Our Outdoors: It All Comes Together
By Nick Simonson
While preparing for the upcoming salmon season, and tying a few extra spinners for summer walleye trolling, my fingers began to find the smoothest of patterns on the various rigs coming together at my desk. The turns and twists of line around the metal of the hook shank and gentle tug that snugged the loops of monofilament into a cylinder of solidarity against the hook eye became a seven-second symphony, replayed over and over and over. With hardly a missed beat, a couple dozen new flasher rigs and crawler harnesses mounted quickly on the nails at the side of my station, awaiting dressing and the action to come in the final weeks of the warm weather season.
It wasn’t always this easy though. Practice with dozens, if not hundreds of lesser quality wraps, clunky turns of line, and a mess of a knot, as opposed to the day’s perfect layout of loops against the metal shank, were at one time the norm, and having an ideal rig assembled was at best an every-other-attempt occurrence. There was even a point when tying some spinners where I reversed the line and couldn’t figure out for the life of me why the tag end was no longer the part that tightened the knot. Only after a step back and a pause, was I able to reset and realign my mind with the process. Through patience, persistence, and most importantly, practice, what was once step-by-step has become like riding a bike and a skill that can be picked up and reapplied at any point in the year, whether I need something now to fill a seasonal gap, or am just looking to fill the time in the dead of winter. And along that microcosmic learning curve is an analogy to all of the outdoors, and much of my experience within it.
Comparably, other areas of hunting and angling, I’ve invested the time to become as proficient as the snelling process. With pheasant hunting, I can look at a parcel from the road, identify areas of habitat ahead of the season, and return to find birds at the opener or later into the autumn as conditions change. It comes with experience, observation, and a little trial-and-error. The same can be said for my smallmouth bass fishing, as exploring waters, isolating structure, and identifying what fish are feeding on became second nature many years ago, and now, are like hopping back on a two-wheeler whenever I get the chance. These are areas where I’ve put in the time, made them a priority, and worked at them.
Elsewhere however, I’m seemingly always learning even two decades after starting, and the proverbial wraps are still coming together on the hook shank of life in the outdoors. I’m not the greatest walleye angler, but I know enough to get by and put a few fish on the line. When it comes to deer hunting, I put in the time and the effort, but often find myself walking out of the field the same way I entered, but with a bit more knowledge about the animals’ behavior or a greater appreciation for the experience. In those pursuits I enjoy more, but don’t have the time or travel opportunities for, such as sturgeon fishing, I keep updated on developments with the resources related to it and stay hopeful for the next chance to get back to those mythical fish. Some options in the outdoors I’ve tried, and quickly found they weren’t for me, due to investment of time, gear or simply parallel seasonal activities that I’m more devoted to and have no skill and only a cursory understanding of how a turkey behaves or what the best tactics are for furbearers, yet still revel in the stories of other sportsmen and their pursuits on those fronts and enjoyment of their time devoted to their passions.
The ability to choose what we practice in the outdoors, whether through a specific style of angling or hunting or via the pursuit of a certain species, determines how familiar we get and what level of expertise we obtain in those niches. The mere fact that those opportunities exist for at least one, or two, or maybe even ten of those options, no matter what the personal calendar might look like, is a blessing and the chance to raise one’s level of expertise in those most enjoyed pursuits is something worth preserving. Through the practice and the perseverance and the joys and challenges along the way up every learning curve from those fumbled early attempts to those days when everything comes together for success, those opportunities provide many ideal experiences and part of what we make of our lives all the fuller…in our outdoors.
Our Outdoors: Water, Water Everywhere?
Our Outdoors: Water, Water Everywhere?
By Nick Simonson
Whether it’s taking my pick of one out of 10,000 lakes on my Independence Day holiday road trip, or floating down the Missouri River back home, the presence of freshwater is a major part of my summer and presumably that of any other boater or angler enjoying the warmer temperatures of the season. Casting for bass, trolling for walleyes or fly fishing for trout and sunfish all require access to a stream, river, or lake and involve access to that water. On top of abundance, that water must be clean enough to support fish life and the food web that sustains those sport species. Taking a pause in between casts and stepping back to admire how lucky we are to have such golden summer opportunities can lead one down a rabbit hole that further stresses just how rare our fishable waters are.
