I have been humbled by the mighty walleye God since writing last week's column about the opening day of Minnesota's fishing season.
Yes, those scaled creatures with a brain the size of a BB have put me in my place. After pontificating on the probability of an extraordinary day of catching the state fish of Minnesota, I have come away skunked. Yes, skunked, nada, zero. I should have known better than to brag about something that hadn't happened yet. I was warned by my farm-born parents not to get too over-enthusiastic about anything, because you never know, a hail storm could be approaching from the west, intent on devouring your entire season's efforts in an eye blink.
One thing I wasn't over-zealous about was the weather. Seldom have opening day Minnesotan fisherpersons drifted across the inland, freshwater seas of Minnesota with nary a raindrop falling from the sky. Not a flake of snow, not a pebble of sleet, not a northerly breeze was to be felt or seen on this glorious weekend. Those sitting in boats almost looked shell-shocked as they bobbed up and down the sandbars, fishing rods in hand with not a hint of a squint in their eyes. We're not used to being coddled by the weather.
My fishing partners, brother, Steve, and nephew, Christian, waited until late Saturday afternoon to load up and head for the big water. Steve and Christian had plied the waters beginning at midnight with but one eatable walleye to show for their blood-shot eyeballs. Fishing in the dark can be challenging, especially to those who normally are asleep during the hours after midnight. This was no different.
I strode down to Steve's waiting boat at the dock in the late afternoon sunshine, fishing rods and reels in one hand and tackle boxes in the other. Christian toted the two bags of freshly bought, expensive minnows to the boat and we were off, visions of that first big walleye floating in our heads. The vision was about it.
We hit every walleye hotspot on the lake with no results, other than one northern pike that had decided to give up the ghost for some reason. Not even a perch tap or a rock bass nip. Nothing but clear skies, sea gulls squawking overhead and a gentle breeze from the south.
My forecast of the day of walleye fishing openers came and went without a whimper. I ended the weekend digging up my wife's flower plot and mowing grass out of my asparagus bed. Not very exciting stuff when I had thought that I'd be freezing walleye fillets for future fish fries.
But, hope springs eternal within a walleye fisherman's breast, and I shall return to the water at some time in the future when the fish actually decide to participate.
It was the omega of omegas when it came to walleye fishing weather, but it might have been better if the walleyes had read my last column and decided to humor me a bit more than they did.
See you next time. Okay?
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