Tag Archives: Gone Fishing

High, Long, and Lonesome

Manitoba’s Long Green Jewel. Photo by Rocky Tschappat

By Michael Patrick McCarty

July 14, 2013

There is a place in the world that calls my name, with a voice as strong and true as could ever be. It thrums in my head, somewhere deep behind the bustle and noise of everyday living. Searching, beckoning – for me, since the first time I learned of it through my readings long ago. It became some vague and unfilled need, an itch I could not scratch, leaving me in want of something I could not capture. I did not know if I could ever get there.

It is a land of windswept waters and shimmering weed beds, dark timbered islands with ledges of stone, and jagged, multi-dimensional rocks that wrap the untamed shoreline as far as the eye can see.

There are loons here, lonely gulls and bright headed eagles, moose and bear, and the occasional otter slipping gracefully through the waves. There are fish here too, toothy critters, and some as long as your leg. It’s about hovering clouds of blood sipping mosquitos, and impossible days of light that do not end, but only change in tone and hue. It’s all about boats and motors and good friends laughing, eager to see what lies around the next bend.

41 1/2″ of Fun and Fury

They call the place Manitoba, and she is a crown jewel of boundless and spellbinding beauty. To my everlasting satisfaction I finally made it, having returned from her just now. With focus and joy I hold the spirit of it all close to my breast, lest she slip away quietly like a dark shadow in the night. I miss her already, with a depth and breadth of longing indescribable by mere mortals.

To say that Manitoba is all about game fish would be a vast understatement. There are Northern Pike and Walleye in numbers and size that would give any hard-core angler a tingle. Both species have legions of diehard fans, of one or the other, or both. They do seem to go together as naturally as warm sourdough bread and butter, and that’s just fine with me.

It’s easy to become obsessed with this kind of fishing, and it doesn’t take long to discover why. You simply have not lived an outdoor life in full until you’ve seen a green backed missile smash a brightly colored floating Rapala dropped perfectly at the water line, streaking through the sun dappled waters like a bear on fire as you remove the slack and make that first electrifying twitch. It is what piscatorial dreams are made of.

A pike is a ferocious customer. He is mean and crude and bursting with bad intent. There is never any doubt about what lies upon his mind, that being to destroy and consume any fish or small creature that will satisfy however briefly his incessant appetite and fulfill his instinctual need to perpetuate the species.

When hooked he is a stout rod full of trouble, and you can feel his mood through the line and see it in his eyes when he knows that he has been fooled. You have diverted him from his one unabiding mission, and he will not forgive you for it.

It makes one very glad to be something other than a baitfish. I, on the other hand, forgive him completely. He is only doing what a northern pike is designed to do, and he cannot change his ways no more than a wolf could cease to dog a wounded moose. I feel for him too, because without a doubt life is tough if you’re a pike. Just imagine the millions upon millions of his kind that never made it to breeding size.

An Epicurean Delight

The Walleye, on the other hand, seems a most different kind of gentleman. His real name is Wall-Eyed Pike, or Pike Perch. He is really not a Pike at all, but is in fact the largest member of the Perch family.

A tackle thrasher he is not, and I think it fair to say that although they are great fun to catch that is not why we seek them out. Walleye are challenging too, but perhaps that’s not it either. Dare we say that it’s all about the shore lunch fillet, done up right with a side of deep-fried potatoes?

I am squarely in that camp, and he may well be the pre-eminent panfish of North America. I simply cannot look at a walleye without salivating, while instantly picturing that glorious white, boneless slab sizzling in a dark black cast iron frying pan. If that’s a bad thing I stand guilty as charged, but blissfully unapologetic, just the same.

Still, walleye possess their own kind of seriousness. They are a more finicky eater than the pike, and seem more dignified and refined. They may prefer to gorge themselves upon mayflies or minnows depending on the day, or….perhaps not. Fisherman seem to talk of them in hushed and respectful tones, so as not to offend them and put them off of their feed. They remain a most mysterious fish, at least to me, and I plan to spend many more hours trying to figure out what makes them tick.

