Photograph of Husky the Muskie in Kenora: Pamela Schonberger
[Editor’s Note: The following is Owen Schonberger’s account of his family fishing trip to Lake of the Woods for muskie. He wrote it for his high school English class.]
It’s a crisp cool morning on Lake of the Woods. Swooping white pines line the shore and weave to create a dense forest panorama. Cottages located on the rock of the Canadian Protect scatter the lake. “Able to go?” asks my dad as I sit on the dock, pondering. “After all,” I reply. My mother smiles.
I’ve aspired to fish this lake since I used to be somewhat child, by no means considering that at some point I might need an opportunity to fish it. This lake holds an irregular quantity of fish like no different. The Muskie: a big, elongated fish with rows upon rows of razor-sharp tooth that eats no matter suits in its mouth, and grows as much as 5 ft lengthy. I swing my legs off the dock as we await our information, Darcy. His boat sparkles within the daybreak, and lures shine from the rods arrange on the deck. He walks down from his lakeside house and greets us with agency handshakes.
“Good to fulfill you.”
“Excited to get out,” I say and sit at the back of the boat.
Muskie maneuvers
My youthful brother sits subsequent to me and the 250 horsepower motor fires to life. We drive 45 minutes out to the primary spot, passing tons of of islands, and an exquisite panorama with the odd cottage nestled inside the pines. I solid a big spinner and be certain that my method is sound. Muskie don’t eat lures the moment they see them, however comply with them for so long as doable earlier than making a choice to eat. This behaviour ends in an adrenalin rush like no different. A gray monster follows the lure to the aspect of the boat. It turns broad resulting from its sheer measurement. Its face trails and inches behind the hooks, and simply as quickly because it comes, the fish disappears into the depths.
Two hours cross at 4 totally different spots with no fish. We drive to the fifth spot, a rocky shoal in between two islands with a steep drop off. I solid in direction of the shallows, bringing the lure over the depths as I retrieve it. Dad casts an equivalent lure 20 ft from mine. As his lure reaches the boat, a big muskie follows, inching in direction of the lure because it cuts by the water.
“Ohhh!” he exclaims and begins to attract a determine eight with the lure. Simply as quickly because it got here, the muskie turns and delves into the darkish, tea-stained water. The joy mounts as I meet eyes with my Dad.
“Holyyyyyy!”
“Did you see that factor?”
“Yeah, should be a 50 incher!”
Shore lunch
Twenty minutes cross. We rotate across the shoal, persevering with to solid. The reel screams because the thick, braided line flies off the spool. The spinner hits the water with a splash that echoes across the cove. A routine solid. I retrieve and start to determine eight on the boat. Out of nowhere, the four-foot-plus muskie seems and swipes at my lure. Adrenalin rushes as I get my first comply with of the day. The fish darts off. My determine eight was too tight. The fish was too lengthy to show sharp sufficient to catch the hooks.
We fish 3 extra spots completely. It’s now round lunch and we determine as a gaggle to tug off onto a campsite. I take a rope and tie the boat to a towering white pine. Mother takes out the lunches from a bag and units them out on a moss-covered, rotted picnic desk. I eat my sandwich and gaze out on the water. The boat rocks towards the shore. The solar beams down. I’ve acquired to land a fish.
My free solar shirt flows within the wind as we drive out to the subsequent spot. A set of islands. Gull Island and Little Gull. We circle Gull and switch no outcomes. Onto Little Gull. A L formed nook on the island is our first cease. It’s been over 5 hours of fixed casting asides from lunch. The lures are heavier than what I’m used to, and fatigue units in because the solar beats down on us. Within the last few hours of our journey, I hope with each ounce of my physique to hook a fish.
The Canadian Protect
Lake of the Woods. A 2 hour drive from Winnipeg, and 2000 kilometres from Toronto. Over 22 hours of driving, and numerous hours of planning led to today. Please hook a fish.
A ten foot cliff face of the Canadian Protect reaches out over the water and creates a steep drop off within the lake. The L bend within the island appears to be like promising. Small pines line the rocky shoreline, and seagulls relaxation on the rocks. Darcy deploys the electrical trolling motor, and GPS holds us in place with a click on of a button. It’s 12:58, the water is completely flat. The expanse of Lake of the Woods fills the panorama round us. I solid in direction of the cliff.
I retrieve for what feels just like the one thousandth time immediately.
However this time it feels totally different.
All the things feels too excellent.
The tinsel of my spinner dances behind the blades, shining within the daylight. Seagulls squawk. A muskie seems from the darkish behind my lure, following it inside inches.
Determine-eight fish
Photograph of Owen Schonberger: Pamela Schonberger
“Fish, fish!” I say, instantly specializing in my determine eight. The fish continues to comply with my lure. One determine eight. The fish nonetheless trails. Its elongated, scarred, brown physique flows by the water like a scorching knife by butter. Two determine eights. The fish is not going to commit. It begins to peel off barely, nonetheless behind the lure. I break my third determine eight by my ft, and start to attract a circle.
“Don’t break the determine eight!” Darcy yells behind my shoulder. He sighs and throws the online down. I flip the lure to the left to start the circle.
“GOT ‘ER!” I yell because the fish thrashes two ft from the boat. In disbelief, Darcy leaps up, grabs the online once more, and instructs me to steer the fish to the opposite aspect of the boat. The fish’s fins flip vibrant pink because it fights for its life. I drag the 35-pound fish across the bow of the boat, and with a sweeping movement, Darcy nets the fish.
“YESSS!!!!!!” I yell and I set the rod down. Mother exhales. My little brother smiles.
“Holy shit,” says Dad.
A private-best muskie after 22 hours of driving, over a thousand casts, months of planning, and a second that may stick with me for the remainder of my life.
