North with Doc: Doc Made Me Do It

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Fifty years ago, when my Thursday night poker buddies talked me into a Canadian fly-in fishing trip, I decided my farm pond and river tackle box needed a serious upgrade. A store specializing in taming the great outdoors had specialized a bit too much in designer clothing, and was going out of business.

The sales guy said, “Where you headed?”

“Flying into the Northwest Ontario Bush,” I said, a bit choked up, as if it were the most exotic fishing spot on the planet. For me, it was. Still is.

“What you after?” the guy said.

“Knobby told us northern pike and walleye,” I said.

“Knobby?”

“Knobby Clark. Fly-in outfitter. Sioux Lookout.”

“Long way from Iowa.”

“Yup.”

“What do you have now?”

“Zebcos,” I said, “and my granddad’s ancient Shakespeare clicker that backlashes if you look at it sideways.”

“Zebcos are great reels if you keep ‘em lubed up and the line fresh,” he said. “And the old level-wind reels were cutting edge technology decades ago. Trouble is, you get into bigger fish, the drags might not be up to the job. But first things first. For walleyes, you need an open-faced spinner.”

“Seen them. Never had one.”

“Here’s a Daiwa that’s pretty popular. Made in Japan. Good quality.”

I cranked it a couple times. It felt really awkward.

The guy said, “You have it upside down.” He took it from me, turned it over, handed it back and said, “Now try it.”

“So I hold it in my right hand, and crank with the left?”

“If you are right-handed.”

“I am.”

“It’s attached under the rod instead of on top. You get a lot more control,” he said, “and the drag is tightened by simply turning the thing on the reel face.” He showed me how.

We walked to a rack of rods, and he selected a medium-weight fiberglass unit, put the reel on it. “Try this,” he said.

I was stunned. It was well balanced, and I could grip the reel so comfortably, it was a totally different experience from a wobbly top-mounted Zebco. Why didn’t I know about this?

The guy saw my smile, and figured he had me hooked. He did. “Okay, that’s your walleye combo. Let’s get some line for it.”

A few steps away were spools of mono. I said, “Maybe 20?”

The guy let go a snort, and said, “You put 20-pound test on this reel and you might be able to pull up a snag instead of breaking off, but you’ll never feel a bite.”

“But what if it’s a big fish?”

“First, you have to hook it,” he said, “and for that you need less visible line, and an ability to feel the lightest bite. Then you have to get the fish to the boat. That’s where the drag comes in. So I suggest 6 or 8 pound.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Trust me on this,” he said. “Lighter line and a correctly set drag catches more and bigger fish.”

Up to that point I had been using line that could tow a Wells Fargo stagecoach through a flooded wash. “I’ll try the 8 pound and see how I do.”

“Now for a pike rig,” he said. He handed me the prettiest reel I had ever seen.

“Wow,” I said, spinning the crank effortlessly, and hearing the ball bearing whisper of the spool.

“One of our most recent models,” he said. “An Abu Garcia 5500.”

“Sounds Spanish.”

“Made in Sweden. Precision parts, amazing drag system.”

I peeked at the price tag. “Aunt Lucy, bar the door!” I said.

“Forty percent off today,” the guy said. “You’ll be getting way more than you pay for. This reel is really popular with bass fishermen, but also perfect for casting and trolling for pike.”

Back to the rod rack, he paired the Abu with a gorgeous medium-heavy rod. It wasn’t cheap, either, but it felt excellent in my hands. I was so excited I tried a cast into the L.L. Bean women’s section. He suddenly grabbed the rod, and pointed overhead. A ceiling fan spun there. He said, “You have no idea how many people have bought rods here with the tips broken off.”

While I questioned the wisdom of a ceiling fan in a fishing rod shop, I took special care to cast my imaginary lure sideways.

“Line?”

“It’s not as critical to hide it from aggressive pike,” he said. “This reel? Between 12 and 20.”

“Give me the 20,” I said. “Until I get used to this new rig, I’d feel better with a heavier top end.”

An hour later, in addition to new rods and reels, I had filled a shopping cart with an assortment of spoons, crankbaits, jigs, twister tails, swivel snaps, leaders, and more. The total at the register about knocked my socks off, but I wasn’t about to pay big bucks for a week of fly-in fishing at a remote lake in Canada with gear that wasn’t up to snuff. Also, I hadn’t bought any new tackle in forever, and I explained to my wife that this exorbitant purchase would be my birthday and Christmas presents for the next five years. She said, “Make that 10.”

Memorial Day weekend arrived. Five fisherman gathered at Doc’s house for the very first time to load our gear. I had known Doc for a year or two as my dentist, and the other guys a few years more.

In those early years, the six of us left Des Moines in the late afternoon, drove all night, crossed at International Falls, ran through Dryden, stopping to buy groceries the minute the grocery store opened, and arrived at Knobby’s before noon.

