08_23_2010

Wisconsin River

Aug 23                                                                                                                 

I go out early and fish the dawn bite. I try all places where I caught fish before. I do not get a single bite on the rap. One good hit on hula popper. Must get out of here. I break camp. I will miss it here. A very peaceful spot. My poison ivy scars are healing, and I have no more pus blisters. I drive down to Brokaw, and I find the mystery boat launch. How could I have missed it. Just drive down the industrial road past the semitrailer truck storage, over the RR tracks, past the tank cars down the gravel road till you turn left just before the No Trespassing sign.

YES! I can and will get out on the river here. I drive back up to Merrill and rent a motel room at Super 8. I will download pics, work on my blog, swim in the pool and shower. And prep for the fishing trip I have been thinking about for a couple years.

I have a choice: I can either pay $350 for a guided 6 hr trip down the river, or pay a taxi ride back from Brokaw and have the entire river to myself for as long as I want. Duh. I call the taxi. He agrees to bring me back from Brokaw. I get the boat all loaded up for camping, launch at the county park in Merrill and tie it off to a tree. The taxi follows me down to Brokaw, where I leave my boat and trailer at the downstream launch. Then I take the taxi back to my boat, waiting in Merril. I am off.

Notice that I am wearing my camoflage shirt. In Wisconsin I can sneak up on fish when I wear this shirt, cuz they think I am a dairy cow. Here is a pic of me sneaking up on a trout stream. Can you tell which one is me, and which are the cows?

I thought not.

I have a map I made by placing a sheet of paper over my computer monitor, after I had zoomed in to the area of my trip in Google Earth.

The river is swift, but very shallow. It is like dreamland drifting down with the current. So peaceful that I forget about fishing.

Just out of sight of the park I tie off to shore and relax for an hour. Lots of mussels here.

Does not appear that there are any zebra mussels here yet, and no asian carp – yet. What a tragedy to see this river swarmed by these invasive species. I know it is coming, but at least I will have a chance to see the river once before they get here.

The river is swarming with huge numbers of crayfish. Apparently these are rusty crayfish, and introduced and highly invasive species. Native only to Indiana, Ohio, and Kentucky, but now spreading rapidly across the US, probably distributed by fishermen who use them as bait. In S Oregon the native signal crayfish are being wiped out by a similar invasive from the midwest, the ringed crayfish.

There are berry bushes here that remind me of the blue huckleberries in BC.

It is late afternoon. I have 3 rods loaded. On the big 7 foot rod I have a #5 Mepps spinner. On the medium rod I have a 4.5” rapala. And on the tiny rod (should have brought the other, bigger rod. What am I doing with an ultralight rod on a musky river?) I tie on a big zara spook. The spook is what I call a “last call” lure. Looks really stupid in broad daylight. Nothing would bite on this floating wooden torpedo. But at 1:55 AM at the bar, when the last call for drinks is coming round, the guys that already scored hot chicks are long gone. The guys who did not get lucky are still prowling around. Forget about the gobs of lipstick and mascara, the wrinkles around the eyes. Anything looks good at 1:55. The spook is usually a poor lure in the middle of the day, but can be a great lure for drawing strikes from big, hungry fish just before it gets too dark to see.

Not likely to get bit now, but I throw it out into the shallow current anyway and bob it back in. Just out from my boat a big fish boils on the spook, and misses. Looks like a big smallie. Yikes! There are fish in this river. Big ones. A ways further down I tie off to shore. I am twitching the spook down to a slick above a riffle. Only 2 feet deep here at the most. Suddenly the entire shoreline lifts, as if tectonic plates had shifted and generated a mini tsunami. I have spooked a fish out with the spook. There is no bass in the world that ever made a wake like that. It can only be one thing – a member of genus Esox, for which this river is noted. It has been 39 years since I caught a musky (Rideau River, in Carleton Ontario). Cannot believe a fish of this size was holding in water this shallow.

I throw the rap out into the main channel and get bit. It is genus Sander, making its first appearance on this trip. Sander vitreus. I tried for walleyes in the Columbia in BC in June. This is my first Wisconsin eye in decades. This little guy would be a tasty snack for the big fish that just spooked out of here.

