A Golden Retriever, a Walleye, and an Egg Salad Sandwich

Monday was opening fishing for the stretch of the St. Louis River between the Fond du Lac bridge and dam. The walleyes spawn there, and the DNR likes to protect them until May 19. If you’re a spawning walleye, this is a date that should be noted on your calendar.

Scott, my fishing compatriot and all around guru, likes to fish the “honey hole” from the bank, standing about thigh deep in the dam’s tailrace foam. Here he ties a swell snell knot sporting his late May chop.

We parked at the city park gate, closed for some reason, along with about a half dozen vehicles that had beaten us to it. Hiking up river, the best part was watching Beckett the Swede racing ahead and back, sticking his golden nose into everything. It’s been nearly six months since Pepper died, so I noticed I was coming down with a slight doggie fever. When I mentioned this to Scott, he said,

If you’ve had a golden, you’ll never have another dog, but if you haven’t, keep it that way. They’re the best natured animal on the planet, but they’re prone to every disease on the planet known to man, and some he don’t know. Some are even allergic to their own fur, and no one sheds like a golden.

I don’t know if that will deter me, but it will probably deter my wife.

The river was pretty busy with a flotilla of Lunds when we arrived, which surprised me, since I hadn’t told a soul about this trip or the secret date. Word apparently gets out. On the advice of my brother Nate, I started with a floating jig and minnow tethered to the bottom by a quarter ounce weight. The idea behind this sort of river fishing is that it allows one to take a nap while resting ones rod on a nice Y branch. This turned out to be a very pleasant method, and as luck would have it, not a single fish disturbed my slumber. Scott, up stream from me and no napper, finally pulled in an 18″ walleye, and woke me to clue me in to where it was at. We started jigging the upper end of the honey hole and it wasn’t too long before I had my walleye. She was under the 16″ length restriction, so I let her swim away, but it was nice to meet her, even if I didn’t eat her.

After spending most of the morning and part of the afternoon in this fashion, we packed up, ate some egg salad sandwiches, chased Beckett into the van, and headed up to where the rest of the world was doing its normal business of pushing virtual paper and making widgets.

None of us missed that.