I spent a couple of hours on a small (less than 100 acres) lake this evening. A lake I used to fish a lot but haven't wet a line in for at least twenty years. A lake so widely known for its mediocre fishing I have no qualms about revealing its name - Clear Lake. Ha! Minnesota is, of course, the Land of 10,000 Lakes, and at least 3,500 of those are named "Clear". Good luck finding the one I was on. But if you do, here's what you might see....or, at least, here's what I saw during my time in the boat...
A pair of beaver were trolling about the northeast corner of the lake where their lodge is located.....and has been located for at least thirty years. One was busy hauling fresh-cut saplings to the lodge, the other stayed busy by slapping its tail at me repeatedly until I moved down the shoreline. Not far from the beaver lodge a muskrat was splashing in the shallows along the shore, digging up cattail roots for its supper. On the point across from the boat landing a large painted turtle had crawled thirty feet up the very steep bank and was digging herself into the sand to lay eggs. A bald eagle began to screech from above where the turtle was nesting, eventually flying into sight over the treetops. The eagle's destination was its own nest on the opposite shore in a majestic white pine tree. Eventually I fished my way under the nest and spent as much time looking into the eyes of the male eagle and his mate as I did watching my lure. My gaze at the eagles was interrupted by a pair of trumpeter swans announcing their approach with rhythmic honks uttered as they flew low over the entire length of the lake.
You might be wondering how I was able to concentrate on fishing if I was watching a nature documentary unfold around me. Well, there's two ways of thinking about the fishing I was doing. On the one hand, being intent on my fishing keeps me aware of all activity around me. I was bass fishing, throwing mostly topwater lures while slowly trolling the edge of the weed line. So I had to stay focused on wind, boat direction and speed, potential casting spots, my lure, and the water around my lure for signs of an attacking fish. Being intense towards all of that leads to an overall intensity towards everything else.....a total focus on nature's activities. On the other hand fishing stunk, so I had plenty of time to watch anything I wanted to watch.
The takeaways from the evening were many. I was reminded again how lucky I am to know of these small lakes, to have this Northwoods solitude be a part of my life. (side note: The solitude was in short supply thanks to the noisy generator some cabin dwellers were using, along with the noisy motor and noisier conversation coming from Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dummer's boat. Ugh, humans.) I spent much of my evening contrasting the many changes in my life over the last twenty years with the relatively unchanged lake. And I once again proved that catching bass is what I do best. I didn't catch many, and none were big, but to be on a lake with few bass and fish it for as short a time as I did and still catch more than a limit of bassarinos (as my grandpa, who spent many evenings with me on this lake, used to call them) felt darn good.
I was pretty much still a kid the last time I regularly fished this Clear Lake. I returned tonight very much an aged man. Thankfully the lake didn't seem to care. The stretch of shoreline between the landing and the resort held fish as always, Beaver Bay was worthless as always, the weedbeds were waiting patiently to foul my lures and trolling motor prop, and Karen was in her yard next to the landing still reminding me that she charges a fee to most fishermen when they want to use "her" lake. Add all the critters that put on a good show for me as if they were glad I was back....it was tough to figure out why it had been so long since my last visit. I won't wait another twenty years before my next one.
No comments:
Post a Comment