I drift down lazily with the current. A peaceful and easy trip downstream. But absolutely impossible to go back up. Too shallow to use an outboard with a prop, and way too fast to row against. There is no turning back on this trip. Cannot afford to make mistakes. I spend a lot of time testing the Bullship in this unique water. I am running my sounder constantly. It is never more than 5 ft deep, usually less than 3. If it is over 2 ft deep I can run the 15 hp gas motor, idling in reverse to hold my position. Cannot get swept onto big rocks, which abound just under the surface, or “sweeper” trees and limbs that hang out into the water. Getting pushed into one of these by the current could capsize the boat in a flash. Cannot afford to get snagged on the bottom, cuz it is extremely difficult to motor back upstream and un-snag the lure.

I am drifting down a fairly deep (for this river) slot, side casting with the Mepps on the big rod, when I snag off on the bottom. Only this time it is not a snag. It is a fish. Big one. The big rod brings the smallie to justice quickly, but by the time I land it I am far downstream. Cannot get back up there to try another cast without great effort. I am less than ½ mile down from the launch, and aleady I have caught my biggest fish of the trip. A toad SM, probably 19 – 20” (forgot to measure it), and 4.5 lbs. I am beginning to like this river already!

I ease my way down, fishing little, relaxing, enjoying, getting to know the river's personality. Never been on a river like this in a boat like this. Few people – even locals who know the river well – dare to run this river in prop boats. I have never been down it. No idea what is around the next bend. The sun is getting low. Need to find an island where I can set up camp and not be trespassing. I come to the first big bend. There is a deeper slot against the bank, and a jet boat with 3 people in it, holding above the deepest spot. They leave as soon as I come around the bend. Have I discovered there secret hotspot? As I float over I see it is 7.5 ft deep on the sounder. Tailing into a long deep pool that splits into an island.

A little back eddy above the top of the island is a good place to land. I tie off, and load my gear onto shore, and clear out a campsite.

Tent, air mattress, folding lawn chair (which I bought for $10 in Wausau – great investment!), cooler and little $4.99 mess kit. I bought a quart of whiskey in Merril. Did not want that much, but it was the smallesgt bottle they sell. I am in Wisconsin, of course. I used up some of it camping up by Grandfather Falls. Don't want it hanging around in the car. Must terminate this bottle before I reach the other end of this float. As I am scrounging firewood the 3 guys come jetting back up and fish the same spot for another ½ hour, then leave. They like that spot. It is a glorious evening. Should be fishing, but I am dedicated to setting ut a nice camp, and a decent meal. I chow down on my leftover Chinese food from yesterday. I got the house special, 7 Stars Around the Moon. Highly recommended! The Chinese is incredibly delicious around the campfire in this setting. The jet boat comes back and parks on the same spot. I should be out fishing, but I don't care. I enjoy my meal, and a stiff shot of whiskey & water. The jet boat is gone now. Getting dark. Last call. Time for the spook.

Ridiculous to be throwing a lure like this on a tiny noodle of a rod, even if it is loaded with 10 lb test line. I can bomb the spook way out into the river. It bobs side-to-side as I jerk in back in. In bass terminology, this is called “walking the dog”. I fan out 3 casts to cover the area near my boat. No bites. Gonna quit for the nite, but decide to throw one more long cast up to the top end of the island. It is too dark to see the lure, but I can hear it slurshing as I walk the dog into the little back eddy. Suddenly there is a tremendous boil, my little rod bends over, and the spook is gone. Huge fish. Never even spun the drag. Line is sliced off clean, as if cut with a razor. This is the work of Esox masquinongy. Talk about apex predator...

Bass have no teeth, just serrated edges around their lips. You can hold them by sticking your thumb in their mouth. Cannot do this with an Esox. Musky are all business. Mouth is armed with hundreds of conical razor sharp teeth. Make short work of monofilament line. Most people who fish seriously for skis use steel leaders. Now I see why.

I go back to the campfire and pour another shot. I don't enjoy hurting the fish I catch, but it does not bother me a lot. These fish live a rough and rowdy life, and they are tough. The bigger fish constantly rip off pieces of the snaller ones, if they cannot swallow their prey entirely.

When I was younger I used to never be able to wear good pants when I was fishing, cuz I would get them full of fish blood. But I have evolved as a fisherman. Seldom spill much if any fish blood nowadays. Usually spill more of my own blood, and that does not bother me either. Part of the gane. But I hate breaking fish off, and leaving them with a lure stuck in their mouth. Maybe will cause them to die if they cannot shake the lure loose. I cannot remember having broken a fish off yet this year. I am depressed at the thought of leaving my big spook stuck in the mouth of a big fish. As I sip my whiskey by the fire I hear the big fish rolling and jumping again and again in the channel next to my camp. Not a happy nite for this guy.

