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Your fish stories
May 10, 2004

As part of our salute to the opening of fishing season in Minnesota, we asked our audience to share their favorite fish story. Here is a sampling of those stories. We'll add more as they come in.

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I'm not a fisherman. But I went with some friends to a dock at White Bear Lake fishing for sunfish. There were a lot of people fishing off this dock. I caught a big bullhead. Someone told me they can sting you. I wasn't going to eat it, so I cut the line and the fish swam away. Then I turned around and saw a half dozen really upset people looking at me. Apparently, if I didn't want that fish, they did. I thought I wouldn't get off the dock alive.

Never did catch any fish worth keeping either. -- Tim Cassidy, Minneapolis

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My Dad used to take me fishing when I was a kid in Baltimore. I don't remember ever asking to go. I wouldn't touch the bait or the fish if I caught one, and I hated the smell and taste of fish. I just liked spending time with my Dad (and away from my brothers).

We usually fished at Loch Raven Reservoir from the heavy wooden rowboat Dad had bought from another fisherman who didn't want to move it. We left it there when we moved to Minnesota.

One day he announced we were going to hike along the trail around the lake to a spot he wanted to try. We were some way from the car, carrying all our gear, when I tripped over a log across the trail and fell on my face, disturbing a swarm of yellow-jackets. I struggled to my feet, and ran shouting and waving back down the trail, and jumped into the lake. My Dad had to collect the gear and take me home, trying to keep a straight face. I never did learn where that new fishing spot was. -- Lu Wilmot, Plymouth

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On a delightful summer morning, my 5-year-old son and I were fishing at Lake Harriet in Minneapolis. He enjoys catching the whopping 3-inch to 4-inch sunnies. One time when he pulled up a 3-inch sunny, he asked for help to pull it off his hook. As I reached for it, it flipped off the hook and fell. Surprisingly, it fell right into my just-filled coffee cup beneath it.

We laughed about it for a long time and still talk about it. I now bring coffee cups with lids when I go fishing. -- D.H., Minneapolis

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When my sister and I were about 8 and 10 years old, our dad was teaching us how to row on Upper Dean Lake between Emily and Aitkin. We had no fishing gear with us.

My sister, Lisa, was at the oars and they were flying all over the place. All of a sudden, we both started squealing, "It's in the boat! It's in the boat!" An 8 lb.-plus northern pike had jumped right into our boat. The only thing we could figure was that Lisa had smacked it with the oar and it was so surprised, it jumped in!

An Absolutely True Story!!! -- Sandy Halvorson, Brainerd

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We had been there many times. He would place a call to his friend who owned the ranch, and she would say, "Come ahead," and we'd go the next morning, getting up early because it was a long drive and we wanted to be on the water a long time.

It was the same as ever. I hadn't been there in six years, but I remembered the bends and forks and where I had landed fish. I had my first within minutes, a nice 11-inch brookie on a size 14 mosquito.

The fishing tapered off, and I decided to go out to the grass and work my way back to the car, whistling the family whistle occasionally to see if we might connect. He wouldn't hear it if he were on the water, of course, but he might if he were off.

When I reached the car he was asleep on the front seat, his long frame partially draped out the door. I walked the few feet to the water and started to cast. Within minutes he was awake.

"How'd you do?" he called.

"Three," I called back. "A nice one and two little ones. How about you?"

"Goose egg," he said.

My mother heard us arriving home and came down the steps to greet us. She met him at the car door and they were in each other's arms.

"Hello, lover," he said as they kissed.

Then he held the rail and hand-over-hand made his way up to the dinner she had waiting.

I unpacked his gear and hung up his boots and put his rod away, pausing for an admiring look at the fishing jacket we had given him a few years before. I wondered if he would ever use it again. -- Robert Hudnut, Cottage Grove

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Anyone for smelting?

It seems every year there are two runs in the spring, the smelt run and the smelter run. Despite the laws of probability these two runs, though only within days of each other, have never coincided.

