It's Time...

It's been exactly 3 months and 4 days since the last time I swam on open water in the Ranger.  When I think of it that way, winter doesn't seem too long at all.  Heck, I feel like I just got out of that bad boy.  Well anyway, here we go again, and this time we are a few days ahead of schedule.  Typically we would just start thinking about getting the boat out of storage, but I'm actually bummed that I didn't get it out sooner.  The reason?  First, we are going to have a flood coming up soon which will likely end the season early, and secondly, they swines are already smacking.

Yesterday Mitch, Bails and I snuck away from the grindstones of work a little early to enjoy the day and see what was happening on the flowing waters.  This proved to be a good choice, because the water was much warmer than I expected, and the fish were literally smacking the jigs.  It took about 2 to 3 minutes to land the firs one.  We found a pod of fish stacked in a likely haunt and caught our share.  Not that we weren't happy with the fish, but they weren't exactly up to our size standards - so we moved on.

As the afternoon quickly came to a wrap, we struck gold.  I found a little teenie tiny cut that was loaded with some very nice fish.  It was everything you could dream of in a first time fishing outing.  Numbers and size!  Not to mention the great company in the boat.  As the sun faded, we quickly snapped some scenic shots over the river banks and as luck would have it, the final piece to our puzzle latched on the jig.  A swine that shook her head like no other.  It doesn't get any better than that!

Here's a quick tip if you want to fish the river.  Do it now.  If you wait a few days or weeks, it's likely to be all over.  We are about a week or two ahead of schedule, but floods and high water are predicted which will make this feat impossible.  It's time...  Until next time, keep on livin' the dream!

Extreme Ice Fishing...

I've done a lot of stupid things in my day.  I've put my life in some precarious situations more than once, and I've taken risks that many fisherman would likely think foolish.  I've seen some insane conditions and circumstances have unfolded in the past that left me shaking my head.  I thought I had seen a lot, that was until this weekend.  What I experienced makes everything else seem like no big deal.  I cannot imagine it could get any more intense than this.  Let me explain.

It all started out on Friday evening.  Mike Tengwall, "Tinger," and I hooked up the trailer, loaded the snowmobile and portable shack, and headed for northern Wisconsin.  The object of our effection was Lake Trout on Lake Superior.  I've heard the stories about the ice and watched the news episodes about the guys drifting away on ice chunks, only to be rescued by helicopters.  In fact, that was exactly what we were discussing at about 10:30 PM as our snowmobile trailer ripped off the tongue and went flying out of control at 60 mph.  We got lucky and somehow the trailer stayed upright as it spun in circles attached to absolutely nothing.  God was looking down on us, because magically our gear made it through the disaster and the trailer never flipped.  To make a long story short, this was not the way we wanted to start our trip, and it took us the next 4.5 hours to get all of our gear to the hotel.

Our night was short and our morning consisted of trying to resolve our problem first thing before we went fishing.  We quickly discovered that northern Wisconsin is not the best place to shop for a snowmobile trailer.  We would have ended up with nothing, but found a local business owner about 50 miles away looking to sell a trailer.  After everything we went through, we bought it immediately.

Finally, we reached the ice shortly before noon.  It was at this point that we should have taken everything as a sign and turned dircectly around.  Our friends, Kent and Jenny, were already out on the ice and our goal was a GPS icon that had been so hot for Mike and Kent the years before.  Kent reached that 250 foot deep spot by snowmobile on Friday and had good ice beneath him.  In fact, the locals had piles of fish on the ice when he got there.  That was yesterday, this was today.

When we finally navigated our way 10 miles through the Apostle islands, it was very clear that the ice we wanted to fish no longer remained.  In fact, we were looking at nothing but open water as far as the eye could see.  It left an uneasy feeling in our stomachs to be so close to the water's edge, especially when one of the locals came up to us and said that this ice would soon be gone too.  We were so close but yet not willing to put ourselves any closer to the water and decided to fish for a short period before we left for the afternoon.  To fish in 230 feet of water only a few hundred yards from open water was just not right.  I had that eerie feeling in my stomach the whole time, but managed to pick up on the techniques and coax a few Lakers into eating.  Unfortunately I missed all 3 of them and we headed to shore without a day one fish.

