Heading North

That Sunday in 2010, the wind was blowing out of the southeast all afternoon right into Wambolts’ Bay. Fishing was not great all day. In fact, nobody caught anything except for a couple small northern. We were hoping for better luck that evening. After a great dinner of Michael’s excellent chili, we left the docks around 7:30pm. The sun had set long ago and with overhead cloud cover, Bottle Lake turned dark and dreary. Perfect conditions for the ‘beasts of the lake’ to be out hunting. Terry suggested we troll walleye minnows into Wambolts’ Bay along the shallow bar since the waves were being pushed in that direction all day long. We started a slow back troll out in front of Whippoorwill’s docks on our way west into the gloomy dark waters of Wambolts’ Bay. Doug and I were using normal mono line with a small split shot and a walleye hook. Terry was using one of his casting reels equipped with 20-pound fluorocarbon line to which he attached about eight feet of 6-pound mono leader line. He was using a small #6 wide bodied walleye hook pulling a small 2-inch-long shiner minnow. He had set a small split-shot about two feet up from the hook to help keep the minnow below the surface of the water. When we approached Wambolts from the east, the resort was pitch- black. There was not one light visible across the whole property. The wind blowing through the whispering pines seemed to warn us not to invade the privacy of the bay. From the water, we could barely make out the worn and weathered cabins sitting up on the beach tucked back amongst the trees. The rest of the buildings that sat deeper into the property remained invisible. It was an indefinable sight for us where years before we walked those very acres enjoying wonderful times. From the confines of our boat I could see the reflection of my rear white boat light bounce off one of the windowpanes of the first cabin we passed. It was an eerie sight that made my imagination wander. A faint false image of some apparition. I wondered how many ghosts lived in those cabins. I would dare anyone to pick out one cabin and stay the night by themselves, with no light source, and not get the shit scared out of them. The docks Daryl used had been removed long ago. No longer could I rely on them for guidance. This was especially true of the last dock to the northwest. I often would use that dock to remind me to turn south before I ran into shallow water. Now I had to rely on my depth finder. I was running 3-5 feet when I heard the 2-foot warning from my depth finder. We were approaching shallow water. I quickly turned south until three feet appeared once again. When I completed the swing to the south, the ends of our fishing line were now making their swing behind the boat. It was during that swing that Terry yelled, “Fish on!” No two words could generate more excitement in a boat than “fish on.” Doug and I quickly brought our lines in and I made a quick reference of our location on the bar. The waves were coming broadside to us, but we were far enough away from the shoreline that landing a small walleye would not be a problem. I put the throttle in neutral and got the flashlight out. Douglas manned the net and was ready when Terry was. Terry made some comment about “This one feels pretty good!” I had the flashlight shining in the water trying to find Terry’s line angle. The fish was close to the boat, but we could not see any glaring diamond eyes that would indicate a walleye. Terry was gaining line steadily and then he said, “Ok get ready.” Doug made ready the net. Terry’s rod was in a good bend. We could tell this fish might be bigger than normal. I continued to scan the water surface for any sign of a fish. Nothing! I was watching Terry’s line angle that now went straight down. Then everything changed. No longer was Terry’s rod tip above water. He had to put most of the rod down into the water just to keep his rod from breaking. Terry yelled, “Christ, this thing is under the boat!” Then he said, “He’s not stopping. I cannot turn him.” That fish decided to just keep going right under the boat and out toward open water behind us. By now, Terry’s reel was all the way down to the water surface and his rod bent in a large bow under the boat. Terry’s drag was working steadily. He was constantly fidgeting with it to allow the fish to take what line he wanted. I watched Terry’s reel strip out line smoothly at a constant rate, nothing fast, nothing slow. Wherever this fish was headed, he was not in a hurry. I was starting to worry about our drift. I made another glance to the shoreline. We were still ok. Suddenly, Terry yelled, “I’m starting to gain some line back. I think he turned.” Sure, as hell, Terry was picking up line back into the reel. Doug was ready with the net. It appeared the fish would surface on Doug’s side. Doug suddenly put the net down and cried out one of the greatest cinema lines of all time, “You’re going to need a bigger boat!” I had the flashlight shining in the water. What appeared just below the water line on the starboard side of the boat startled us all. None of us were prepared for it, but there it was. The biggest northern or musky any of us ever saw in our lives. We did not know for sure which species it was, only that it was too big for us to handle. When he saw the bright light from the flashlight, that fish made an abrupt turn right back under the boat and again started heading out to open water behind us, this time with more authority. Terry had to get his rod tip down quick to prevent a busted rod. The reel was stripping out line much faster than his first run. Terry looked at me and asked, “What do you want to do?” I thought to myself we have no chance to land him. “Can you turn him?” Somewhat of a stupid question given the size of this thing. Terry said, “There’s no way!” My head was spinning trying to decide our next play. We had two choices that would be dictated by the fish. Turn the boat and follow him or if Terry could turn him, make one try with my dilapidated net and boat this guy. There was no way I was going to put my hand in that water and try and gill this fish. He would take me right out of the boat. Terry was holding his own. Terry’s reel was peeling out line against the drag. Just when I was going to take the throttle out of neutral and turn the boat, Waldo turned and decided to come back toward the boat once again. Terry yelled at me, “I think he’s coming back to the boat!” I could not believe it. Terry was getting line back into the reel. Doug and I traded the net for the flashlight. I told Terry, “If we get a chance, we will have one crack at this.” Time was near. Terry was yelling at me to get ready. I told Terry, “Do not worry about the fish or the net, just concentrate on your rod. I’ll handle the fish.” I do not know why I said that, it just seemed to be the right thing to say at the time. There was no way I was going to handle that fish. My net was just an aluminum 22-inch normal net that can be purchased at any sporting goods store. Fish like this have nets like mine for breakfast. I figured we had no chance in hell.