The Suburban Sportsman

When I was working at Dave’s Bait and Tackle in Crystal Lake, Illinois, I learned to evaluate customers the second they walked through the door. Over the years, I got so good at this that I could diagnose what people needed before they asked.

Mom driving a BWM X5 with two 5-year-olds: “Night crawlers are behind the counter and yes, I can show you how to set up a bobber.”

Mid-30s guy with a mullet, Tom Petty tee and 1990 rusted Ford Ranger: “Stink bait in on the first island in the back room. No, we don’t sell beer.”

Although I worked with a broad spectrum of customers, none were more enjoyable than the yuppie-angler.

Their Tommy Bahama Hawaiian apparel and $60,000+ tow vehicles always gave them away.While a willingness to try new lures, fat wallets and passion for fishing made them the ideal consumers. If I told them a lure worked, they’d buy it. If I said I THOUGHT a lure might work under certain conditions, they’d buy it (regardless of price) and send reports back to me.

These weekend warriors became a great resource, because they allowed me to filter through top-shelf lures without dropping hundreds of dollars.

Spro, Lucky Craft, Castaic and Strike King were all subject to this informal review and produced a variety of results. Although most of the $15-$40 lures weren’t that different from their cheaper competitors, there were a few that blew me, and my yuppie testers, away.

1) Spro, BBZ-1: The Spro BBZ-1 shad (4″) and it’s larger companion the BBZ-1 swimbait (8″) are hands down the best looking hard-bodied swimbaits I’ve ever used. The $25 (for the 4″) and $50 (for the 8″) price tags can be extremely intimidating, but if you take the leap, the pay-offs are immediate. The 8″ slow-sink has quickly become my favorite late-spring muskie lure, while the 4″ recently produced a 40 bass day for me. If your favorite body of water has submerged weeds in 3-5ft of water, you need this lure.

My Buddy with a Beautiful Smallmouth on a Lucky Craft Pointer 100

2) Lucky Craft, Pointer 100: I used to doubt this lure’s potential because I couldn’t justify spending $16 on a non-muskie jerkbait. My doubt has been erased. The Lucky Craft Pointer does something that no other jerkbait does – run 5ft deep and maintain neutral buoyancy without compromising action. Before, if I wanted to target fish suspending on secondary drop offs, I’d have to count down husky jerks or x-raps, but the pointer speeds the process up. On lakes that don’t allow trolling, these jerkbaits work wonders. They allow you to target negative, suspending fish precisely without the need for live bait.

3) Titan Series, Optimum Swimbaits: The 6″ Optimum Titan speaks for

Optimum Swimbait Double

itself.Go find your favorite 8-14ft weed-edge or submerged structure, reel slowly and hold on. Big bass love these things (unfortunately, pike do too, so I’d suggest a strong leader). I have a box full of these in the boat at any given time.

4) Strike King, King Shad: Want to cover a lot of water on spawning flats while fish are staging? Then the King Shad is your man. Again, the $19 tag is scary, but you’ll be loving it when everyone else is throwing spinnerbaits and you’re catching all the fish.

So there it is, your all-star roster. Just try to not get snagged, it can really ruin your day.

Master versus Apprentice. It’s an archetype that spans literature, film and popular culture. From Darth Vader and Obi Wan Kenobi to Splinter and Shredder to U2 and Coldplay, all who teach are eventually pitted against their pupils. Recently, I faced such a circumstance with my long-time friend Josh.

Master (left) and Apprentice (right)

Josh, though he doesn’t look the part, is an avid angler and learned a large majority of the sport from myself during our many aquatic excursions throughout Illinois. Normally, he consults me on what lure to use and then applies the knowledge with remarkable deft.

However, 20 minutes into the first day on the water during our trip to Duck Lake, of Wisconsin’s Eagle River Chain, Josh challenged my alpha status.

“This lure’s gonna kick your ass,” Josh said smugly as he removed his new Rapala Flat Rap from it’s packaging. “Just watch.”

I ignored Josh’s remark; he always said crap like that when he was feeling even remotely confident in a fishing decision he’d made. And since we were on a lake we had never fished before, I figured I’d remain quiet and let him have his moment.

That mentality lasted for all of five seconds.

In an act of silent rebellion, I began moving the boat into a position that made it tough for him to work the downed-timber along the shoreline.

Just as my diabolic plot to skunk Josh’s infallible lure was unfolding, I caught him setting the hook out of the corner of my eye.

“Muskie!” yelled Josh.

“Bastard,” I thought, and reluctantly grabbed the net.