A full moon is rising over my little island home. They call this God's Country. I see why. An hour later I tie on a big Cavitron buzzbait, another last call lure, and throw it around the side channel. (A buzzbait has a metal propeller that churns up the surface if you retrieve it fast.) Standing in my boat, which is tied off to shore. Just 15 ft out, another giant fish boils up on the buzzer. In one foot of water! Misses. This river is scary.

I spend a long time around the fire, sipping whiskey, feeling guilty about the fish I broke off. I have not gone far. I can still hear them clanging off the hours in the bell tower in Merrill. After midnite I head into my tent to sleep. Tomorrow morning I will have the big pool to myself.

Aug 24                                                                                                             

I awake at the first grey of hope. Stoked. Ready to challenge the mighty Esox. But I keep forgetting. The Wisconsin is a working river. At nite it punches the time clock and goes to bed. They have shut the dam in Merrill, and the river has dropped over a foot. My boat is high and dry, again.

The boat itself weighs very little. But the big outboard weighs a ton, plus the 2 big deep cycle batteries that start the 15 hp and run the electric motor. I put on my gum boots, but I cannot budge the Bullship. Stranded again. I will miss the dawn bite. No choice but to reflash the campfire, boil up a big mug of coffee (plus whiskey - need to empty this bottle...), and watch the river go by as the sun rises. The old Byrds song on my custom CD keeps replaying in my head. “The river flows. It flows to the sea. Wherever that river goes, that's where I want to be...” (Actually, I learned by googling the Bob Dylan actually wrote this verse of the song. Gave it to the Byrds as an opening line.)

I wander around and explore the island. Throw the buzzbait around a few times. No takers. Wait for them to turn the river back on. Finally cannot stand it any more. I must Onward! I put on my gum boots and kick away the loose rocks to make a channel. With huge effort I can push the Bullship forward about 2 inches. Then get my knees braced behind the transom and do it again, and again, and again. After about ½ hr I have the Bullship afloat and ready to head off downriver. This deserves another shot of whiskey.

Before I leave I throw the buzzer around one more time. Sun is well up now.

As I bring it back over the same back eddy at the top of the island there is another enormous boil. The rod bends, then snaps back. Same result. The fish is gone in an instant. Never even spun the drag, which is set perfectly. I tested it. This is not the result of poorly tied knots. The 12 lb test line if cut with surgical precision. Another big ski left with my lure stuck in its mouth. This has got to stop.

I hear stuff dropping into the water across the channel. Must be a crazy squirrel chewing off pine cones for winter, but forgetting to don it over land. Turns out it is an eagle, doing some housecleaning around the nest.

I head off. Such a peaceful and easy drift on a calm day.

Easy to get distracted, and forget about fishing. Not much biting anyway. I catch couple small SM on the rap. Then stop on a small side channel for lunch. Eat the rest of the chinese. Still tastes great to have Chinese on the river. While I am eating I feed the crayfish. It is impossible to describe in words the numbers of crawdads in this river. A few random pics do a much better job.

There are zillions of them, but they are not evenly distributed. In many areas that look fine to me there are only a few. But in many areas they swarm. It would make for an interesting GIS project to map crayfish distribution, and then analyze it vs different variables like time of day, depth, substrate, substrate BOD, DO, etc. Good place for a commercial fishery. You could fill semi trailer trucks with them here.

I need something to sit on, so I take my cooler onto shore as a bench, and I forget to put it back in the boat when I leave. By the time I realize it is gone I am far downstream. Bad mistake. There is no turning back on this river.

First cast after lunch, just around the point of the island I was sitting on, gets bit. It is another ski. Small one, about 2 ft long, Chomped the Mepps. Hit in knee deep water. It will be gone in an instant if the line gets across its teeth. I try to snap a couple pics while it is beside the boat.

Just after the 2nd pic it gets loose and swims off. Fare the well. Glad you did not have to take my lure with you. Would have landed this fish for sure if I had not been fooling around with it. So I will count it as my first ski caught on the trip.

I get a couple nice SMs on the rap.