Day 2 we figured we would get in on the morning bite and fish in a similar area from the day before.  As we came around the island, 2 of the locals that headed out before us were coming back our way.  Mike instantly said, "that's not good if they are coming back," and as we approached them it was very clear why.  The entire area that we had fished the day before was nothing but open water.  It broke loose in places that we didn't even think possible.  Somehow the current that was ripping through the islands had take out nearly all the ice in it's way.  It was simply incredible to see a mile of ice just dissappear only 12 hours after we had fished it.

As we stood on the ice trying to ponder our next move, things became even more interesting.  Jenny made an insane revelation when she said "guys, am I seeing things, or is this ice moving up and down?" She was right and it was beyond freaky.  If you stopped walking around, you could look in one direction and physically watch the ice raise and lower a foot or two at a time.  I didn't even think this was possible, but sure enough, as I looked at Mike and the others we were riding on waves.  At one point I would be a foot taller than Mike, then the wave would continue and I'd be a foot lower.  It put knots in my stomach instantly.  It was the worst roller coaster ride I had ever experienced, and to make it even worse, we were only on 6 inches of ice.  Every crack around us had water in it (the tell-tale sign that the ice is going to break free) and we were without ever knowing, in the heart of it all.  If I didn't think that I could fall through at any second, it would actually have been kind of cool to get my camera, set it up, and record the motion effect.  That was not the case though, and I didn't race for the camera.  Instead, it was a race to get the heck out of there.

With an entire 5 square mile section of ice now off limits, we opted for a somewhat protected location to try our luck.  It was a new spot a few miles away and around an island.  None of us had ever fished it before, but we didn't care and just wanted an area that we felt safe and could wet a line.  In our minds we were still shaken up and just wanted to fish comfortably.  This was the right idea and by 9:15 AM we were finally fishing.  Around 10:00 I finally iced my first Lake Trout.  Not a giant, but a Laker nonetheless, and out of 160 feet of water, it was pretty darn sweet.  Mike followed that up shortly after with a couple of his own and soon after Jenny and Kent each iced their first fish.  Entangled in the fun we almost forgot about our morning experience.  Mike then stole the show with a battle that was the exact reason for our insane adventure.  A dandy of a laker that gave me a new appreciation for a giant battle on ice.  It was at that point that we could almost enjoy the art of fishing again.  Unfortunately that was all about to change.

As the early hours of the afternoon started to pass Mike took a walk outside.  It was obvious that something drastic was changing under our feet.  All I heard from Mike was "Travis, you better get out here."  As I walked out of the house I noticed that it was wet every step I took.  All the cracks had water in them (the bad sign) and Mike told me to stand still.  Sure enough, I could literally see the waves in the ice.  We were raising and lowering as if we were in a boat.  I can honestly tell you that this is not cool when you are on ice.  Not even a little bit.  Our stomachs just dropped and we raced to get our gear packed up.  We tried to keep our cool, but you could feel the urgency in our work.  In a matter of seconds we were ready to go but the snowmobile was stuck in the wet snow.  Not cool.  As fast as two grown men could, we pushed the snowmobile and sled out and started heading back as fast as possible.  The only problem was the loose chunks of ice that we were driving over.  The smaller chunks would take on water as the weight of our machine would push them down.  I almost crapped my pants at that point, but thankfully the snowmobile could handle it and would skip over the bad spots.  It wasn't until a few miles and two large pressure ridges were crossed before we had any sense of comfort about us.  I can honestly say that I have never screamed "Go, Go, Go," so loud in my entire life.  The second we hit shore I knelt down, patted the ground and said thank you God.  For the first time in my life, I actually thought that I may have gone too far and tested the limits too much.  We were so pumped to be on solid land and without hesitation, we called it a weekend.  We packed the gear and drove 6 hours through a midwest snowstorm.