As Josh brought the fish to the boat, I netted the normally elusive predator and stared at its gold and opaque-blue hue. This was a gorgeous animal, not that large, but still gorgeous.

“Ha,” Josh said, breaking my trance. “First cast. Right out of the package!”

Cole and Jake, who comprised the other half of our fishing fellowship, laughed at the audacity of the situation. This only intensified Josh’s smugness. He was ripe to tear me a new one if I didn’t do something quick.

(Luckily, I subscribe to the master/apprentice archetype, and like all good teachers, I don’t show my students everything I know)

I reached into my tackle box and pulled out my ace-in-the hole, my force-lightning if you will…The Lucky Craft pointer, the Ferrari of jerkbaits

“Josh, you defeated me, and I became more powerful than you could ever imagine,” I felt like saying, as I tied the lure on.

“Watch this,” I retorted instead, and casted the jerkbait, admiring its action as it irradically made its way through the water.

However, as the lure got closer to the boat, my heart sank. Nothing trailed my bait. And as I lifted the immaculate lure out of the water…A MUSKIE NAILED IT.

I WAS AMAZED AT THE STRIKE….and at the fact that I had missed the fish. Josh laughed, secure in his victory.

This scene would become familiar throughout our 3-day excursion in the Northwoods, although the actors would rotate between Josh, Cole, Jake and myself. 14 musky were caught between the 4 of us (8 for me, 5 for Josh), all while fishing for walleye, smallmouth and largemouth. They hit on plastics, jerkbaits, jigs and crankbaits. For 72 hours we were spoiled, and it was bliss.

Josh nows kicks my ass on a regular basis

Though I eventually won the war, Josh won that battle and it stills stings. However, I take solace in knowing that his passion for fishing is blossoming and hopefully he will pass it on to others, just as I passed it on to him. Because really, this relationship is all fishermen have to retain our sport. Lakes are shrinking, suburbs are growing and the aura of the outdoors is fading.

So teach your friends and family to fish, just don’t teach them everything. And Josh, I bought one of those Flat Raps and can’t catch shit on the stupid thing.

One of the great merits of being a fisherman or a hunter is that you experience things few others rarely do. While fishing, I’ve inadvertently swam with dolphins, come toe to toe with 14 -foot alligators and fought sharks twice my size.

However, occasionally angling exploits can have the opposite effect, exposing fishermen to detestable sites that no one should witness. And as the herd of naked elderly men meandered down the beach towards me, I knew I was having one such experience.

The day began inconspicuously. After loading up my car with my walleye gear, beach towel and lunch, I headed toward Mazomanie State Natural Area (a pristine conglomeration of islands along the Wisconsin River) to enjoy the unseasonably warm April weather.

I had noticed Mazo during a hiking excursion to nearby Ferry Bluffs and its islands struck me as a potential honey-hole. They had deep, undercut banks, easy access to the main river channel and plenty of structure current breaks along their outside edge. Additionally, narrow sandbars ran between the islands and the river’s southern shoreline so I could easily wade out to my destination. Little did I know the dark secret these waters held.

Upon arriving at Mazo, I quickly glanced at the warped, wooden state park sign to ensure that fishing was allowed, and then proceeded out to the islands.

Fishing, as expected, was phenomenal. Walleyes were more than obliging, and some smallmouth even joined in the fray. Then, everything went downhill.

I noticed several silhouetted figures approaching in the distance, their figures blocked by the suns glare off the sand and water. I sat up to give the tradition fishermen’s wave, and was horrified by what I saw.

Not 25 yards from me were ten 60- to 70-year-old men, naked as the day they were born. I snapped out of my sun-baked daze, threw on my shirt and began packing…Then the dreaded question came.

“Catching anything?” asked one of the nudists.

“Shit,” I thought to myself, “These are talkative nudists. The men’s locker room taken to some terrible extreme.”

I panicked, and did the only thing I could think of. I bolted. Like a bat-out-of-hell I sprinted through the ankle-deep water, up the beach, past the woods and into my car.

After arriving back in Madison, and doing a more thorough search on Mazo beach, I found out that it is an infamous nudist gathering spot during the summer months.

You know, for all the complaining I do about jet-skis, I’d take them any day over that terrible sight.

Like so many other life pursuits, fish-catching prowess isn’t limited as much by talent as it is by access. Got a boat? Then chances are you’ve got a better shot at catching a trophy than someone fishing from shore. However, several times a year, fish behavior negates this hierarchical structure, creating more chances for the proletariat angler. As ice vacates the small lakes and ponds of central and northern Illinois, one of these egalitarian opportunities emerges.

Game fish, drawn by the energy reserves of warmer water and an abundance of baitfish, migrate towards shallow bays and springs. While in these skinner-water haunts, bass, pike and panfish use their increasing energy reserves to feed, their behavior slowly altering from opportunistic eating, to actively pursuing calorie-rich meals. Although they are not feeding at pre-spawn levels, this increase in game-fish activity is still significant. Additionally, since most of these changes occur in shallow water, shore anglers can easily capitalize them. The following two-stage presentation is an efficient way to make this most of this Spring feeding period.

Begin by analyzing your pond or lake.  You are looking for large, shallow bays with a few primary elements:

1. Easy shore access. There is no point identifying a spot you cannot fish.
2. Quick access to deep water (a good feature of any fishing spot)
3. Isolated structure (logs, weeds, rocks)
4. A stream or creek flowing into the bay

key on areas close to deep water, or with an incoming creek or stream

After deciding upon on a location, start probing for productive water. The simplest way to do this from shore is with a search-lure. Typically fast moving, hard-body crankbaits, search-lures allow you to cover lots of water, gauge depth and identify bottom structure without use of a depth finder. My search-lure of choice for this time of year is the lipless crankbait. Their ability to be fished with a steady retrieve or swam erratically makes them ideal for ice-off fishing.*

When using a search-bait to eliminate water, you should opt for a quicker retrieve. However, once you catch a fish, flutter the bait on your next few casts. This will often entice skeptical fish to strike.

Continue working the bay with your search-bait, making mental notes of where you caught the most fish. I refer to these locations as “key areas”, essentially spots within a spot (a rock-pile, a pocket or  the elbow of a point).

Once you’ve covered the whole bay thoroughly with a search lure, return to your key areas with vertical-pattern bait (sinking plastics, shakey heads and jig-n-pigs all work brilliantly). Working each area precisely with these lures will help you pick up any fish who were too lethargic for your faster presentation. Remember, any remaining fishing likely have a small strike zone and won’t hit anything more than a few inches from their mouth.

After both these passes are over, consider the bay vacant and move onto the next. Remember, fish feeding patterns vary greatly lake-to-lake and even from bay-to-bay. Fish may be active in one area and absent in another, so don’t waste time chasing fish that aren’t biting. Keep it simply, effective and concise and I guarantee this ice-off pattern will result in success early-season excursions.

*There are several varieties of lipless baits, but the Strike King Red Eye Shad stands above the rest. It has a wider wobble than the Clackin’ Rap and falls slower than a Rat-L-Trap, resulting in the broadest variety of presentations. Also, I always replace the factory treble hooks on my Red Eye Shads with high-end hooks such as Gamakatsu or VMC.

Flatlander.

My college roommate, Zach Lawson, first introduced me to the term. Apparently a derogatory word, “flatlander” is used to describe yuppie, weekend warriors from Illinois who supposedly rape and pillage Wisconsin’s lakes and rivers. My first reaction to the expression was laughter. Flatlander, really?!? I never knew Wisconsin was overrun with mountains?

My humor transitioned into disbelief as I found out that the people who hated Illinois the most,were those in area’s dependent on Illinois tourist dollars. (Sorry for the economic boosts, Door County, Rhinelander and Minocqua)

However, attempts to rationalize my new label merely manifested more malice. I soon realized flatlander is a scarlet letter amongst Midwestern anglers, and bore the cross at my weekly fishing-team meetings as well as at every bass tournament I ever fished in. My Illinois plates were bulls-eyes for those yearning to unleash their geographical prejudices.

“Go back to your corn!”

“If it wasn’t for Chicago, Illinois wouldn’t even be a state!”

“I’m surprised you’re not using a Zebco!”

Their words were like salt rubbed in an already gaping wound.

Somehow, I persevered, and am now living amongst my former tormentors. A flatlander disguised as a cheesehead.

Several years later, I have learned to embrace the flatlander tag. It is no longer a catalyst for discomfort, but a reminder of the things that make the Illinois outdoors experience fantastic. We have arguably the nation’s best Canadian goose hunting. Southwestern Illinois is home of one of two “golden triangles” of whitetail deer. And my personal favorite, Illinois has year-round fishing on most bodies of water.

The latter of these reasons is particularly pertinent as we transition into spring. While my Wisconsin friends must either wait until May, or head to the nearest river to pursue game fish, I can hit the shores of my favorite lake to chase whatever species I desire.