We filled out licenses, next of kin paperwork, studied a map of the lake we’d be fishing for a week, and waited our turn to fly out.

Forever at the mercy of the weather, some years we would nap, or take a walk, or visit with other fishing parties waiting for the skies to clear. A few times we were bumped by forest fire fighters or First Nations folks who had more serious matters to attend to than a carefree week of fishing.

After roller coaster flights in noisy DeHavilland Beavers or Otters, air sick bags at the ready, we found early accommodations were primitive, but they matured as we did.

Looking back over so many trips for so many consecutive years, we have said it before and will say it again: of the 10 best times in our lives, at least half of them were at Knobby’s remote outposts.

Somewhere along the way, I decided to share my experiences in writing, and Editor In Chief Doug Stange at In-Fisherman agreed to publish my so-called humor column he named “North With Doc.”

The characters in my stories are loosely based on my friends, and the Doc character began as a sage of the Bush, solving problems, sharing his fishing wisdom with the rest of us. In the last 25 years or so, Doc has earned a reputation for creating far more problems than he can solve. He is the best boat partner a guy could ever have, and also the worst. Some episodes stretch the imagination a bit, but Doc always manages to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Or vice versa.

One late sunny afternoon on our 20th or 30th trip, Doc was lighting yet another of his vile cigars, and managed to run our Lund up on a submerged rock. While he attempted to un-beach us with an oar, I tossed a chartreuse twister off the side of the Buick-sized boulder, and caught one walleye after another, my 4-pound mono tight as a banjo string.

That early evening, we cleaned up from a walleye feast, Doc mixed himself a cocktail powerful enough to drive a stupefied Yellowstone buffalo herd into Old Faithful, and we broke out the cards to play Pass the Ace. If you have never played the game, I suggest you don’t start.

After 50 years with the same Canadian fishing crew, the cycle of life marches on, and time will inevitably take a bite or two out of our group until only memories survive. The North With Doc saga will continue while I have the brain power to create often improbable yet somewhat possible situations. I am exceptionally pleased that, as long as a well-read In-Fisherman magazine can be found in a man cave, a barber shop, a doctor’s office, or a remote Northwest Ontario cabin, the characters within and their outrageous thirst for tight lines and better times will outlive us all.

“Thanks, Doc.”

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Greg Knowles has penned over 200 North With Doc episodes for In-Fisherman, with Kolhsaat illustrating Doc’s adventures since the beginning. The column first hit In-Fisherman in 1990.

Affiliate Disclosure: This page contains affiliate links. We earn from qualifying purchases.

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Fifty years ago, when my Thursday night poker buddies talked me into a Canadian fly-in fishing trip, I decided my farm pond and river tackle box needed a serious upgrade. A store specializing in taming the great outdoors had specialized a bit too much in designer clothing, and was going out of business.

The sales guy said, “Where you headed?”

“Flying into the Northwest Ontario Bush,” I said, a bit choked up, as if it were the most exotic fishing spot on the planet. For me, it was. Still is.

“What you after?” the guy said.

“Knobby told us northern pike and walleye,” I said.

“Knobby?”

“Knobby Clark. Fly-in outfitter. Sioux Lookout.”

“Long way from Iowa.”

“Yup.”

“What do you have now?”

“Zebcos,” I said, “and my granddad’s ancient Shakespeare clicker that backlashes if you look at it sideways.”

“Zebcos are great reels if you keep ‘em lubed up and the line fresh,” he said. “And the old level-wind reels were cutting edge technology decades ago. Trouble is, you get into bigger fish, the drags might not be up to the job. But first things first. For walleyes, you need an open-faced spinner.”

“Seen them. Never had one.”

“Here’s a Daiwa that’s pretty popular. Made in Japan. Good quality.”

I cranked it a couple times. It felt really awkward.

The guy said, “You have it upside down.” He took it from me, turned it over, handed it back and said, “Now try it.”

“So I hold it in my right hand, and crank with the left?”

“If you are right-handed.”

“I am.”

“It’s attached under the rod instead of on top. You get a lot more control,” he said, “and the drag is tightened by simply turning the thing on the reel face.” He showed me how.

We walked to a rack of rods, and he selected a medium-weight fiberglass unit, put the reel on it. “Try this,” he said.

I was stunned. It was well balanced, and I could grip the reel so comfortably, it was a totally different experience from a wobbly top-mounted Zebco. Why didn’t I know about this?

The guy saw my smile, and figured he had me hooked. He did. “Okay, that’s your walleye combo. Let’s get some line for it.”

A few steps away were spools of mono. I said, “Maybe 20?”

The guy let go a snort, and said, “You put 20-pound test on this reel and you might be able to pull up a snag instead of breaking off, but you’ll never feel a bite.”

“But what if it’s a big fish?”