Of course northern Manitoba is the perfect place to do just that. We four booked our trip with Sam Fett at Silsby Lake Lodge, and they offer some of the finest trophy pike and walleye fishing in North America. Sam and his family have been in the outfitting business for decades, and it’s quite obvious that they know how to turn out some mighty happy sportsmen.

Their literature and impressive brochures speak of fish long and broad enough to test the skills of even the most seasoned outdoorsman, and they are not exaggerating. Boy do they have the fish!

Silsby Lake Lodge offers commercial flights from Winnipeg direct to an airstrip just one quick boat skip from their lodge, and it does not take long to get a line in the water. They offer full service guided lodge packages, or outpost camps with cabins or tents if you prefer to guide yourself and do some of the work on your own, as we did.

We fished from the High Hill Outpost camp for our first three days, and it was everything I had imagined a classic pike fishing camp to be. The scene and scenery are so picturesque that one could spend quite a bit of time relaxing at camp – that is if the fishing wasn’t so good. According to Sam, High Hill Lake and other adjoining or nearby waters may hold one of the largest concentrations of trophy pike found anywhere in the Province.

Home, Sweet Home

They have practiced strict conservation and catch and release policies for years, and it shows. Anglers may keep a few smaller fish each week for lunch or dinner, and great care is taken to fully revive the bigger fish.

A combination of perfect habitat, large baitfish populations, and exclusive access leads to a rare opportunity for mature fish – and lots of them. Sam told me that we had an opportunity to catch a northern of over 50″ in a weight range up to 45 pounds, and I believe him. That kind of possibility adds a very special spin to every cast!

Our small group did not catch the “fatties” as they call them on our brief stay at High Hill but we did catch-all of the smaller pike that we could have wanted and two fish that we estimated to be in the 17 to 22 pound class. It was the first big pike that I had ever brought to the boat, and it is a thrill that I will not soon forget.

Continue reading High, Long, and Lonesome

A Nice Fish

A Rainbow Smile

November 1, 2013

Sometimes even a mediocre angler, like myself, lands a hook-jawed monster of the deep pools. The truth is I did battle with his bigger buddy too, but that is another story…

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Food Freedom – and Sometimes You Send Them Back From Whence They Came! He waits for you, in the dreams of a fisherman.

Michael Patrick McCarty

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Sometimes Your Backyard is an Ocean

It may be a while before we can get there, but we have some friends who like to spoil us with some of their Whidbey Island fare whenever they visit. Any warm-blooded foodie would be so lucky as to have some friends like these.

Today I met Michael and Carol in the parking lot of a convenience store near our home in western Colorado, as they interrupted their business trip to make sure that we received our periodic fix. We conducted our business from the trunk of their small car at the side of the building, and I have no doubt that we looked like animated drug dealers divvying up their illicit and valuable spoils.

What exactly were we hovering over? Well, I thought you’d never ask. Why, oysters, of course.

And not just any oysters, I might add. These were Michael and Carol’s home-farmed oysters, plucked from the fertile and friendly waters just outside their beachfront property. They are old, outrageously large, and a wonder of the pacific world.

That was not all of the goodies hiding in the trunk either. They also grow two kinds of mussels, and collect a third kind right off the beach. There were local clams too, which I love. Then came some bags of freshly caught Dungeness Crab, plucked from a trap not far from their house. Somebody pinch me!

A transplanted Jersey guy could barely be more thrilled, since seafood like that can be mighty scarce in the high rocky mountains. Let the shellfish feast begin!

It reminds me that there are many kinds of food growing in people’s backyards, even the salty kind. Nature’s bounty is everywhere, ready and willing to be appreciated by the sharp-eyed forager. The rewards are incredibly diverse, and absolutely grand. And sometimes your backyard is an ocean, full of wonderful treats.

I thank Michael and Carol for reminding us of that.