The river is so shallow. Looks deep cuz of the stained water. But I must keep the sounder going constantly, and pull the props up when it gets to be less than 1 ft deep. There are long stretches of perhaps ¼ mile where I cannot lower the motors into the water. Again I am flushing huge fish off the banks in water less than 1 ft deep. Cannot believe there are such big fish in such shallow water. Then I get another bite. It puts up a solid and stubborn battle, but does not jump or make any long runs. I have caught a mussel on the Mepps. I release it, cuz this river is listed as fly fishing only for mussels. June – Oct.

Then I get a small hit on the rap. This little guy wanted fish for dinner, and just won't let go.

Just above the Hwy 51 bridge the river breaks into a maze of islets and sidechannels. I get out and walk around one of the islets. There is a very fishy looking spot here. Likely home for skis, so I take a pic.

Moments later I hook another small ski here, on the Mepps. Smaller than the last one. I take its pic and release it.

Just above the bridge I get a couple SMs in a back eddy. One, about 2 lb, is really fat. Belly is bulging, and it is puking out crayfish. Guess this one was not educated enough to know that SMs do not feed on invasive rusty crayfish..

Downtream of Hwy 51 the river changes. Previous to here it was very fast and shallow, broken into islands and back channels. The deepest spot I found was 7.5 ft, at the pool above where I camped last nite. Below the hwy it widens out into some deeper slower pools. But still full of fast shallows and islands.

At one bend there is a backwater formed by a creekmouth. (Actually the mouth of the Pine River, I learn later.) It is slow and deep (5ft), ideal habitat for Esox. There is a rail bridge just up the slough, which looks like ideal bass/musky structure. I creep up the shore with electric motor, probing with the rapala. No bites. Cannot believe it. Have not had a bite in a couple hours when I toss the rap up towards a bunch of downed wood just above the trestle.

A huge surge. Like the propwash of the Jacob Epstein pushing barges on the Mississippi. It is an awesome sight to see the power of these giant predators when they pull the trigger in shallow water and switch into kill mode. Heading straight towards my tiny helpless little rap. It is over before it begins. Never spins the drag, barely bends my rod tip. The line is cut off clean as if with a pair of scissors. I sit in the Bullship, stunned. 3 big skis busting on topwater hits in shallow water in less than one day. All gone in less than a second. I am not in any way prepared for this fishery. I am a bass fisherman, not rigged up for barracudas. Should not even be throwing a lure onto this water with my puny gear. Should go back to Oregon and fish in Emigrant Lake, where you might not catch much, but at least you get your lure back. I am an insult to these fish, and this river. Must find a place to camp. The sun is going down. I will come back to this spot this evening. On the way out of the slough I am trailing my hand in the water to wash it off. Then quickly pull it back into the boat. People have their fingers bitten off around here by doing this. Muskies are very aggressive.

I try to land on the top of an island, but just miss and get swept by into the side channel. Must get back up into the big pool. Takes me a ½ hr to snake thru very shallow side channels out to the main channel, and then carefully back up thru a long wide run of 18” deep water just to get back to the place I missed. Too hard to land here, so I camp on a small island along the E shore. Not as pretty a spot as last nite, but easy access to the mouth of Pine River.

I make camp. My cooler is gone. And my food along with it. And more important, my coffee. And more important yet, my flask of whiskey. I am forlorn about breaking off these magnificent fish. Do I even want to go out there again, and leave another lure in stuck in a fish?

I brace myself with another shot, and then I head back up to the creekmouth where I broke off the big ski. Big fish are swirling in the current break off the mouth, but I choose to go up into the slough. My heart is not in it. My mojo is gone. I am using a 5 ½” rap on the middle rod, and an 8” rap on the big rod. A small ski jumps the rap near the mouth of the slough and misses. I fish way up to the top of the creekmouth, and switch to a buzzbait on the way back down. Never get another bite. Go figure.

I return to my camp. Make a campfire for companionship, even tho I only have 2 choices for dinner: Water or water. I choose water, watch the stars, think about breaking off big fish. After not even hooking a musky in 39 years I have had half a dozen hits in a little over a day on this river. Caught 2, broke off three, plus a trophy class SM along with a number of other SMs. On a difficult river I have never seen before. And I have hardly even been fishing. Mostly just drifting along, taking pics, sipping whiskey. I know I could do much better if I made this trip again. Especially if I was equipped with stronger leader.

