JR and I met on the highway at 4:45am yesterday for a trip to musky-town. The weather was just right and we had high hopes. We were also testing a new mod to JR's canoe, oars, which turned out to be slicker than socks on a rooster.
Truth be told, I had about decided that I would never catch a musky. I've had a few follows and I'd hooked two before this, but it seemed to be a doomed endeavor. Six trips ($$) into my musky career, I was beginning to think of musky fishing as endless casting and rowing with occasional fish sightings. At least the flies are interesting.
Well, within 100 yards of the put-in, I had a follow from a little guy in less than a foot of water. That got my blood pumping, and, without wanting to jinx it, I kinda got hopeful. About a mile and a half into the float, paydirt.
JR had hyped up this pool we were floating into - great cover, ambush points, and some deeper water. We drifted down some gentle rapids and I cast to a log jam and a hot musky charged out. Up to this point I had only seen lazy follows and half-hearted takes. This fish was coming in hot! I stripped as fast as I could back to the boat and started into as big of a figure-8 as I could manage. On the second time around, heading out from the boat, the musky committed, charges, eats, and I strip-set for all I was worth (how I had the presence of mind to do this, I'll never know). Some deft netting by JR, some quick pictures, and I am cool with rowing the next 5 or so miles... because I caught a musky.
I actually caught a musky. They are real. I grin like an idiot for the next 6 hours.
In the course of the day we saw 8 muskies. We missed some takes. JR about caught the first smallie of the season (come on spring!). We saw a lot of birds. We rowed a lot (which is harder than it looks, but a lot of fun). And we boated a musky. A lot could have gone wrong yesterday, and it still would have been a good day.