We figured we lost a good 5 years on our lives after that day.  Looking back on it all, I can say that I never truely felt comfortable on that ice.  I wore a life jacket and had ice picks, which I am usually too tough to wear.  There were several times that I will admit to being scared.  It sounds aweful to say, but I remember playing out scenarios in my mind for when we went through.  How would I get out?  What would I do if we both were in the water?  Things that I've never had in my mind on a fishing trip.  I can't explain it, it was just something that I am glad I made it through, and glad I was able to experience just once.  But, on the plus side, I was told that this was as bad as anyone has seen it up there.  So I guess I have seen the worst of it.  Will I go back?  I don't know that yet.  I'm still trying to clean my shorts.

P.S.  That ice we narrowly escaped from on Sunday...It's gone.  Until next time, keep on livin' the dream!

Prelude to the One...

Ahh yes, it's about that time again.  Time for the big girls to come out and play.  For most, November means deer hunting, pheasant hunting, or just hunting in general.  For me, this still applies, but I also go hunting for the one.  The biggest, fattest, meanest fish swimming in fresh water.  I tend to give her a personal name, but we all know her best as the state record muskie.

If you haven't followed my quest in the past, here is a bit of info to get you up to speed.  Each fall, specifically the month of November, I begin a quest to land the next state record muskie.  I know this might sound rather stupid to think that a guy can just go out and catch a state record fish, but it really isn't that out of line.  See, in the fall these fish become larger.  Given the right lake with the right forage, these muskies can literally weigh an extra 10 pounds heavier during November than at any other time of the year.  Finding the right locations and timing things perfectly put the odds in your favor to land muskies exceeding 50 pounds.  This isn't simple by any means and it takes great patience and persistence in the worst elements mother nature can throw out, but the rewards can be incredible.

For the last two seasons I have been concentrating my efforts on Lake Mille Lacs.  It is no secret that this lake holds some of the largest muskies ever grown.  Coupled with the tullibee population, these beasts reach peak weight just before the ice forms.  It is cold, it is exhausting, but I have found ways to cope and I have found fish willing to strike.  Two years ago I landed a fish that still leaves me wondering.  She was a beaut that no doubt surpassed the 50 pound mark.  The next day I scored another giant that might have only been a few pounds shy of the record as well.  It was those two fish that fueled my fire to catch a fish larger than the current record.

Last season was another epic quest that gets me excited to start this years journey.  I located 3 fish that I figured would have topped the scales around that elusive 54 pound mark.  Two of them were near the record, and one of them totally blew the rest away.  I nicknamed her Diane, and we fished her hard when the weather would allow for the better part of two weeks.  I estimated her at about 60 pounds, and I am not making this up or exxaggerating.  Some days I could get her to follow and others she would have none of my business.  When she would come to the boat, it was a sight out of this world.  Picture a five gallon bucket nearly 60 inches long following your bait and you will understand what I am talking about.  She was almost surreal.  I don't remember the date, but there was one time that we got her to eat.  It was with my good buddy Mike that day, and after releasing a nice mid 40 inch muskie, we quickly drove to her location hoping the short window of opportunity was till open.  I pointed to her home, and Mike landed the lure spot on.  She devoured the bait the second the lure hit the water, and chaos broke loose.  It was a battle that I will never forget, and one that left Mike in tears on the back deck of the boat.  As the fish came around the boat, she did a barrel role and the over-sized lure popped free.  It was an experience that you literally had to be there to understand.  Sure it's only a fish tale at this point, but something so large and powerful still leaves me sleepless at night.  I know what we had, and we had the next state record inches from the net.

