GRANDPA AND CHARLIE

Walleye fishing: outdoor life: field and stream

Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

I remember when I first when fishing for walleyes. I was about ten years old. I was going with my cousin, Paul, 8 at the time. Our dads, my uncle Jim and my grandfather. It was the usual get everything set up fishing rods, fishing basket, worms and bucket of minnows. The minnow we took were the usual ones but there were also a dozen shiners. After getting in boat we headed out towards the north shore. About half the way there on Cotton Lake was a reed bed. We started fishing in about 12 feet of water. We caught a few sunfish and perch. After twenty minutes, we moved to the north side. The water was deeper here. It was time for some serious fishing. Our dads, uncle, and grandpa bet a dollar on first walleye, most and biggest. The bite was going well. My cousin and I had netted three black crappies and half a dozen large perch. I put another perch in the basket and a new minnow. I barely had it down when he bit. It was my first walleye. It is still the smallest one I ever caught. Grandpa laughed, reached into bucket, and pulled out a large shiner. It was bigger than him. I released my walleye. Grandpa lowered him to the bottom and got a nibble three times. He brought the shiner up to check on him.

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This is when it happens. My cousin and I swore he lost his mind. There are too many days in sun fishing, teaching us his love of fishing. The catching of a bullhead meant end of fishing. Grandpa didn’t even pull them in, just cut line and start over. That June night, he talked to his minnow.

He called him Charlie. He said it was Charlie Brown. We watched him talk to him. He told Charlie to punch the perch in his nose. To our shock, it stopped. For fifteen minutes, no bite. Then, a nibble on his line. Grandpa brought up Charlie, a little used but good. He said when that walleye came back to grab his nose, hold tight and yank hard three times. Two minutes later, as the sun shone to the west horizon, there were three pulls. Grandpa set the hook and brought it up. There was Charlie on top of the lip of a walleye. It couldn’t be. Grandpa smiled and said, "Pay up.”

He and Charlie did it twice more. He looked at Charlie and said, "You have it to do once more.”

Charlie seemed to agree. There was another bite. This was a bigger one. The fight was epic. We caught a glimpse of a fish as Grandpa called for net. The northern had other ideas. It broke the surface, spitting out the hook and a broken Charlie into Grandpa’s lap.

It swam toward the reeds like a triumphant warrior. Grandpa seemed to salute him as he picked up Charlie, almost torn in half. It was time to go in. We had fish to clean. Grandpa told us a secret while cleaning. If action gets slow, talk to your bait. The angels of fishing always listen. Sometimes, they answer. To this day, I talk to minnows and crawlers. Over half the time, if sincere, the fishing angels grant your help. You never know what advice the old can bring.

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