So rather than suffering under my flatlander nomenclature, I’m going to seize the angling opportunity Illinois’ laissez-faire legislation presents and partake in ice-off fishing. Cheers to Illinois!

As I lay on the stern of the 24-foot Boston Whaler, gazing at the menagerie of charter boats surrounding us, I gradually capitulated to the Florida sun. We had set out this spring morning in pursuit of sharks off of Captiva Island’s infamous

Captain Butch

Redfish Pass, but success had eluded us. The lifeless rod sitting in my hands, the crowded local reef and the guide’s progressively longer hits from his cigarette suggested that our prey had moved to more bountiful harvests. Then, just as my subconscious was drifting towards the girls in the boat adjacent to ours, it happened.

“Tarpon!” Captain Butch yelled as my salt-encrusted baitcaster purged yard after yard of line. Quickly I swept the rod, embedding the circle hook in the corner of the fish’s mouth, kicking its survival instincts into high gear. The acrobatic display that followed is permanently embedded in my memory – flips and turns that even Shaun White would envy. I was frozen in time, mesmerized by the power before me. But the fight that could have taken hours, was over in moments. The same jumps that captivated, me were also my undoing, as the fish eventually wrapped the line and threw the hook. That day I returned to the dock sunburnt and tarponless.

I thought about that fish for the next several years until I had the chance to return to Captiva. Unfortunately, I was met with disappointment when Butch informed me that the tarpon run hadn’t started yet and I had a better chance of catching a manta ray than the 100lb minnow (tarpon do having a striking resemblance to an overgrown shiner) I was after. Defeated, I returned to our resort’s mangrove ponds with my cousin Matt and proceeded to fish for snook and redfish.

After several hours of less-than-productive action, boredom crept in and we began to joke about our grandpa George. A life-long fisherman, Grandpa had a unique style of fishing, often emulated by Bill Dance, which involved as much sitting as possible. Because of his sedentary tactics, Grandpa would frequently cast backward and over his head instead of turning around, usually resulting in a massive bird’s nest rather than a convenient trick. In honor of his approach, and to stave off further lethargy, I attempted a “grandpa cast” into the mangroves. Matt and I broke down laughing as the lure hit the water about 20 feet from shore.

Suddenly, the water erupted around my lure. Regaining my composure I set

The Grandpa Cast Tarpon

the hook, and stared in awe as a tarpon leapt from the pond! I fought the fish for just five minutes on my light spinning tackle, but I was giddy. I landed the fish, snapped a photo and released the silver king back to his brackish domain. I looked at my cousin and laughed, “Scratch that off the ‘Things to Catch Before I Die’ list.” Exhausted, we went back to the room and detailed our encounter to my dad.

This fish, though much smaller than what I hoped to catch, expands upon the theme I spoke about in my first post, “Inspiration”. Fisherman often set lofty expectations, which, while challenging us to become better sportsmen, can mute our overall enjoyment of each catch. Take a step back and remember a three-pound bass, a thirty-six-inch muskie and even a twelve-inch crappie are all fantastic catches. Embracing the above average will make the extraordinary seem even more spectacular.

…As a side note, I still have yet to catch a 100+lb tarpon. This remains one of my life-long dreams, and is second only to catching a permit on 6lb tackle.

Recently, Giants superstar receiver Plaxico Burress accidentally shot himself in the leg while at a nightclub. As this story progressed, New York headlines transitioned from ‘Plaxico Shot’ to ‘Plaxico Suspended or the Rest of the Season’. Speculation over whether or not he would play with the Giants again became rampant as New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg announced his intent to prosecute Burress to the fullest extent of the law.

As a gun owner, and staunch advocate for gun rights, I believe that Burress should be made an example. His disrespect for the power of his handgun and the laws regulating its misuse, calls for the highest penalty. It is this small percent of gun-owners (mostly illegally) that tarnish the image of the responsible firearm owner. Hopefully people will react rationally to Burress’s actions, realizing that it was the individual, and not the firearm who was irresponsible.

I posted this comment on a New York Times article in December of 2008 and by now had thought that professional athletes would have realized the ramifications of improper gun safety. Well apparently, they haven’t.

Recently, Gilbert Arenas, who wears “0” on his jersey to spite all those teams who passed on him in the draft, brought guns into the Washington Wizards locker room, even pulling one on a teammate. Arenas now awaits sentencing from the NBA, the Wizards and the law…and I hope they come down on him HARD. With their complete disregard of firearm ethics, athletes like Arenas have helped turn an inalienable right into a scarlet letter.