“First, you have to hook it,” he said, “and for that you need less visible line, and an ability to feel the lightest bite. Then you have to get the fish to the boat. That’s where the drag comes in. So I suggest 6 or 8 pound.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Trust me on this,” he said. “Lighter line and a correctly set drag catches more and bigger fish.”

Up to that point I had been using line that could tow a Wells Fargo stagecoach through a flooded wash. “I’ll try the 8 pound and see how I do.”

“Now for a pike rig,” he said. He handed me the prettiest reel I had ever seen.

“Wow,” I said, spinning the crank effortlessly, and hearing the ball bearing whisper of the spool.

“One of our most recent models,” he said. “An Abu Garcia 5500.”

“Sounds Spanish.”

“Made in Sweden. Precision parts, amazing drag system.”

I peeked at the price tag. “Aunt Lucy, bar the door!” I said.

“Forty percent off today,” the guy said. “You’ll be getting way more than you pay for. This reel is really popular with bass fishermen, but also perfect for casting and trolling for pike.”

Back to the rod rack, he paired the Abu with a gorgeous medium-heavy rod. It wasn’t cheap, either, but it felt excellent in my hands. I was so excited I tried a cast into the L.L. Bean women’s section. He suddenly grabbed the rod, and pointed overhead. A ceiling fan spun there. He said, “You have no idea how many people have bought rods here with the tips broken off.”

While I questioned the wisdom of a ceiling fan in a fishing rod shop, I took special care to cast my imaginary lure sideways.

“Line?”

“It’s not as critical to hide it from aggressive pike,” he said. “This reel? Between 12 and 20.”

“Give me the 20,” I said. “Until I get used to this new rig, I’d feel better with a heavier top end.”

An hour later, in addition to new rods and reels, I had filled a shopping cart with an assortment of spoons, crankbaits, jigs, twister tails, swivel snaps, leaders, and more. The total at the register about knocked my socks off, but I wasn’t about to pay big bucks for a week of fly-in fishing at a remote lake in Canada with gear that wasn’t up to snuff. Also, I hadn’t bought any new tackle in forever, and I explained to my wife that this exorbitant purchase would be my birthday and Christmas presents for the next five years. She said, “Make that 10.”

Memorial Day weekend arrived. Five fisherman gathered at Doc’s house for the very first time to load our gear. I had known Doc for a year or two as my dentist, and the other guys a few years more.

In those early years, the six of us left Des Moines in the late afternoon, drove all night, crossed at International Falls, ran through Dryden, stopping to buy groceries the minute the grocery store opened, and arrived at Knobby’s before noon.

We filled out licenses, next of kin paperwork, studied a map of the lake we’d be fishing for a week, and waited our turn to fly out.

Forever at the mercy of the weather, some years we would nap, or take a walk, or visit with other fishing parties waiting for the skies to clear. A few times we were bumped by forest fire fighters or First Nations folks who had more serious matters to attend to than a carefree week of fishing.

After roller coaster flights in noisy DeHavilland Beavers or Otters, air sick bags at the ready, we found early accommodations were primitive, but they matured as we did.

Looking back over so many trips for so many consecutive years, we have said it before and will say it again: of the 10 best times in our lives, at least half of them were at Knobby’s remote outposts.

Somewhere along the way, I decided to share my experiences in writing, and Editor In Chief Doug Stange at In-Fisherman agreed to publish my so-called humor column he named “North With Doc.”

The characters in my stories are loosely based on my friends, and the Doc character began as a sage of the Bush, solving problems, sharing his fishing wisdom with the rest of us. In the last 25 years or so, Doc has earned a reputation for creating far more problems than he can solve. He is the best boat partner a guy could ever have, and also the worst. Some episodes stretch the imagination a bit, but Doc always manages to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Or vice versa.

One late sunny afternoon on our 20th or 30th trip, Doc was lighting yet another of his vile cigars, and managed to run our Lund up on a submerged rock. While he attempted to un-beach us with an oar, I tossed a chartreuse twister off the side of the Buick-sized boulder, and caught one walleye after another, my 4-pound mono tight as a banjo string.

That early evening, we cleaned up from a walleye feast, Doc mixed himself a cocktail powerful enough to drive a stupefied Yellowstone buffalo herd into Old Faithful, and we broke out the cards to play Pass the Ace. If you have never played the game, I suggest you don’t start.

After 50 years with the same Canadian fishing crew, the cycle of life marches on, and time will inevitably take a bite or two out of our group until only memories survive. The North With Doc saga will continue while I have the brain power to create often improbable yet somewhat possible situations. I am exceptionally pleased that, as long as a well-read In-Fisherman magazine can be found in a man cave, a barber shop, a doctor’s office, or a remote Northwest Ontario cabin, the characters within and their outrageous thirst for tight lines and better times will outlive us all.

“Thanks, Doc.”

---

Greg Knowles has penned over 200 North With Doc episodes for In-Fisherman, with Kolhsaat illustrating Doc’s adventures since the beginning. The column first hit In-Fisherman in 1990.

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