I was prepared. The lake of choice has achieved a legendary status in my circle of angler friends; never discussed by its real name and even its pseudonym only whispered into cold winter breezes...Tuna Town... Named for its propensity for giving up lake trout of prodigious sizes, a.k.a. "Tunas." Lakers of 39 and 40 inches have seen the winter sun here, almost unheard of sizes of trout within Minnesota's inland waters. Multiple specimens of trout between 32 and 37 inches have also been caught in the past. For the most part, I was not the one holding the giants spoke of here for the photos before the release...I have been the one holding the camera. So the spot was proven and it was my turn. I had the rods rigged and double checked with ice braid line and fluorocarbon leaders. Swivels were tested and proven. It was time for my great white whale.
Joined by Captain Karkov and the Smoked Fish Guy, I left Duluth on a crisp morning and headed north along the crashing shore of Lake Superior. Turning inland, we found our destination's sun dappled snowbanks and hitch the sleds full of camping gear to the snowmachines. After a run of several miles, we arrived at the lake of note. We chose our campsite, set up the canvas tent and wood stove, and drilled some holes on a favorite reef. Captain Karkov scored a nice 28 inch lake trout right away, seemingly indicating that more success would follow. It didn't. Captain caught a couple more smaller fish, but the Smoked Fish Guy and I failed to land a single one all afternoon. We had three more days and we were not concerned. One reason for the lack of action could have been the weather...the sunny day had turned gray and windy, and eventually it began snowing heavily. We packed up our gear in a driving snow and headed back to camp. After gathering firewood and getting the final tent prepping done, we settled around the wood stove and shared our appreciation of being able to get out and experience nature in all seasons. We enjoyed a chicken, andouille sausage, and rice dish for supper. The snow stopped after while, but the clouds obscured any chance of seeing northern lights.
Friday dawned cold, likely around zero degrees. The power of the rising sun was allayed by an increasing breeze. We headed back out to our proven location and set up our shelters. We jigged our lures, but the fish were not cooperating. Morning turned into mid-day, and I had had enough. I pulled stakes and moved on to a new spot we had never tried before. The reward was nearly immediate-I caught a fiesty four pound lake trout that had been through some battles-it was severely scarred. I tossed it back down the hole to heal. Soon another mark on my depthfinder moved up from the bottom towards my white bucktail jig. It struck and I drove the hook home with my rod. I immediately knew this fish was sizable, as it shook its head and headed for deeper water at a rapid clip. I just hung as it pulled line off my reel, waiting for the fish to turn. When it did, it headed right back towards me and I had to reel like mad to keep the line taut. This dance continued for what seemed like an hour, but the ending of the podcast I was listening to indicated that I had fought the beast for 20 minutes. Finally, I was able to turn its head and get the fish off the bottom and under the hole...it glided by, passing through my vision. Now, I am not all that young anymore, and most of you reading this know I fish a fair amount, so when I say the lake trout under the hole at that moment was the biggest fish I had ever seen, you know it means something. The last big fish I had caught through the ice was a 39 inch northern pike last Christmas. This fish, at least at that moment, dwarfed that one. This was the fish I had come for and then some. It turned away from me and headed back for the bottom. And the line broke.
I do not know what happened. I had everything in order. The line must have nicked during the fight, either on a tooth or on the ice. Maybe I had the drag too tight...it is a good idea to loosen it a bit when you have just a short amount line between you and the fish. AAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH! Moby Dick still swims.
After a short discussion with a nearby cedar tree in which I did all the talking and most of that talking was of a salty nature, I retied on another jig. I did manage to catch a couple more average sized lakers, but I also managed to lose a few more at the hole. I returned to where my friends were fishing and told the tale and received a cold Pabst Blue Ribbon in solace. They were not all that sympathetic, considering neither of them had gotten a bite all day. We returned to camp to enjoy a supper of smoked ribs that had been steamed on the wood stove. It is hands down my favorite winter camping meal-the Smoked Fish Guy is handy in the galley, to say the least.
Saturday morning was crisp, but it warmed fast. The SFG and I tried the site of the white whale in the morning, but I only caught the same smaller, scarred trout I had caught the day before. The SFG finally got off the skunk with an average trout as well. Captain tried a new spot and was rewarded with a couple average trout, a 28 inch trout, and a Tuna - a 32 inch dandy laker. After it slowed around mid-day, we all moved to another spot that I had good luck previously. It paid off, as the SFG caught several nicer trout up to 26 inches and the Captain and I caught a few more as well. It was a beautiful day...sunny warm and fairly calm. It is always fun to fish comfortably outside of the shelters. After some photos of the sunset and cleaning a few of the fish we caught, we headed back to camp for healthy portions of pasta and Starfire Pale Ale.
The weather radio had prepared us for unusually warm temperatures on Sunday, but after catching a few more decent trout that morning, it was really heating up as we packed up camp. It was a sloppy ride back to the landing to the waiting truck and trailer, but the snowmachines didn't heat up too badly. The thermometer on the truck's rearview mirror read 56 degrees. In extreme northern Minnesota. On March 11th. It was an uneventful ride home and we got the machines put back away for the year.
I had hoped to get out after the trout one more time, but it doesn't look likely right now due to deteriorating ice conditions. Moby Dick will have to wait until next year.
Nature Moment: The Smoked Fish Guy cleaned two lake trout on Saturday that we had caught in the same spot. The fish were relatively the same size. But when filleted, a distinct difference was found-one fish's flesh was pale pink, and the other's fillets were bright orange. We have noticed these types of variations nearly everywhere we have caught lakers...we have seen white flesh, orange flesh, pink flesh, and even red flesh. I haven't seen a definitive description of why the variations occur-most say diet, but some say genetics. They all taste great.