Aug 25                                                                                                          

The dawn is cold, and very foggy.

Far cry from Trempeleau, where I was sweating 24 hrs a day. Humidity is way down. Mosquitos not bad.

I have been on the river 2 days, and I can still faintly here the bell tower chiming in Merrill. I have only gone 1/3 of the way to  my takeout. Need to get a move on. Tired of this river where the fish take your lures and don't give them back. 2 nites on the same river. Starting to grow roots. Must ONWARD, like the great explorers before me. Marco Polo, Lewis and Clancy. But it is pitch fog. I fear for my safety heading off on a one way trip into unknown water. Sit in the chair for ½ hr, waiting for the fog to lift. It does not. They have turned off the river again overnite so the boat is grounded, but it is easy to slide it back into the water. Time to go. And I am off into the fog.

At first I can barely see my buzzbait land cuz it is to foggy, but soon the fog begins to lift.

The river is slow, cuz they have shut off the dam.

The river really changes here. Big deep slack pools. Up until now I have not marked a spot deeper than 7.5 feet, but I drift over 3 pools that are 11 feet this morning. Superb big fish habitat. Much better than anything I have seen yet. But I do not get a bite. Do not try much, or hard. Just a few quick casts as I go by. Must choose between fishing hard or getting to the end, where I can load the boat out and find coffee. I choose coffee.

This is classic big river musky water now.

And heartbreaking good SM habitat.

I motor right thru the big pools, and drift quickly down the runs.

I have offended this river. Underestimated its fish. Need to get off it and gear up for these big skis before I am worthy of challenging them again.

There is one big rapids. The Bullship rides it out with ease, but a mistake here could be disaster.

There are a few places where huge boulders are undercut by deep current. One spot in particular is astounding.

Need to anchor up here and pound it hard with jigs and crankbaits. But I only throw a few quick casts, looking for aggressive fish on topwater. There are none in the middle of the day.

(At the the boat launch when I am loading out I meet a local musky fisherman who tells me that he was fishing this spot a couple weeks ago. Hooked a 2 lb bass that jumped once and then went deep. And stayed deep. He could not get it back up for a long time, and when he finally did get it up to the boat it was sideways in the jaws of a giant musky. When the musky got next to the boat it let the bass go. The bass was crippled and bleeding, still on his line. As the bass drifted away in the current the musky came up and grabbed it again. He reeled them both back to the boat and the musky let go again. Then came up and gulped the bass again and took off with it. He reeled them both back to the boat and the musky let the bass go again. Then came up and grabbed it. This went on for 6 repetitions, before the musky gave up on the game.)

Above Hwy 51 there were houses along the bank. On the water you are seldom out of sight of houses. But down here it is much wilder. Many great camping islands. Should have camped down here yesterday. Many eagles soaring here, looking for fish. How do they see them in this dark water?

And then the boat launch is in sight.

Took me a day and a half to complete the first third of this voyage, and only 6 hrs to complete the final 2/3. A wonderful, unforgettable trip. Better than sitting in a cubicle. This is why I quit my job.

At the loadout I meet a local who is launching his jet boat. He shows me the lures he is using. Made them himself. He says these are his small lures.

One is stupid and ugly, and obviously all chewed up by musky teeth. He said this was a mistake, but it turns out it catches a lot of fish. He throws it out halfway across the river. My rods would break in half if I tried to throw that lure. He jerks it back in, and it jumps and dives like a crazed thing. A zara spook on steroids. This is how they fish for skis around here. Not with rapalas on 10 lb test line. More important, he shows me the leaders he uses. 50 lb test flourocarbon, about 12” long. Cannot use mono, cuz the slightest nick from a musky tooth and it breaks. I can attest to that. I do not have 50 lb, but I do have a spool of 20 lb test flourocarbon with me. That is OK, he says. As long as it is not mono. I will re-rig, with flouro leaders, before I go out for skis again. Farewell to a beautiful stretch of river. One that few people get to see. One that is not yet dammed, and not yet swarmed by zebra mussels and asian carp. Love to get back here again some day.

I head down to Wausau. Write up some blog in a coffee shop, and then head off. Next target: the West Fork of the Chippewa River, above Chippewa Flowage. Used to own 5 acres of property near there, which I sold in 2001. Gave the proceeds to my mom's retirement funding. Saw a great TV show once about fly fishing for muskies on the W Fork. Tried to make this trip in 2001, when I was last here to sell the property. Did not happen then. Must make it happen this time.