Years ago, a couple of buddies and I headed up to the North Shore for steelhead, but ran into the full fury of the smelt run. We quickly changed gears, and purchased some dip nets and big garbage pails.

We parked a few feet from the Highway 61 bridge over the Knife River, stepped down the hill, waded into midstream and dipped netful after netful of quicksilver smelt into the plastic pails.

The fish were so thick that sunlight turned the stream the color of bright mercury with flashes of gold. In less than 15 minutes we had at least half a ton of fish, which we iced up, and waited for the second run -- the smelters -- to appear. We then sold the fish to the guys who were in desperate need of fish after spending their weekend in bars and strip clubs.

The proceeds financed a trip to Taos that lasted well into summer. -- Greg S. as posted on the MPR News Forum

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On my most recent annual trip to the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, in the company of six other female fishing/camping/wildflower-watching enthusiasts, I participated in what has become a particularly enjoyable shared fish tale among my group.

My friend Grace, who is the best fly fisher among us, had the misfortune to take a rather undignified tumble on flat ground in the middle of the campsite while on her way to the lady's room. Though not resulting in serious injury, her fall left her with several visible bruises, including a fat lip.

As we gathered around the campfire on the evening of the incident, she challenged us to come up with a "story" that she could share with her colleagues at work to camouflage her embarrassment at the actual mundane event.

As her best fishing buddy (I hope), I volunteered a rousing tale of her falling in the trout stream while fighting a monstrous trout. The fish, of course, escaped, leaving her with the bruises that Henry James calls "experiences that leave a stain." The group immediately acclaimed me the winner of the storytelling contest, and we enjoyed a toast all around to both my verbal prowess and Grace's good health.

Upon returning to work, Grace responded to her colleague's concerned inquiries with a much toned-down version of my fish story, revealing only that she had slipped on a stream bank. Upon hearing this information, her colleague replied, "Well, at least you fell while you were doing something exciting and not just walking to the bathroom." -- Judy Sharpton, Atlanta

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When I was 7 years old I went fishing with my dad on Star Lake, Minnesota. It was July 5, 2001. It's really cool because they always have fireworks contests on the 4th, 5th, and 6th of July.

We got out there that night at about 7:00 p.m. We were trolling until about 9:30 p.m. And then I heard zzzzz...zzzz...zzzzz. I knew it was a fish, so I quickly took the rod out of the holder and started reeling in, and right when I got it to the boat I knew it was a walleye. My dad netted it and brought it in, and here was an 8-1/2 pound walleye.

So I let my line out back into the water, and I hear a BOOM! -- the grand finale of the fireworks. And then zzzzz...zzzzzz...zzzz. As soon as I got this walleye into the boat I knew it was the biggest fish I ever caught. A 9-3/4 pound walleye. Amazing. It was almost 30 inches long. -- Brock Evenson, West Fargo

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You've heard the fisherman's adage: It takes 10,000 casts to land a trophy muskie. Don't believe it. Thanks to my friend Ted Buselmeier, my first time muskie fishing, "I" (ie: we) caught a 44-inch trophy that now adorns my office wall.

What nobody knows is the only reason I was credited with the catch is that another angler in our boat set down his pole to remove some clothing (it was a very hot August day), and that's when the fish hit. I dropped my pole and caught my friend's pole just before it was going to go over the side and into Lake Mille Lacs.

When I attempted to hand over the pole to its rightful owner, I was informed that since I was holding it when "fish on," it was mine to do battle. After a couple of hard fighting minutes (which seemed like a half hour), I landed what I was sure was the Loch Ness Monster! So don't believe in the land of 10,000 casts, because I know that first time is the charm!

P.S. A couple Christmases ago, the fish almost got even when it fell off the wall as I sat beneath it, nearly missing my head as I was leaning forward at my desk for my computer mouse. -- Jim Westphal, Minneapolis

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