2010 – Year of the Musky?

Howdy

I’m a new guy to this board.  My name is Brad Bohen aka The Afton Angler.  I’m a full time fly fishing guide/outfitter based out of Hayward, WI who specializes in musky on the fly.

Lee Church just released a trailer to his film – The Musky Chronicles and I for one am really excited about 2010 being The Year of the Musky in the fly fishing world…

Time will tell I guess.  But I know that getting a musky on the fly rod is being added to many a fly anglers bucket list.  And for good reason.  

Musky are built for the fly rod, they are big and bad ass and you do not have to travel to far-flung and pricey destinations to get world class shots at them.

38 States in the Musky Republic

I’ll prime the pump a bit…and share this piece I did a few years ago about what it took me to get my first musky on a fly…since that time I have pretty much ruined my life with this sport.  It has been a dream come true for me really.

Be careful!  Once you get The Fever you are forever changed!!  For better or for worse is in the eye of the beholder.

Enjoy and let the Musky Speak Begin…

First fly rod musky

by Brad Bohen

Tackling the fish of 10,000 casts on a fly rod is not for those anglers with attention deficit disorder.  Musky on the fly come to those anglers willing to pay their dues, the anglers utterly devoted to their craft and the anglers who’s picture appears next to the word patience in the dictionary.

Sure there are tales of guys who get a musky the first time they try for them with a fly rod.  There are also stories about wild action with the musky coming fast and furious to the fly from some destination lake.  These are stories and tales for the most part.  I am not saying they don’t or couldn’t happen.  I am just letting you know that the reality of taking a musky on the fly is as sobering and even more so than getting one on regular gear for most anglers.

Check your skirts at the door ladies and gentlemen.  If you want to join the elite club of anglers with a fly caught musky notch on their angling belt be prepared to work your butt off.  After you connect (and you eventually will if you stick with it) be prepared to be totally hooked – you may not want to go back to regular musky fishing.  The thrill of a musky on the fly rod is one of the top experiences in freshwater angling.

I know anglers that devote an entire season to fly fishing for musky before they boat their first fish.  I got my first fly caught fish at the end of a long summer of decent action but no hook ups.  

My girlfriend at the time (who is now my wife Jennifer) was living in south Minneapolis a couple of blocks off Lake Calhoun and Lake Harriet.  I would spend the night with her and get up before dawn and head down to the parkway surrounding the lakes with my fly rod.  This allowed me to hit the water at a prime time for the fish and to be out before the joggers, bikers and other city dwellers began to fill up the trails and get in the way of my back casts.

I diligently worked my way around the lakes learning all the prime casting positions and ambush points.  I fished hard and at all times of day and in all weather conditions.  I got follows, blow-ups and refusals but mostly had a lot of casting practice.  May, June, July and August passed.  I started taking it personally and dug in for a trench warfare battle if needed.

I stuck with it.  I still fished musky with my regular gear and had a good season trolling, casting and live minnow fishing; boating a respectable 11 fish.  Most of my angling season was devoted to guiding trout fishing clients fly-fishing the spring creeks of nearby western Wisconsin.  This is demanding work and when the trout got ultra fussy I would get away on my own to do some musky angling – about as far from the fine little leaders and tiny flies style of trout fishing as it got.  I secretly chuckled to myself when I hucked out a big 10” Sledge pretending it was a little pain in the ass trout that I was feeding to the wolves over on the St. Croix River or on White Bear Lake.

Being a fly fishing specialist (hey it says so on my business card!) I really felt incomplete without a musky to my credit on a fly rod.  I had half heartedly attempted to use the fly rod for those elusive fish in past years – bring it along in the boat and using it on occasion but never really giving it an honest effort.  Experience began to tell me that if I was going to put a musky on the beach with the long rod I had better make a serious effort.

By early September I was dug in deep.  I enjoyed spending time with Jen and being able to pursue a new passion down on the urban lakes was a big bonus but I was getting desperate.  I need some kind of break.

One Friday afternoon in early September brought about that feeling of instability in the air that comes with the end of summer and the onset of hurricane season down south.  I don’t remember exactly but I think a tropical storm named Brenda (or was it Bruce?) was building out in the Atlantic somewhere.  I do remember feeling the musky hackle on the back of my neck stand up and take notice.

I was enjoying a frosty beverage after work with Jen and some of her coworkers.  She was leaving her job and starting a new one and they were planning on a going away evening filled with more frosty beverages and social bar hopping.  I kept an eye on the sky and as the evening wore on it became apparent that I would need to excuse myself and get to the lake.

