The Lake Where You Live

Last evening, while fishing on a favorite lake, I was cranking in a swim bait after an unsatisfactory cast.

This lake is known for smallmouth and largemouth bass, and that is what my companion and I were catching. At mid-retrieve, I felt a sharp strike; two seconds later another, and this time the hook connected.

It wasn’t like a bass to hit a bait being reeled back at speed and close to the surface. The bass we’d caught were down deep. And this fish swam fast, with repeated jerks on the line. So I told my pal, “This is acting like a northern.”

And sure enough, that’s what it was — the only one I have caught in this lake, which I have fished for more than four decades. The interesting thing was that I didn’t have to see it before I strongly suspected its identity. The pike was about 18 slender inches. The hook fell free while it was in the landing net; we released it unharmed.

The experience made me think of how different fish attack a bait, and fight once on the line, The bass we were catching responded to slow presentations. The strikes in most cases felt like an extra weight on the line. The largemouths tugged hard and steady, mostly straight down. Near the boat they would surface and thrash their head. 

The smallmouths behaved similarly, although they pulled much harder — not for nothing are they called “the fighter.” And sometimes, at boatside, they would leap a couple of feet clear of the water before coming to the net.

The lake we were fishing has no walleyes that I’m aware of, but they have their own signature behavior when hooked. Some say they put up little resistance. That usually is not my experience. They tend to hold deep, shaking and thrashing their head. Larger ones can stay down for quite a spell. They swim with seemingly less sense of urgency; I’d describe the sensation as persistent throb against the rod. Anyway, when I’ve hooked one, I generally know it.

Then there are muskies. I don’t fish for them a lot, but I’d describe the feel of their fight as a heavy, muscular, yet restrained presence, interrupted by powerful rushes. There’s no mistaking it. But in my book, something outfights a musky, and that’s a Lake Michigan salmon.

I’ve caught a chinook (king) or two while fishing on a pier, and their speed and power are amazing. A big one might barrel straight out toward the deep, peeling off line against the drag until the knot fixing the end of the line to the reel snaps, with a ping! Anglers call that “getting spooled.”

As for other fish in our northern inland lakes, bluegills and sunfish turn a broad side toward the angler and tug hard, ultimately spinning circles as the resist the upward pull on the line. Crappies tend to bite lightly and fight hard for a moment; then their resistance wanes. Perch struggle erratically. Rock bass hit with force but then give up, as if to say, “Fine, go ahead, reel me in.”

Anyway, if you’ve done a fair bit of fishing, you pretty well know what you have on the line before you see it in the net. 

Ted Rulseh, a writer, author and advocate for lake protection, lives on Birch Lake in Oneida County. Visit him and his blog at https://thelakeguy.net.