One of the earliest geological facts taught in school is that the Earth’s surface is roughly 70 percent water. There’s about 330 million cubic miles of it covering the planet, which in print doesn’t seem like a lot, but think of a section of land with a mile of water stacked on top of it. Then think of 330 million of those. Of that amount of 330 million mile-high water cubes, about 97 percent of them are saltwater. That leaves about three percent as freshwater, with a minority of that reduced percentage comprising our lakes, streams, swamps, and creeks with most of it locked up in glaciers and ice sheets worldwide. When it comes down to it, less than one half of one percent of the world’s water makes up the lakes and rivers we fish and recreate on, and while they may seem abundant in a two-hour drive and discussed with a tone as casual as where the most recent walleye bite is happening, their rarity, in light of what a small fraction of the world’s water they are, cannot be understated.
To put it in perspective, I have a friend in Pipestone County in southwestern Minnesota, that when I met him for the first time, he introduced himself and where he was from, with the addition of “one of the four counties in the land of 10,000 lakes that doesn’t have one.” From the outset of our discussion at the statewide convention for conservationists, his comment stuck with me, as everywhere I’ve lived in both North Dakota and Minnesota has had at least a dozen fishable lakes, streams, and rivers within 20 miles of my house. How unfortunate that fate would land this fellow hunter and angler in a spot where he’d have to drive three times that distance to find a fishable water. Placing that piece in the puzzle of freshwater percentages – or thinking of places like the Sahara Desert, or even reviewing what’s happening in the southwestern United States – and those who live within minutes of a place where they can wet a line and enjoy time on life-sustaining freshwater, are truly lucky.
In the last three hundred years or so, we’ve done our best to exploit those limited freshwater oases in the name of progress and profits, dumping chemicals, plant waste, and overfishing them to the point they were almost devoid of life. Whether it was the east coast acid rain in the 1970s and 80s from industrial emissions that destroyed fragile brook trout fisheries in the Appalachian Mountains, or the paper mulch and chemicals that clogged the Rainy River a century ago and nearly extirpated the once abundant lake sturgeon in the flow along the Minnesota-Canada border, the impacts we have had on these truly rare waters and others are frustrating, even heart-wrenching.
But one of the wonders of freshwater and the creatures that live in it, and really all the natural world, is that given a chance and the attention they need, no matter how small or how abrupt the turn around is, they can and will come back if a foothold is a possibility. With that knowledge of what we can do and have done to reverse our impact, and limit it going forward so that no razor’s edge dividing line need be experienced by our waters – and seeing the return of brookies to the creeks of the eastern mountains, and the resurgence of sturgeon on the Rainy River, and hundreds of other wins for the conservation of freshwater fisheries across the continent – we are better able to take that step back and do what must be done to preserve the opportunities (if we’re lucky) that are just outside our back door.
As we enter the back half of summer, take a breather in between casts to appreciate the truly amazing nature of any freshwater. From that forty-acre prairie lake with the brand-new boat ramp, to the vast expanse of Lake Superior, to the comparative trickle holding an evening’s worth of walleyes or smallmouth bass flowing through town, each one is rare, each one is important, and each one is worthy of protection. That responsibility falls to all of us, from putting garbage where it belongs, to assessing drainage issues, to monitoring the quality of our flows and their fish populations. It is through these efforts and the recognition of how important their rewards are that we understand our impact on these waters, and their continued impact on us and that portion of our lives spent…in our outdoors.
Our Outdoors: A Blaze of Color
Our Outdoors: A Blaze of Color
By Nick Simonson
When it comes to angling, I’m a huge fan of matching the hatch to catch more fish and will often start with something natural on that first cast if I know what bass, walleyes, pike and other species I pursue are eating. Silver jig-and-twister patterns shine for walleyes when the spottails are running in the creek. Perch crankbaits are dynamite when those three-to-four-inch schools are available in a water for predator fish. A trolled spinner or slow death rig with a deep blue, purple, or heck, even a lifelike bluegill pattern painted on the blade works wonders when those prey fish are present. However, there are times, and I still can’t explain it after decades of offering them up, where the brightest, gaudiest, most outrageous color patterns seem to outperform anything that looks natural.
I have a buddy who toted boxes of crawler harnesses to the lake one night, and suggested that any one of them would work, as long as it was chartreuse. Opening up the spinner storage, sure enough, more than 80 percent of them were the electric, greenish yellow, which became a staple on my home water for walleyes. Similarly, downstream on the river a bright orange always seemed to work best in triggering the massive smallmouth bass lurking on every rockpile and behind every current break. Simply casting out an X-Rap, or even just subtly working an eighth-ounce jig to match the setting summer sun seemed to set them off. Finally, in the backwaters off the main lake at the family cabin, the brightest of bright pinks is the ticket for largemouth bass. Whether in a Trick Worm, a Senko or a stick bait like a Husky Jerk, hot pink is the ticket for even hotter fishing when it comes to bucketmouths.