Jen was cool (hey I married her later – she passed the test in a big way) and wished me luck as I slunk away to my truck and headed for the beach at Lake Calhoun.  I always carried a 10 weight, some wading shoes and a selection of musky flies whenever I came into the city – just in case.  Sometimes I packed a stepladder or a kick boat depending on the water I was planning on fishing.

When shore angling with a fly rod you must make allowances for the casting conditions.  Wind, pedestrians, landscaping and natural foliage all can present challenges that must be overcome to be successful.  It does not take a good angler long to pinpoint a few prime places that are key fish producing spots for a fly chucker.  Sometimes I needed to walk out fifteen or twenty yards into the lake to get my cast to a break that drew fish to a spot.  The stepladder came in handy giving me a platform to get me out of the waist deep water and keep my back cast high and free of the aforementioned hazards.

I learned to be creative.  I made new acquaintances – people curious as to why a guy would carry a stepladder or a funny looking little pontoon boat down to a lake in the middle of a city to fish.  I witnessed all sorts of strange human behavior going on around the lakes in the strange hours that I kept.  The local color of the city is very flamboyant at times is all I will say.

The beach on the south end of Lake Calhoun was a great fly-fishing spot for me.  Deep water off shore, a big weed bed on an inside turn and a nice clear swimming area had all of the elements that spoke musky.  I witnessed other anglers hooking and landing fish from this area and I had caught a fish here from a boat earlier in my musky career.  On the Friday evening in question it was about my only option.

The wind was out of the south and was building.  All of my other south wind spots would be too chocked with folks out and about on a Friday to offer any angling options.  I felt good as I waded out next to the swimming area ropes to work the weed edge.  The building storm brought a sense of urgency to the atmosphere.  Joggers and bikers were scrambling to get in their workouts before the weather hit.  Steady jet traffic streamed by overhead as commuters made their way home to the Twin Cities from business trips.  

I was in a zone oblivious to all of the goings on.  I love the feeling of wading into a lake to fly fish.  It is much more convenient and easier to fish from a boat.  However a boat lacks that grounding that really connects you to the present.  I can get supremely tuned in when shore fishing and wet wading.  Yep, I was in the zone and I was going to make something happen.  Tonight was my night.  I wondered what Jen was doing and then got into the rhythm of casting the 10 weight.

I use a stripping basket when doing most of my musky fly-casting.  A stripping basket is worn on a belt around the waist.  It keeps the fly line from tangling around your feet or in the weeds or whatever else is around to snag it.  It allows you to really shoot out far casts and cover water.  

I pick my shore fly fishing musky spots like I pick a good deer stand.  I like areas that will provide me a good shot at a cruising fish from a single vantage point.  I can then focus on getting distance out of the cast and working my presentation back in as seductively as possible.  I do not want to have to relocate too much.  Relocating is tedious and limiting.  I get set and get to business.  I have to believe that the fish is nearby and is going to show.  I cover water but I cover the same water.  I operate a lot on faith.

I get in the rhythm of stripping line off the reel into the basket.  I then work out the line with a couple of false casts and then build line speed with a move called a double haul.  A double haul is like a turbo charger to the fly cast and really gets the line speed up.  Then I pick a spot way out there and shoot the line for all its worth.  When it all goes well it is a beautiful thing to be a part of.  The line in the basket is carried through the guides in a hiss as the cast line pulls it out unrolling over itself as the fly sails to the target.  

Somewhere about ninety to a hundred feet out there the line straightens and the fly stops above the water.  There is a nice tug as the energy from the cast jolts back to your hand and the line and fly fall to the water.  A long-shooting fly cast takes about ten seconds to complete from false casting (twice – any more is wasted effort) to shooting line to unfurling and splashdown give or take a second.  This kind of fly-casting is like hitting a bucket of balls on the driving range with only the driver.  You get to swing for the fence.

It takes time and practice to develop into a good long distance fly caster.  Many anglers not familiar with a 10 weight assume the big rod is for the big flies or to fight the big fish.  Not entirely true.  The 10 weight takes time to get used to.  You have to develop the muscles to handle the weight of the outfit but then its real utility becomes apparent.  It is the best tool for long distance casting for long periods of time if you let the rod do the work.  

If you do the work you will get gassed in about an hour if you are tough, a half hour if you are normal and fifteen minutes if you are the type who does not like any form of physical discomfort.  Most folks are done in about twenty minutes if they are unpracticed.  A good caster used to the rod can fire nearly effortless casts all day.  Like I said, it is a beautiful thing to be a part of when it is all working well.

It must be a cool thing to watch as well.  After about fifty casts and retrieves I take a break to stretch and observe.  The concentration involved is intense and the mind can get weary if not given a break.  I look around and realize that I have a peanut gallery watching me cast.