I head W out of Wausau on Hwy 29, then N on Hwy 107. Must have taken a wrong turn, cuz suddenly I am in Chicago. Have not been there for a long time, but it was a much bigger town as I remember it. Now it is just little. Everybody must have left town, just like me.

Then W on Hwy 64 past the Big Eau Pleine River, where the water is stained dark orange with tannins. No bites from fish at the pretty county park, but lots from mosquitos.

I arrive in Medford (Wisconsin, not Oregon) which has a pretty little cemetery. Lots of cemeteries in this part of the US, cuz it was settled so long ago in comparison to the west. People have been getting buried here for centuries.

I find a nice county park, but I get evicted by the cops. No camping allowed here. The cop is very nice, and directs me to a nearby wayside where I sleep in the car.

Aug 26                                                                                                         

I wake up and blog from 7 AM till noon. Stop by the little lake at the park where I was evicted last nite. Looks like a good little bass lake. Should have fished here at dawn. But then I would have been hopelessly behind on my blog, again. On the way back out to the hwy I pass by a couple of sandhill cranes on a farmhouse lawn. I hear these cranes often, but I have never been so close. Turns out these cranes are hired, $22.50 per hour, organic pest control, clean out the grasshoppers and other bugs. A real bargain.

Around 1 PM I head W down Hwy 64, then N on Hwy 73. A monarch butterfly has been smashed by a car. Hit & run. Never even left the license plate #. The savages! When will the carnage stop. I swerve to avoid butterflies, even at 70 MPH towing a boat. I stop and run back to check on the monarch. I big semi is rolling right towards it, but it swerves to be clear of me, and misses the butterfly as well. The monarch is wounded. Can only flutter, not fly. I place it on the dash.

And it comes along for the ride. I am heading N, and this guy was probably heading S, to wintering grounds in Mexico. But this is better than being run over by a truck.

I cross the Jump River, another fine bass/musky stream. But this is a canoe stream, too small for the Bullship. Some other day.....

And then another pretty river. There was a deer standing beside the stream here, which is why I stopped. but it ran away before I could snap off a pic.

Late afternoon now. The monarch must be getting hungry. Should be feeding on nectar. On milkweed, the favorite forage for monarchs. Lots of milkweed everywhere else in Wis, but none here. I am entering the great north woods. The land of sky blue waters, as they used to say in the old Hamms Beer commercials on the Cubs games on WGN when I was a kid. No milkweed to be found, but lots of goldenrod. I fill my coffee cup with water and put some flowers in it. The monarch is my buddy. Crawls onto my fingers while I move it to its new perch.

On to Ladysmith where I stop by the Tinker Tot drive in. I waited for an hour and never got served.

They have a cool train here. Old Smoky, "from the days when iron was iron". This engine hauled freight trains for 1.5 million miles before it was decommissioned. Even more dependable than a Volvo wagon.

 I finally find a scrubby milkweed plant. Only leaves, no flowers. The monarch gets really excited for a little while when I move it onto the milkweed. Then settles down.

I arrive at the Chippewa R again. Big water here - almost as big as the Wisconsin I just ran down.

Lots of history around here. Used to be Sioux country. Turns out the the ancestors of C Horse used to live here. In fact, Horse's great grandfather, Slightly Weird Horse, once caught a 47 lb musky out of the Chip, surface hit on a buzzbait. Had it mounted in his teepee.

Getting to be evening now.

I reach Hayward and drive down to look at my old 5 acre property. Little change there. The train track is used only  for storage now, just like the train in Ashland (OR).

I got more chinese food in Hayward, and I seem to have spilled juice on the lens of my new camera. Must clean it off somehow. All across the US there are miles of track now only used to store empty rail cars. The tracks in Ashland OR and Weed Cal are the same. Millions upon millions of dollars worth of RR investment, now rusting quietly away due to the "current economic downturn".

I

I go down to Spring Lake. Think about fishing, but a couple guys who are jsut coming in say all you ever catch here are little bass. Just like when I fished here in 1982. I don't bother launching. Instead I park along the hwy at the N end of the lake. A strong S wind is blowing. I can leave my car windows open for the first time since leaving the Black Hills, cuz the wind blows the bugs away. Wonderful refreshing sleep in the cool steady wind.