
With a daily limit of five each, Mrs. Fin and I are good for ten fish each day, twenty in possession. So, I start counting the floaters who have been bled and placed on the starboard side of the livewell. One, Two, Three,…….Six, Seven, Eight. Great, eight dead and bled. Grab the two live ones and bleed them.
I fillet all the fish, rinse them well, and get them on ice. I set the livewell pump to “empty.” Pull the livewell plug and watch it drain, plucking out whatever these walleyes puked up in the livewell. As the water level slowly drops, I see a white belly over in the dark corner of the livewell. What? In 50 years of fishing, I’ve never messed this up before.
Now, I’ve got eleven “bled” fish, ten of which are in a cooler, one of which is floating in the livewell. I tell Mrs. Fin of my mistake. She’s in disbelief. I tell her that I’m not wasting a fish. I’m going to fillet that fish. If I see a warden, I’ll fess up to my stupidity and I’ll pay the fine. If I don’t see a warden, our limit tomorrow is nine and we’ll be at the possession limit of twenty.
We head to shore around 3pm. I load the boat and Mrs. Fin drives the trailered boat, with me in it, up the ramp to park. I start securing the boat to the trailer and I see a warden drive up. I tell Mrs. Fin I’ll take the hit on this one. As he walks towards our truck, I meet him and explain that he’ll need to go get his ticket book.
I tell the warden I ended up with one fish over my limit and that I’m willing to take a citation rather than wasting meat due to my stupid mistake. When I tell him what happened, he gives a comforting smile, tells me it happens more than I probably expect, and asks for my information. He comes back and hands me the ticket that was due; $135.
A very nice guy. He has checked us out on the water before. We visit for a while. Mrs. Fin starts to brag about how she outfished me by a mile. The warden jokes that he made a mistake, and he should write the ticket in her name.
So, I sit here at the hotel, embarrassed as hell. Wondering how an accountant can’t count to ten accurately. I now have one speeding ticket in my life and one fishing citation. Hopefully one of each is enough.
Call my buddy who we met on the water and tell him thanks for the intel and what a great bite it was for a few hours. He has a boat almost identical to mine, with the same livewell setup. I tell him what happened. He laughs and tells me a story of how a fish got caught over in the corner of his livewell and was left rotting in there for a week.
Mrs. Fin and I are working on our protocols to make sure we never end up with eleven fish in the livewell, let alone eleven fish “bled and dead.” We might luck out and have a day like today once a season, probably more like once every other season. And when we do, the next day is usually a 2-4 fish day. If that pattern holds course, I won’t have to worry about my fish counting problems getting more in trouble.
Uggh. What a stupid way to ruin a great day of fishing.
Better get showered and sleeping. Not missing the daylight bite tomorrow.