Thinking about it and knowing what I do about fishing, and armchair biology, makes the process of figuring out why these hues work so well even more maddening. None of these colors seem to match anything in the wild. There are no bright pink fish, save for those thousands of miles away tucked into the crannies of some coral reef in the salty waters of the ocean. It’s tough to come by any sort of green on a species in our area’s waters that rivals the day glow shade of chartreuse mass produced for fishing. And, perhaps outside of the accentuating trim found in the limited areas of the eyes of smallmouth bass, on the scales of yellow perch, and maybe certain sunfish, bright orange is minimal in the aquatic world as well. Yet all three colors have produced beyond just about any natural shade in my arsenal. While I’ll continue to ask why with each fish that comes aboard and is turned back into the water, it seems that as in the past, they won’t be explaining their reasoning for striking these standout colors.
Similar to part of that timeless statement on faith, for those who believe in their brightly-colored baits, no explanation is necessary, and sometimes it is essential to simply accept the fact that they work, despite looking like nothing in the food chain. Seeing the experience of angling as a mix of skill, belief, art, science, and luck which mirrors the human existence in so many ways big and small, sometimes we just get the answer without having to show our work in how we got there. Despite tracking the water temperature, moon phase, forage base, insect hatches, water levels and all those other good-to-know items that help increase the odds on a given fishing trip, part of the process means making a discovery that sets the darkness (or clear, or slightly-stained conditions) of the water below ablaze with those out-of-the ordinary colors that connect with fish and build confidence that defies explanation…in our outdoors.
Our Outdoors: Here Comes the Sun(glasses)
Our Outdoors: Here Comes the Sun(glasses)
By Nick Simonson
It’s been a long mix of chilly winter and underwhelming spring. Cold temperatures, snow, rain and general nastiness extending into May have built up a longing for the warmth of the later stretch of the season and the start of summer, and maybe with recent changes in the pattern, just possibly, that warmup is coming. With it comes the search for one vital fishing tool that not only reminds me that even in the cloudiest, coldest stretches, the sun is up there and getting stronger and a set of sunglasses is or will shortly be in order.
I’m not an expensive sunglasses guy by any means. A cheap pair from the cardboard rack at the back of a fishing section usually lasts a season or two, and with a layer of polarization material gives me the vision I need on the water to pick out the shadowy form of a largemouth bass under the removed reflectivity of the water’s surface. I’m less concerned about fit than function, and whether it’s oval eye wraps or a bit boxier standard pair, the lenses will serve their purpose with an added element of fish finding on those longed-for sunny days in the near future. I figure I’ll look cooler with a fish in hand while wearing them anyhow, whether they compliment my facial features or not.
Additionally – as a fly angler they not only help in picking those missile-shaped fish out on small streams, or sizing up the horde of early summer bluegills moving in behind my surface popper – those glasses provide a vital layer of protection. Anyone whipping the long rod has, from time to time whether due to bad form, a snag on the back cast or a missed hookset, sent a dressed hook of some sort back in the general direction of their face. And while the Spartan soldier Dilios may have pointed out in the movie 300 that the gods were fit to bless us with a spare, protecting both eyes from airborne sharp and pointy projectiles is always a good idea.
Those towing crankbaits throughout the warm water season know the risk as well, as walleyes are hoisted over the gunwales of the boat, flipping and frequently tossing the hooks, which boast three such prongs that more than once have come too close for comfort to an avant garde eyebrow piercing. In addition to providing protection from the sun’s rays, even the cheapest set of shades from the discount bin will provide a shield from those errant hooks that are part and parcel with the angling experience.
I learned at a young age, the most expensive sunglasses are often the shortest lived, and the price-to-productivity ratio is inversely related. The more a set of shades costs, the less likely it is to stick around. Whether crushed under a misplaced footstep on the bow of the boat, blown away with a baseball cap from a strong gust of wind or a sudden acceleration of the outboard, or simply knocked off the dock and into the water, it’s not uncommon for my sunglasses to meet their maker long before their time, and it seems the spendier they are, the quicker they go.
With so many inexpensive options out there to get the technical aspects of the job done, and the super low price point for polarized lenses these days, I’m all but guaranteed to have a set on hand from one past season or another. True to that formula, those pairs seem to last. While some of them have their frames held together with a pinch of duct tape, others have lenses that constantly need to be popped back into place, and still others are likely collecting dust in the console of the boat, under a truck seat or stashed in an old tackle box, they are all a welcome encounter when it’s time to hit the water at this point in the season. From polarization to protection there’s no better addition than a set of sunglasses to a warm spring outing with the sun shining, a light breeze blowing and the fish biting…in our outdoors.