I’m tired of having neighbors I’ve known for years glare at me when I’m carrying my shotgun or pistol from my car to my house. I don’t stare them down when they hop on their Jetskis, despite being nearly run over by hundreds of reckless boaters.

However, I understand people’s hesitation towards firearms. Just like any powerful tool, guns are dangerous when in improper hands. Additionally, people primarily hear about firearms when they are being mistreated or misused.

So I ask suburban gun owners, please introduce your neighbors to firearms – teach them to shoot, offer to bring them hunting. Make sure that their hesitation around guns is due to their respect for the weapon, not their fear of it. Show them that most of us are versed in the tools we use, and people like Arenas are the true zeros.

An urbanite friend recently asked, “What draws me to fishing?” His sarcastic tone indicated this inquiry was posed not only to get an answer, but also to allow him to illustrate how stupid he thought fishing was.

Seeing as I’ve answered this question hundreds of times, often asked to me by customers’ wives and girlfriends while working at Dave’s Bait and Tackle, I fielded a response quickly.

“Have you ever heard of monumentalism?” I returned. He looked confused, apparently not expecting my reply to include words other than “beer” and “fish”.

“No man, I haven’t,” he answered, a little put-off by the intellectual face-plant he just endured.

I explained to him that monumentalism is the belief that the beauty of the natural world surpasses anything created by man. Understanding architecture and art may make you more cultured, but being attuned with untamed wilderness connects you with the divine. To anglers, lakes are cathedrals. Muskies replace Matisses’. Fishing allows us the opportunity to enjoy wilderness without cultural filters. I can reach into a non-terrestrial world, and through my understanding of it, I am able to succeed. That is what draws me to fishing.

I smiled. I knew I had him. How can you argue with that answer? Game, set and match to the fisherman…

“Ice fishing.” He replied bluntly. “It’s winter. What draws you to ICE fishing?”

“Shit!” I thought to myself. This poses a much more complex issue. That momumentalism stuff is great reasoning during open-water, but ice fishing is another monster. I don’t disconnect from the modern world when I’m ice fishing. In fact, I do the exact opposite. I invest a lot of time and money to ensure that my ice excursions have all the conveniences of home.

Let’s see….

Digital Camera, check.

GPS, check.

Depth-finder, check.

Aqua-view, check.

Lantern, check.

Grill, check?

Generator??

Television?!?

I found myself in a panic. How could I let myself be stumped by a guy whose most masculine hobby is soccer? I quickly ran through my options, but nothing of any substance came to mind. Then I realized, nothing should come to mind.

Why does ice fishing need to have some deeper meaning? I just like doing it. I know it’s impractical, I know it looks ridiculous but I enjoy it. I can talk to my friends in the most unpretentious atmosphere possible and not worry about the repercussions of my uncensored thoughts. I can drink a Bud Light while simultaneously smoking a cigar and no one cares. It may not get me closer towards enlightenment, but ice fishing allows me to be me, unfiltered.

So to get back to his question of “What draws me to ice-fishing?”

“Beer and fish,” I finally answered. “Beer and fish.”

The word fishermen brings to mind many adjectives – patient, persistent and rugged to name a few. However, I would argue that the defining trait all successful anglers share is sympathy.

Now countless girlfriends and wives may disagree, but allow me to rationalize…

A fishing trip’s outcome hinges on the angler’s ability to relate to his prey’s physical and mental state. For instance, on a windy day, a sub-par fishermen might head towards a sheltered shoreline or bay because it makes boat and lure control substantially easier. This decision is based on selfish motives and will ultimate lead towards failure.

In contrast, the sympathetic  angler realizes that wind makes a fish’s life much easier, concentrating bait into key locations, resulting in near effortless hunting. This person inconveniences himself, and is rewarded for the effort.

Many anglers enjoy taking this emotional investment further, striving for an empathetic relationship with fish. This selfless mentality is most apparent around the holidays.

During this time, plummeting water temperatures force fish to overhaul their feeding strategies. They pursue slow moving prey to ensure that their calorie expenditure does not exceed the caloric value of the food they ingest (packing on the pounds, essentially). This behavior is often accompanied by fish retreating to their favorite wintering holes. Fishermen simulate these conditions by lounging on couches and gorging themselves on meals prepared by reluctant relatives and spouses. And while the casual viewer may interpret this as gluttonous, it is actually something much deeper.

Despite this obvious altruism and depth, fishermen remain stereotyped as emotionally, well….vacant. Shallow pools of feelings where love means a cold beer and commitment is using the same lure for at least an hour. But in my mind, nothing could be further from the truth.