Make mine muskies!

It's already started. I had a dream last night, and there I was, knees braced against the stern, and a rod bowed almost double from the force of a big muskellunge that was steadily taking line.

This dream had some basis in fact, and it was three years ago when I first fought and lost a huge Lake St. Clair muskie that wouldn't come up off the bottom.

Muskie dreams are just what they are: dreams of big toothy fish. Occasionally my muskie dreams will contain combined elements from two or three different and unforgettable muskie fishing experiences.

What causes these dreams? Beats me, but I suspect it comes from thinking of muskellunge fishing.  Two years ago, I tipped an old buddy -- Larry Ramsell of Hayward, Wisconsin -- off to a Michigan hotspot I've known about for 30 years. I couldn't go because I was recovering from one of many eye surgeries, so I gave him a clue.

Larry Ramsell (above) of Hayward, Wisc. fishes all the great muskie waters.

The general locale was the St. Marys River in the eastern Upper Peninsula, which encompasses a large chunk of watery real estate. He and two others fished the first day and got lucky. They caught a 42-inch fish.

The next day one angler landed and released a small fish, another angler hooked and lost a large muskie, and then Ramsell nailed a 53 1/2-inch muskie that weighed approximately 45 pounds, and they still were nowhere near my hotspot.

Ramsell is a great muskie angler, and perhaps the most savvy of all. He recognized good muskie water, and fished it hard and caught fish.

A photo of Ramsell and his trophy fish appears above, and I'll probably dream of it tonight. However, to illustrate how fickle muskie fishing can be, Ramsell returned the following year and never caught a fish. A cold front moved in, and he and I fished in high winds and rain for two days without either of us having a strike.

The odd thing about muskie fishing is the reason we fish for muskies is it becomes a personal quest for a trophy fish. The above fish isn't Ramsell's first 40+-pounder, but very few fish of such honest sizes will tip the scales to that weight. He admits that the quest, the enduring search if you will, for an even larger muskie is what drives him and many others to travel widely and fish often for a larger muskie.

Satisfying that quest does occur, but not for everyone. I've hooked three or four 40-pounds in many years of fishing for them. The trick is to fish all the known big-fish waters but never fail to try other lakes. Nearby Long Lake undoubtedly holds 40-pound fish or even larger, but very few are landed. Most are hooked by accident by people fishing for other species, and invariably the fish breaks off and gets away.

Years ago, I boated a big muskie on Dale Hollow Reservoir, on the border of Kentucky and Tennessee. That fish weighed 36 1/2 pounds, and it is the biggest muskie I've landed. But this muskie fishing is like an itch that needs a good scratching. It’s something like poison ivy of the brain.

The only thing that relieves the itch is to go muskie fishing again. And always, lurking in the darkest corner of our brain, is the thought of our biggest fish. A quest to top that fish, and not necessarily to keep it, is what keeps us pounding the water.

Lake St. Clair is gaining the reputation as possibly the best muskie lake of all.

The Lake St. Clair fish I hooked three years ago was never seen. Fish hooked while trolling, and this is especially true if it is a big fish, is they will stay deep. It may roll on the surface toward the end of the fight, but they normally stay down until they get plumb wore out.

My unseen fish hit a down-rod on the corner of the boat, with the lure in the prop wash, and it ripped off yards of line. We cleared other lines, and that fish and I tussled for more than 20 minutes. I'd move it up off bottom, and down it would go again, and take out more line. Back and forth we went until I could sense the fish tiring, and it rolled under the surface where it was impossible to see the length and girth, and then rolled over and the lure came free.

Then there was a muskie hooked while fishing after dark. The lake was Murphy Lake in Tuscola County. Me and another guy were casting huge plugs that sputtered along on the surface with gurgles and small splashes from our muskie-size Hula Poppers and Jitterbugs.

"Blub-blub-blub" would come the sound as we retreived the surface lures with an occasional pause. My partner got a big backlash when his lure was near the boat, and a big northern muskie struck the lure and broke the line.

An hour later as we lamented the lost fish I had a massive jarring strike. I'd worked for an hour on those hooks, and they were razor sharp. That fish hit, and I pounded the hook home twice. That fish took out 30 yards of line, and I played her with a cool hand.

Even at that, the fish was a monster. One develops a sense for big fish after hooking a number of them, and I'd triggered that fish quick and hard. It was hooked well, and I played it under the light of a bright moon. Nearly 20 minutes into the fight, the fish ran toward the boat, rolled over, splashing us with water and we came undone.

I suspect the prolonged fight and the big hooks wore big holes in that fish's jaw, and when it rolled, the heavy lure fell out, and the giant muskie swam free.

Lost big fish often are the rule rather than the exception. Many simply get away.

I remember another big muskie that followed a Suick twice in three days on Wisconsin's Tomahawk Lake. It looked half as long as the 16-foot boat but I know it wasn't quite that big, but it was well over 50 inches long. Could it have hit that magical weight of 40 pounds?

Undoubtedly. My buddy from Wisconsin, who had seen and caught several very large muskies, estimated the fish at 55 inches and at least 45 pounds. That 'lunge still figures in an occasional dream.

Another time on Ontario's Lake of the Woods near Kenora, I had a savage strike at boat-side from an unseen muskie. The fish missed the plug after I began lifting it out for another cast.

The next thing I knew there was this enormous muskie camped three feet behind my Bobbie Bait. I kept the lure moving, plunged the rod into the water at the boat, and kept it moving. That fish followed it through several Figure-8 and J-stroke rod movements, and then it sank slowly out of sight without offering up to hit the lure.

How big was it? I had caught a brief glimpse, and it was well over 55 inches. Was it one of those legendary 60-inch fish? Beats me, but I know I saw that fish in my dreams for two or three years. Writing about it now may bring the dream back to life again.

Years ago, Craig Lake in the Upper Peninsula was a hotspot for big muskies. It was a small lake, hard to reach at that time, and motors were not allowed. A good man on the oars could row around the lake easily in two hours.

A buddy was fishing a spinnerbait when a muskie struck at the fast-moving lure and missed. I pitched a Suick over there, and the fish bulged the water behind the lure but didn't hit. I applied rod-tip English to the lure, and it followed the lure all the way to the canoe. That  fish probably weighed 40 pounds but we'll never know.

Later that day a buddy caught a muskie weighing 25 pounds at the opposite end of the lake. It would have been dwarfed by the earlier fish.

I've been privileged to have caught a great number of muskies in my life. I'm missed some very big fish, hooked some that were truly huge, and lost all but the Dale Hollow fish, and it remains my largest so far.

Will Lake St. Clair produce something big this year? I honestly think so. It produces plenty of muskies, and a goodly number of 40-45  pounders have been taken and several fish much larger have been seen. Luck, and being in the right spot at the right time, are things anglers truly need to be successful with these big fish.

It is very difficult to crack that hallowed 40-pound mark, and although some anglers do it each year, it is not a common situation. Granted, on occasion a novice will catch a truly big fish by accident or good fortune, but for dedicated muskie hunters, nailing a 40-pounder is why we chase these grand game fish.

And, once we crack that mark, we'll try for a 45-pounder. Go figure!

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors