Inside Angles: Same Old Enthusiasm for the Future

During a November past, I had a spare night in Northwest Iowa, after several days at a deer hunting camp. So I borrowed waders (they leaked) and a fishing rod and reel (they wheezed and whirred on every cast) and spent an evening casting plugs from the old footbridge area on the north end of Spirit Lake, in the Iowa Great Lakes Region, where I pretty much learned to fish. Spent hundreds of nights fishing for walleyes at the footbridge during the 1970s. Hadn’t been back in more than 20 years.

Sun already set, no problem, been here, done this before, so I stepped into the water at the edge of the rocks that run into the lake from the base of the old bridge. Could I still find my favorite spot to stand, on a flat rock among the boulders? “From about right here,” I remembered, “shuffle seven steps on sand bottom along the edge of the rocks, then feel to the right for a particularly large boulder. Yes, right there.”

Had to smile. More than 20 years since I felt for that old rock. Easy now, another four steps west. There. Right there. Sure enough, old friend, flat rock, still waiting after all these years. But then, I suppose so. Flat rocks don’t have many places to go. Still, twenty-some years is an eternity to me, if not to flat rocks. Just had to smile.

Stepping into position, I settle in, pause to get a sense of my surroundings, sniff the breeze, so to speak, can feel slight current running from the slough area at my back into the main lake. Perfect. No doubt bullheads and panfish are drifting through the narrows at the mouth of this area. Current draws baitfish that attract walleyes. Walleyes and baitfish playing the ancient game. I’m going to play, too.

Three casts and the plug stops. Shouldn’t have been unexpected, still, it’s been 20 years. So, really, I’m totally surprised—too good to be true. Familiar tuggawugga at the end of my line. Unmistakably a walleye. Well, for heaven’s sake. Just like 20 years was just yesterday. I’m embarrassed I’m smiling so hard.

I resolve standing there that good shore spots are forever, at least in people years. Only the people change. All the old familiar boys who used to stand here with me night after night replaced by a younger crop.

Indeed, two youngsters nearby already have a walleye apiece on the stringer they share. A flashlight shines on the face of one of them. Fifteen years old, maybe sixteen, I guess, but I’m wrong. Soon enough, there in the chilly darkness, catching an occasional walleye, sharing a laugh or two, we’re all friends.

The heck you say. They’re juniors at Iowa State University and have driven the several hours after classes to spend the weekend fishing. I wasn’t certain young fellas still did this anymore. Thank God they do. Sleeping in the truck, they tell me. Can’t afford a boat. Fish here twice in spring, maybe a time or two in fall. Studying is a burden they bear. Not much time to spare. But someday, they say. Someday, no more leaky waders. Some day soon after graduation they’ll have money and time. Just you wait. Then, watch out fish, here they come.

They make me smile. That was me back when. Big plans. Ideas and more ideas. Unlimited enthusiasm for the future. Unlimited opportunity. The world waiting. So many places to go with fishing rod in hand, so many fish to be caught.

Go for it, guys, I think to myself. Don’t sell yourself, the world, the fish, short. Just take your time. Spend a few years getting a feel for walleyes and bass and panfish and catfish. Pike, too. And don’t miss fishing for muskies. Let the fever nip at your heels, then catch you, finally overwhelm you. Go at it, unrealistically, pathetically, until you realize the addiction it is. And love every minute. Then fall in love with carp. And do the addiction routine all over again.

Go catch some of those salmon from the Great Lakes. Steelhead, too. Take time for trout in small streams. See the great trout rivers of the West. Pack in to fish for goldens above the timberline in Wyoming. Tip your hat to the Four Directions on Gannet Peak, highest spot in the Wind River Range. You can see 50 more lakes to hike to from there. Of course, you want to see Canada—the great pike and walleye waters. And lake trout—don’t miss them. And whitefish, if you get a chance.

Along the way, learn to catch all these and more through ice cover—just another challenge. Do what you can with a flyrod, too. More sport. See Alaska, the unbelievable country, the amazing fish. And as much as you can of saltwater, even more amazing fish—tarpon and sharks, permit and bones, tuna and kingfish. Smoke a big cigar as you watch a sunset in Key West, still one of the great fishing meccas of the world.

If you’re lucky, if you do it right, perhaps you’ll find yourselves right back here in 20 years, and like me, having seen a good share of what the world has to offer, will realize that standing right here on a flat rock, simple as the situation is, is just as good as the rest of it, which is just about as good as it gets—every moment ­fishing, every fish counts.

I’m not betting on another couple decades, but the potential of it all makes me smile. With any luck at all, I might join them right here again, that night 20 years hence. Can’t say I’ve changed. Maybe more ideas. Same old enthusiasm for the future. Unlimited opportunity. The world still waiting. So many places to go with fishing rod in hand, so many fish to be caught, so many more details to be filled in.

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