MAYFLY MANIA... Insect hatch triggers musky madness
By Dick Ellis
Reader Note: This column originally published in 2003 is being reprinted in honor of the Bob Ellis Row Trolling Classic scheduled for Saturday, June 16, 2012 from Presque Isle. For details, connect with www.row-troller.com or call 608-220-0989. The author is Bob Ellis’s nephew.
By the tens of thousands, the mayflys dried their wings on the glass surface of Island Lake and lifted into the black, declaring a kind of independence from their larval nursery. Above the pier, the night sky hummed and moved as the insects wandered through a new life that would ultimately be measured in hours.
Bad news for the walleye anglers, I thought, watching the night take on a life of its own as the sand ran out on the final day of June. The abundance of mayflies was an abundance of food for the walleyes, and natural competition by the ton for any angler offering a jig with a minnow or a leech.
But what about the muskies? Between stories scheduled in Sawyer County and Ashland County, I would be row trolling several of these lakes on the Manitowish Chain over several days the week of the 4th of July with my brother, Jim Ellis. Would this intense hatch cause musky fishing to decline, improve or not be influenced at all?
It probably wouldn’t matter anyway. I rarely catch a musky on my home waters, despite real effort and just enough knowledge to be dangerous. I have “piloted” guests to muskies, but over the past seven years have personally ridden a crest of a slump rarely felt among serious musky anglers. Row trolling has been more of an exercise in camaraderie, and an exercise in exercise, than a productive method of fishing.
| Jim and Dick Ellis caught the row trolling fever from their Uncle, legendary fisherman Bob Ellis, and found unusually good musky fishing during a 4th of July week several years ago. The 2012 Bob Ellis Rowtrolling Classic is June 22 in Presque Isle. | |
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Jim and I pushed our narrow, beat-up 16-foot fiberglass Tomahawks from shore with the first light the next morning and rowed out to pick a fight. Little did we know, over the next several days, that we would find 15 fights with muskies in a welcome frenzy apparently directly correlating with the mayfly hatch.
Two lines trailed from rod holders off the back of each of our skiffs as we began a familiar circuit that would take us on an unending search of the roving schools of baitfish that attract an active predator. A variety of hand-crafted and store-purchased lures predominantly in perch and Cisco finish wobbled below the surface, the rhythmic bounce of the rod tips sending a constant “all’s well” message to the rowers.
Jim read the flasher mounted on the back seat of his tomahawk, periodically calling out a change in depth, a rock hump, or the schools of baitfish. I hung within fifty yards of his course; camera ready and anticipating the welcome bend of a rod.
With the lake void of traffic and the sun just an orange ball rising in the east, the water remained flat. Like a natural chum line, thousands of mayfly carcasses littered the surface water in a tight and winding path painted by the winds and current and stretching hundreds of yards into the distance.
Jim’s hand crafted perch imitation cut through and along the mayfly line and his rod doubled over under the weight of a big fish. He set the hooks and immediately watched the other rod bend with the strike of another musky. Double ecstasy was also double trouble. It’s chore enough to retrieve a second line or at least avoid that line while playing one fish. Two fish hooked in a less than stable, narrow row-boat would be a considerable challenge and an extremely rare opportunity.
The fight on the bigger fish stretched from two minutes into three. Jim took a good look at the musky near boat side and estimated the length at 45 inches before she threw the lure. With no time to cry, he turned his attention to the other rod and with a good share of luck, the musky remained hooked. The 38-inch fish surrendered in soon after and was released safely to fight again.
I didn’t catch a musky, but observed consistent surface activity by several larger class fish. We theorized that the food chain was in full motion, the mayflies congregating the baitfish and walleyes and the opportunistic muskies in close pursuit. Despite wave and wind action making our distinct mayfly lines a widely dispersed scattering of carcasses and a less-defined rowing target, I went on a musky tear the next day.
Jim and Dick Ellis caught the row trolling fever from their Uncle, legendary fisherman Bob Ellis, and found unusually good musky fishing during a 4th of July week several years ago. The 2012 Bob Ellis Rowtrolling Classic is June 22 in Presque Isle.
A 40-inch musky was taken and released at 6:30 a.m. on a perch crank bait. With my wife, Lori riding shotgun that evening, we rowed out looking for number two. Uncannily, despite my long-standing drought, if Lori is in the boat I can expect a strike.
“We’ll get a fish right up here where I caught that musky last time,” she said. “This is our good luck spot. Just watch.”
The rod bent in half seconds later. A 38-1/2 inch musky that had fallen for the same perch lure was measured and released. After informing Lori that our course would take us over the deep water, she set me straight.
“Now listen to your wife,” she said. “If you just do a little circle and come right back here to this same spot you’ll catch another fish.”
With Lori declining the rod, five minutes later I was releasing a 33-inch musky on the same drop-off. We rowed in under the glow of running lights, a million stars, and the knowledge that I was just one-inch short of three legal fish in just five hours of fishing.
The run would continue rowing the first and last hours of several days with Jim. In 25 hours of trolling, I would experience nine strikes. The final tally would be 40-inch, 38-1/2 inch, 38-inch, 36-inch, 33- inch and 30-inch muskies taken and released. Three fish were also lost, one after a good fight and two immediately in deep water. And Jim, by far the more successful musky man in recent years would entice six strikes total but never land another fish.
At week’s end, two theories, relating to muskies and the musky angler had gained more credence. One, under the right conditions, the mayfly hatch just may be the trigger to extraordinary fishing. And two….even a blind pig finds the occasional acorn.
I stood on the pier Saturday night, picking out the satellites cruising across a brilliant Vilas County night and savoring the great musky break-out. And I couldn’t help but send a little prayer to any of the billion stars willing to listen.
“I wish I may, I wish I might, see a mayfly hatch tonight. With Cisco, perch, and muskies cruising….I’ll stop this seven years of losin.”
Amen.