An elderly couple sitting on a park bench and looking like they are high school sweethearts reunited after fifty years are watching.  They smile and the lady waves.  I smile back and tip my hat.  A father who looks like a sporting man sits in the grass with his well-groomed spaniel and young son.  He is explaining the funny looking casting to his curious boy with whom I am sure he will be sharing some memorable father and son angling adventures in the future.  A big bosomed, fake blond Barbie doll on roller blades, a greasy little hustler in an open silk shirt and a group of teenagers smoking cigarettes on a rolled out quilt round out the audience.  

They all pause their various social engagements and look at me as if wondering, “Will I continue?”  Of course I will and I take a drink from the bottle in the fanny pack and get started with the next set.  This time it will be about a hundred casts before I give it a rest and I wonder what will happen before it is all through.  Will I still have spectators?  Will the storm build and the lightning start and the rain begin falling?

Fifty casts and retrieves take about twenty five to thirty minutes to complete.  If you figure eight minutes of casting and about twenty minutes of actual fishing on the retrieve.  I work the fly back slowly giving it pauses and hesitations to mimic a sick, dying or disoriented minnow.  Easy prey.  

I think as I retrieve about how it felt to be the slow kid out on the tarmac at recess.  The one who was outside the herd and got nailed by the snowball or got pushed into the dog shit by the bullies.  Eat me!

Musky are the wolves in the water.  Their position is at the top of the food chain.  They are there to weed out the young, old and sick.  They are the supervisors who catch you off guard, tap you on the shoulder and ask you if you have got a minute.  Next thing you know you are packing your belongings – your fired!  Bastards.

The sky is beginning to get that green look to it.  You know – that bad color that means someone is loosing the trailer house.  The wind is ebbing but still at my back.  I am in tune.  The casts are true works of art.  I am an efficient machine and I don’t even hear the overhead jet traffic anymore.  Jen is knocking back a drink in a bar somewhere in the city and I am not even aware.

Then on about the seventy-fifth cast of this set I get a jolt of lightning up my arm.  The fly line snaps tight and the rod bucks down.  Somewhere out in the lake an eruption breaks the surface and three feet of silvery fish walks on the surface.  Before I can clear the line from my stripping hand it has dashed somewhere off to the left towards the weed bed and is cart wheeling again – this time thirty feet away in a heartbeat and I am fast to it.

I grunt and raise the rod high to keep the line off the water and out of the weeds.  I backup to the edge of the beach and step out of the water onto the sand.  The rod is held high and the tip bucks as the fish fights the pressure.  I am in control and play it skillfully yet nervously.  I really want to beach this one.

The wind had died down and the surface of the lake is flat.  My heart is in my throat and my breathing is heavy and rapid.  The fish breaks the surface like an arrow and leaps straight up and shakes through a twisting somersault before knifing back through the same splash it made on its way up.  Then in case it didn’t make the point, does it again almost the instant it is back below the surface.

I hear claps and cheers behind me and slowly become aware that I am not alone on the planet.  I hear the overhead sounds of the airplanes again and notice that the air temperature has dropped a few degrees.  The sky is dark and the light is fading.  It is going to rain.

I fight the fish to the beach and keep it on a twenty-foot line.  I walk backwards and the spent creature follows like an obedient dog.  I slide it out of the water onto the sand and it makes a last effort and flips over swapping ends on the sand.  I have my first musky on a fly rod!

I walk over and admire the sleek creature.  It is not three feet long but it is over 30” and I am satisfied.  It sides are silvery and have faint spots along the flanks.  It is shaped like a missile and the fins and forked tail have a tinge of red to them.  It freed the fly when it somersaulted and it no longer attached to my line.

I kneel down and put it back in the water as the first raindrops start to fall from the sky.  Someone asks what I caught and I am distracted.  I attempt to lift the fish from the water and it explodes away in a rush.  Gone.

“It was a musky.”  I say as I stand and gather my rod.  I look back and the older couple is still there as is the blond Barbie in her day glow pink tights.  The others have gone but there are different souls around who were attracted to the sounds of the battle.

“I didn’t know there were those in here”, a small lady wearing Birkenstocks says to her similarly shod companion.  

“Neither did I until now”, I mutter and the joke is lost on all but me as the rain starts in earnest and we all disband.  I stay on the beach in the fading light and soak in the atmosphere as I get wet.  

I did not expend the 10,000 casts deemed necessary for such a catch but it sure felt like it over the course of the summer.  I’ll bet I fired close to 7,000 anyway and I am not disappointed.  If you figure about a hundred casts an hour then I guess I had seventy hours into that fish.  I am ahead of the curve I figure as I walk over to the truck.  I wonder how many more I will need to get the next one.  The counter is back to zero.