So with that, I hope you understand my quest for the one.  It is not made up, it is not exxaggerated, it is not a ridiculous feat to accomplish, but it is the most insane fishing one can imagine.  As the water temps continue to fall to the perfect degree, I will soon be trailering the boat north.  When you are in your deer stand, I will likely be on the water.  When you are ice fishing the first frozen lakes, I will likely be chipping the access free to launch my boat.  When the weather cooperates and the winds lay down, I will likely be somewhere on that big pond.  This year I will have more guests than ever before.  Clients, Newspaper writers, television crews and good fishing friends are all on the menu to join the insanity.  It's all gonna be a hoot!  What will we do when we land that beast?  I just don't know, but I hope that you follow along and join me for the entire experience.  Until the state record strikes, keep on chasing your dream!

Travis Frank - Travis@mnbound.com - www.trophyencounters.com

NoDak Ducks, Mud and More...

It's been a while since I donned the waders in a slopping pile of mud.  Last week I did just that, and boy did it feel good.  Tuesday night I jumped in the truck filled with my huntin' buddies, Dusty, Scott, Jeff and Sean.  For us, it was a much anticipated trip to North Dakota for ducks, geese, pheasants and anything else that flies.  For the most part, we were after mallards in that picture perfect field hunt setting, but on trips like this, we do anything necessary to get the job done.  Once we get our fill of chasing ducks, then we switch gears, change from camoflouge to blaze orange, and follow the dog through the weeds in search of roosters.  It's chaotic, exciting, overwhelming and exhausting, but that is why we love hunting in Nodak, and we certainly don't waste a minute of daylight during our trips.

Wednesday morning we learned exactly how our week would be spent.  Mud was the word, and sloppy was an understatement.  We met up with Young Ben, and he took us to a mallard honey hole.  Hoping for that perfect mallard shoot in the "dry" field, Ben greeted us with the comment, "oh, and you guys need to bring your waders, leave the blinds in the truck." Yes, we were hunting a field, but the darn thing was flooded, along with half of the other fields in NoDak.  Oh well, we didn't care and followed Ben's orders to Mallard heaven.  Soon after we were reminded why we love hunting in the central of the flyway as we cut mallards that were tumbling into our meager little spread of 6 decoys and 2 spinning wings.

After the completion of our Wednesday morning hunt, we continued our drive to the final destination in the central part of the state.  It was about two more hours west.  Slowly we drove out of the insanely flooded field country and into the area that we had hunted for the past 7 years.  Well it took us two days for things to click, but while we enjoyed the dry areas in the middle of the state, the duck numbers were less and so were our results.  The ducks were enjoying the sloppy wet fields to the east, which meant that we too would have to suck it up and follow the migration the way nature intended it to be.  With a sigh, we packed our gear and headed back to scout the muddy field waters.  It took us about 5 minutes to find thousands of mallards.  We locked about a dozen locations in our GPS in a matter of hours, and obtained permission to the privately owned duck havens.

While this was quite a drive, it was clearly worth it.  The next morning we slopped through the mud to the waters edge and put out our small ducky spread.  Then we laid our nice looking coffin blinds in the mud and spread the goo all over the outside.  As the skies to the east started to glow, we were bombarded by ducks by the hundreds.  It really was the hunt of a lifetime, the reason for our trip and the reason that I will be back next year.  During the next few hours we picked out greenies and folded 'em like we knew what we were doing.  As we filled our limit we just laughed at the sight of everything we had just done.  The blinds were covered in mud, inside and out, and everything we touched had a layer of black somewhere on it.  It was crazy, but so worth it!

As I returned to the farmer that gave us permission, he chuckled at the sight of what I had become.  My face covered in mud and war-paint, I told him thank you for the hunt of a lifetime.  He obliged and continued to laugh.  Looking back at it all, I would have been laughing if I were him too.  We looked ridiculous, our white truck was brownish black and our gear the same.  If you are a duck hunter, it just doesn't get any better than that.  If you are a farmer, then you will laugh at the guy that pulls up to your front door.  That's just how it is, and I get it!  For us, all the work that we put in will be forgotten, but that hunt will remain in our memory 'til we retire.

