I’ve fished many of the greatest walleye fisheries in North America—and I’ve fished many of the most average, just like some of those out your backdoor. One pattern that develops during spring and early summer remains little understood. It exists on most fisheries, although given the many types of walleye waters it takes on different flavors. After many years and thousands of miles and hundreds of hours on the water, I can tell you what to look for on the waters you fish. You can transform some of your fishing simply by stepping into an alternative walleye reality.
We anchor with the nose of our boat on shore, casting into slightly deeper water at the end of a giant bay (creek arm really) on Last Mountain Lake, Saskatchewan, one of the best trophy walleye waters I’ve fished in recent years. Last Mountain isn’t remote. Indeed, it’s an urban fishery, just 40 minutes north of Saskatchewan’s capital, Regina.
Like most anglers, I’ve driven past it before, in 1969, on my way to fish waters I consider much more intriguing because they are much further north. The quest at that time was to travel into the “real wilderness,” past Lac La Ronge to the southern tip of Reindeer Lake, to head up a newly opened mining road to Wollaston, all points previously open only to fly-in fishing. How ironic 40 years ago to drive past one of the ultimate drive-to fisheries in North America.
Last Mountain is a big one at more than 50 miles long, cut from rolling prairie but not more than a mile wide at most points. Max depths reach about 90 feet. Whitefish and ciscoes abound—perch, various shiners, darters, other minnows too. And burbot, carp, sculpin.
I’ve never seen walleyes with more rolls of body-cavity fat when you clean them. By the time these butterballs reach 18 inches most of them are 6 to 8 ounces heavier than on other fisheries. Even in spring, 30-inch fish usually weigh 10 pounds. In fall they might go more than 11.
Carved as it is into prairie terrain, there’s a lot of flat water connected to the main body of the lake. At the core of this trophy fishery, which also grows some of the largest pike in North America, is the idea that walleyes can be just about anywhere and find abundant, nutritious forage of various sizes. I think the “various sizes” part of the forage connection is more important than most anglers think—and vital in this situation. More on this later.
During spring, beginning several weeks after the spawn and into early summer, most walleyes spend more time shallower than most anglers realize. That’s not just true on Last Mountain, but just about everywhere walleyes swim. Perhaps the Columbia River is an exception—I haven’t had enough time on that waterway to know for sure, but overall, this idea is fundamental to a pattern that unfolds on Last Mountain as well as on most other walleye waters.
We are more than a mile deep into this creek arm away from the main body of water. Traveling into the bay from the main lake, we find rocky points near the mouth. Smaller bays within the larger creek arm appear and support newly emergent weedgrowth as we push in farther from the main lake. There is perhaps an occasional scratch of gravel bottom here and there back in portions of the larger bay, some scattered rocks, but for the most part, the attraction for walleyes deep inside the creek arm must be the warmer water that attracts abundant forage.
Where we anchor, not more than 1 walleye angler in 10,000 would feel at home, during any season. It is walleye territory in pike’s clothing. On many other waters around North America it would be considered bass territory. Nonetheless, a lot of walleyes swim here.
Back up with me for a moment. It’s a momentary surprise when we catch our first walleye deep inside the bay as we troll for pike. I’m with Robert Schulz, owner of G&S Marina Outfitters, which offers lodging and a marina on the lake’s east side in Rowan’s Ravine Provincial Park. He’s showing me how he trolls with #12 Husky Jerks and # 9 Jointed Float Rapalas on short lines behind mini-boards to find pike when they’re scattered in these huge bays.
As I say, we catch a walleye, which at first strikes me as odd, given the surroundings. He tells me it’s common and that it’s typical to catch giant walleyes, to boot. That’s when it hits me that the situation we’re in is just one of the more extreme manifestations of a pattern I’ve seen over and over again and yet still is mostly overlooked on most walleye waters.
We are shooting television, and by the time we finish our pike segment with fish that measure up to 46 inches, we’ve also caught enough walleyes to know they’re scattered around the bay. I don’t think television is a place to showcase mediocrity so I suggest we fish with swimbaits, which I explain tend to get the “big bite.” Schulz has not thrown them before in this situation. Almost no one has.
As we anchor, I further explain that fishing a swimbait is in many ways like fishing a crankbait—you must keep it moving along steadily to have it display the swimming characteristics that trigger fish. OK, momentarily pause it a time or two, during any retrieve.
I give Schulz a 5-inch Berkley Hollow Belly rigged on a 1/2-ounce Owner Saltwater Bullet jighead. I add a touch of superglue to keep the jighead in place up against the head of the swimbait. The Hollow Belly is at the time newly introduced (I only have a few) and “not designed to fish on a jighead,” the rest of the fishing world will tell you. So this should make an interesting addition to the TV segment. Meanwhile, I’m casting my favorite 5-inch Berkley PowerBait Swim Shad on the same jighead. Which swimbait will produce best?
On Schulz’s second cast—I fib not, his second cast—he sticks a walleye that’s easily 10 pounds. I talk about swimbaits on film, he says he’s certainly impressed, we release the fish and get back at it.
The fish are really scattered. We catch two more, each measuring about 23 inches from our anchor position and begin moving around the bay, stopping and anchoring in various spots where Schulz commonly catches walleyes while he’s trolling for pike.
In every spot we catch at least one fish from 20 to 26 inches. It has been monstrously windy all morning and now it starts to drizzle. I suggest we return to our first spot before we have to quit filming. The fish that I catch shortly after we anchor up easily measures 32 inches—I call it 12 pounds. Am I the only TV fisherman who underestimates fish weight? Schulz, who sees more giant walleyes than I do, calls it a sure 13—a nice way to end a show segment. It’s the largest of many big walleyes that I’ve caught on swimbaits.
