Photo of Husky the Muskie in Kenora: Pamela Schonberger
[Editor’s Note: The following is Owen Schonberger’s account of his family fishing trip to Lake of the Woods for muskie. He wrote it for his high school English class.]
It is a crisp cool morning on Lake of the Woods. Swooping white pines line the shore and weave to create a dense forest landscape. Cottages situated on the rock of the Canadian Shield scatter the lake. “Ready to go?” asks my dad as I sit on the dock, pondering. “Of course,” I reply. My mom smiles.
I’ve aspired to fish this lake since I was a little kid, never thinking that one day I might have a chance to fish it. This lake holds an abnormal amount of fish like no other. The Muskie: a large, elongated fish with rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth that eats whatever fits in its mouth, and grows up to five feet long. I swing my legs off the dock as we await our guide, Darcy. His boat sparkles in the dawn, and lures shine from the rods set up on the deck. He walks down from his lakeside home and greets us with firm handshakes.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Excited to get out,” I say and take a seat in the back of the boat.
Muskie maneuvers
My younger brother sits next to me and the 250 horsepower motor fires to life. We drive 45 minutes out to the first spot, passing hundreds of islands, and a beautiful landscape with the odd cottage nestled within the pines. I cast a large spinner and ensure that my technique is sound. Muskie do not eat lures the instant they see them, but follow them for as long as possible before making a decision to eat. This behaviour results in an adrenalin rush like no other. A grey monster follows the lure to the side of the boat. It turns wide due to its sheer size. Its face trails and inches behind the hooks, and just as soon as it comes, the fish disappears into the depths.
Two hours pass at four different spots with no fish. We drive to the fifth spot, a rocky shoal in between two islands with a steep drop off. I cast towards the shallows, bringing the lure over the depths as I retrieve it. Dad casts an identical lure 20 feet from mine. As his lure reaches the boat, a large muskie follows, inching towards the lure as it cuts through the water.
“Ohhh!” he exclaims and begins to draw a figure eight with the lure. Just as soon as it came, the muskie turns and delves into the dark, tea-stained water. The excitement mounts as I meet eyes with my Dad.
“Holyyyyyy!”
“Did you see that thing?”
“Yeah, must be a 50 incher!”
Shore lunch
Twenty minutes pass. We rotate around the shoal, continuing to cast. The reel screams as the thick, braided line flies off the spool. The spinner hits the water with a splash that echoes around the cove. A routine cast. I retrieve and begin to figure eight at the boat. Out of nowhere, the four-foot-plus muskie appears and swipes at my lure. Adrenalin rushes as I get my first follow of the day. The fish darts off. My figure eight was too tight. The fish was too long to turn sharp enough to catch the hooks.
We fish 3 more spots thoroughly. It’s now around lunch and we decide as a group to pull off onto a campsite. I take a rope and tie the boat to a towering white pine. Mom takes out the lunches from a bag and sets them out on a moss-covered, rotted picnic table. I eat my sandwich and gaze out at the water. The boat rocks against the shore. The sun beams down. I’ve got to land a fish.
My loose sun shirt flows in the wind as we drive out to the next spot. A set of islands. Gull Island and Little Gull. We circle Gull and turn no results. Onto Little Gull. A L shaped nook on the island is our first stop. It’s been over 5 hours of constant casting asides from lunch. The lures are heavier than what I am used to, and fatigue sets in as the sun beats down on us. In the final few hours of our trip, I hope with every ounce of my body to hook a fish.
The Canadian Shield
Lake of the Woods. A 2 hour drive from Winnipeg, and 2000 kilometres from Toronto. Over 22 hours of driving, and countless hours of planning led to this day. Please hook a fish.
A 10 foot cliff face of the Canadian Shield reaches out over the water and creates a steep drop off in the lake. The L bend in the island looks promising. Small pines line the rocky shoreline, and seagulls rest on the rocks. Darcy deploys the electric trolling motor, and GPS holds us in place with a click of a button. It’s 12:58, the water is perfectly flat. The expanse of Lake of the Woods fills the landscape around us. I cast towards the cliff.
I retrieve for what feels like the 1000th time today.
But this time it feels different.
Everything feels too perfect.
The tinsel of my spinner dances behind the blades, shining in the sunlight. Seagulls squawk. A muskie appears from the dark behind my lure, following it within inches.
Figure-eight fish
Photo of Owen Schonberger: Pamela Schonberger
“Fish, fish!” I say, immediately focusing on my figure eight. The fish continues to follow my lure. One figure eight. The fish still trails. Its elongated, scarred, brown body flows through the water like a hot knife through butter. Two figure eights. The fish will not commit. It starts to peel off slightly, still behind the lure. I break my third figure eight by my feet, and begin to draw a circle.
“Don’t break the figure eight!” Darcy yells behind my shoulder. He sighs and throws the net down. I turn the lure to the left to begin the circle.
“GOT ‘ER!” I yell as the fish thrashes two feet from the boat. In disbelief, Darcy leaps up, grabs the net again, and instructs me to steer the fish to the other side of the boat. The fish’s fins turn bright red as it fights for its life. I drag the 35-pound fish around the bow of the boat, and with a sweeping motion, Darcy nets the fish.
“YESSS!!!!!!” I yell and I set the rod down. Mom exhales. My little brother smiles.
“Holy shit,” says Dad.
A personal-best muskie after 22 hours of driving, over a thousand casts, months of planning, and a moment that will stay with me for the rest of my life.