The rest of the trip was more of the same, along with some "dry" pheasant hunts that kept us occupied when we weren't swimming in the muddy fields.  We laughed uncontrollably at times, and we got to watch Jeff's dog, Bella, retrieve her first ducks and flush her first pheasants.  The only negative part of the trip was that I chose not to bring the camera into the muddy hunts and the pictures will have to be remembered in our minds instead of on film.  Oh well, those memories will be stuck in my mind forever.  Thanks for the remarkable trip fella's, I can't wait 'til next year!  Until then, Keep on livin' the dream!

Travis Frank - Travis@mnbound.com - www.trophyencounters.com

Fishing With Legends - Brad Hoppe

A couple of weeks ago I was fortunate enough to spend a week fishing with a legendary angler by the name of Joe Bucher.  This man has an extensive history with our sport of muskie angling.  What he has done in his lifetime is certainly nothing short of amazing.  As cool as that was, I returned home for a short stay and then went straight to northern Minnesota to spend some time with another stud in the muskie world.  We were once again filming a show for "Legends of Rod and Reel," a program that airs on the Outdoor Channel, but this time we were filming with the creators of the all impressive muskie catching Cowgirls.

Brad Hoppe is the name behind the bait and the focus of our program.  While the history behind this man may not be that of Joe Bucher or other fishing icons that we grew up with, what he has been able to do in a short period of time is simply incredible.  Muskie fishing as we know it has changed dramatically over the last 5 years, and it is his passion for change that created it.  Here's a brief story to explain what I am talking about.

Several years ago Brad and his girlfriend at the time named Carrie, decided that they wanted to create something totally different in the world of muskie fishing.  They had tinkered with a few jerkbaits and crankbaits, but it wasn't until Carrie found some tinsel/flashabou and spun herself a bucktail with two gigantic blades that they struck a nerve.  The nerve was from the muskies and their eagerness to eat the lure.  Upon creation, Brad said that he thought it was goofy and didn't want to throw it.  Well, Carrie finally talked him into it, and minutes later he landed the largest muskie of his life measuring 53.5 inches.  From there, the explosion occured, and soon guides like Jason Hammernick were throwing it with unbelievable results.  If you muskie fish today, then you have heard of their line of baits.  The Double Cowgirl, Showgirl, Siligirl and Super Model are their trademarks, and boy have they stuck.  Their bladed baits have accounted for more muskies over 50 inches than possibly any other lure during its time.  It's almost to the point of unfairness to the fish, and if you are on any muskie lake, odds are that you will hear the clanking of their blades flying through the air.

The neat part for me is learning where it all started, and to see how everything is hand made, one at a time for our fish catching pleasure.  Today, Brad and Carrie are married.  They both have quit their day jobs to focus entirely on muskie fishing.  Brad is a full-time guide, and Carrie is a full-time lure making artist.  From their place out in the country near Alexandria, MN, they put together hundreds of thousands of baits for you and I to toss.  It's almost overwhelming to see it all, but very neat.  They laughed when they said that some muskie fisherman have thought that their lures are made out fo the country.  I can assure you this is not the case, and I have witnessed their Musky Mayhem.

Of course we also had to fish.  Brad and Carrie bundled up for our outing, and almost immediately the fish responded.  The third cast of our trip brought a hefty musky boatside, but she didn't take.  Shortly after, the guide's trademark name came about as the Musky Mayhem we were looking for exploded at our feet.  Carrie had latched into a beast of a fish at boatside on one of her newly put together Cowgirls.  The results?  Well, I guess you'll just have to watch the program to see how it all went down.  Day two we were joined by muskie phenom Jason Hammernick.  He and Brad jumped in the boat together for our final day of on the water filming.  Again, we saw fish ranging into the mid 50's, and again, I will let you watch to see what happened.

For me, spending time with some of the biggest names in muskie fishing, past and present, has been one of the best experiences in my young career.  These guys are all truly unique in their own way.  How they started, what they have done, and their passion for the fish is very inspiring.  I guess I am almost humbled to say that I have fished with some of the Legends of Rod and Reel.  Until next time, keep on livin' the dream!

Travis Frank - travis@mnbound.com - www.trophyencounters.com