When it comes to my obsession for Muskie fishing, I’ve been a lot of places, fished a lot of different techniques and luckily caught my fair share of fish. A typical day on the water for me would include all the luxuries 20 feet of fiberglass can offer, 9’ XH casting rods and 1,000s of acres to play on. My most recent muskie fishing outing, trying to catch river Muskies on the fly, had me in search of a very familiar species in very unfamiliar circumstances. 10 weight rods, skinny rivers that defied attempts at navigation, narrow drift boats, and a day spent exploring Earth’s arteries coursing through the untamed wilderness. Yes, it may be a different world but something about it felt all too familiar.
My host for the trip, Erik Thue, could be affectionately described as a hopeless fish bum. Erik has traveled countless miles all over the United States pursuing fish on the fly, and somehow ended up in Hayward. He even mentioned passing up a guide job on the legendary Snake River in Idaho, to split time guiding and shooting photos for the popular Emenee Studio. I asked if he had any regrets over his decision. He took a second to think about it and replied in a matter of fact tone that left no room for doubts of his sincerity “nahhh man, I would have never met my wife, and every time I hook up with a Muskie, I know I made the right choice.” In my mind calling someone a “fish bum” carries with it all the respect due someone that knows exactly who they are and how they want to spend their limited time on this earth.
From the moment we met and through the duration of our drive to our first launch spot Erik overwhelmed me with an entirely new vocabulary related to this unique way of fish. Some of which I understood. Most I did not, unfortunately, causing me to nod and smile at key points in the one sided conversation while I drove the tow vehicle. Trailering behind my truck was a 16’ War Eagle equipped with a 30 horse Yamaha Jet engine which would hopefully allow us to sneak up rivers that would otherwise prove to be impenetrable for a prop boat.
Despite the remoteness of the area, it’s well known by those who pursue her inhabitants. Hayward, Wisconsin, what many consider to be the Muskie capital of the world, is where we would be stripping our flies. Coming into town we were greeted by everything Muskie, from statues to the Moccasin Bar, a town seemingly dedicated to our toothy target. We neared the landing as we passed deer after deer before spotting something rather unusual here in the Midwest- an Elk crossing signs! Wisconsin has elk? Who knew?! Although we never did spot an elk just knowing elk were in the area added a special feel to the trip.
It only took us a few minutes of prep to get the 16′ boat launched and loaded for the day at the landing. Once Erik gave me the “all clear” to crack the throttle we were on our way upstream in search of rarely fished water and the hyper-aggressive muskie we hoped to find there. The drone of the jet motor picking up speed as it powered the boat up on plane was as oddly peaceful as we flew through the shallows, passing through weed flats and water so skinny it felt like we were suspended above the bottom of the river by some unforeseen force instead of being buoyed by the water itself. We navigated several sets of rapids by trimming up the motor but our upstream progress was finally halted by a rocky barrier that offered no more than 4″ of water through the deepest section. At that point we conceded to the river and opted to start our float from there. As we began to drift backwards the abrupt sound of heavy footfalls in the underbrush and snapping branches made us turn our heads towards the sound of the noise only to see a black bear disappear into the underbrush. We hadn’t even made a cast yet and I was already in love with this place!
To get the ball rolling Erik reached into his tackle box and pulled out a case what could only be described as pure awesomeness. Every color under the rainbow spewed and glistened from it. Marabou, flashabou, bucktail and hackle, tied in giant intricate designs, pieces of artwork, which would make Da Vinci jealous, presented themselves.
Cheeseheads and their obsession with the Packers! Lambeau the fly! Photo by Erik Thue
Erik searched for a certain fly and when he saw it, he exclaimed “Lambeau!” Indeed, we were in Wisconsin and even the Muskies had cheese flowing through their veins. A tandem green and gold fly, which glided and flowed through the water proved to be his first choice. During a boat-side demonstration Erik placed the fly in the water and used his rod tip to snap the bait forward before allowing it to suddenly pause. In all my times spent fishing muskie I’ve never seen a motionless bait look so alive at rest! Wen paused Erik’s hand-tied creations suspended perfectly in the water column, yet, despite the lack of forward movement it somehow looked incredible alive as it danced in the current. In my mind I felt like the fish didn’t stand a chance!
Of course optimism is often tempered by reality as our day got off to a slow start. We drifted by endless fishy spots, with only one boil to show for it. Finally we reached the area where the river widened and ended up turning into a bay of a large lake. It was my turn to throw a few loops and it didn’t take long for me to get the hang of it again. This isn’t your grandfather’s fly fishing! Fifteen minutes in and my arms were already getting sore from double hauling big flies. Thankfully I was quickly rewarded for my efforts, but it seemed more like a consolation prize than an outright victory as a nice little bronzeback slurped up the fly on the pause. With several river miles and many fishy-looking spots behind us it was time to change it up and find a new stretch of water where we could pursue the godfather of freshwater.
With the boat back on the trailer and the truck cruising down yet another dusty road we cruised parallel to the river in search of our new spot to launch the boat. Arriving at our second destination near an old bridge that crossed the river, Erik peered out his window and glanced around with a fairly peculiar look on his face. It was as if he had lost something. Erik quipped, “this isn’t looking good boys,” as he jumped back into the truck and instructed me to cross the bridge and head further down the road. He later told me that the launch he was looking for was “gone.” Yep, gone. An access, which had been present, was no longer, replaced by a park bench and some flowers.
As we neared the river again for the final time Erik’s voice changed as if what he was going to say next would be considered highly classified information. “I’ve got a spot” he said, somehow communicating his reluctance to share this spot and that he had already decided to do so in 4 simple words. After swearing an unbreakable oath and signing a lengthy document in blood I was taken to what could be described as one of the fishiest looking stretches of river I’ve ever seen. Imagine if you will a swift section of river complete with eddies and deeper pools that looked like prime trout water, only on a larger scale.
Due to the swift current and rock lined shore this spot would be best fished by foot. Erik and I headed in opposite directions in an effort put some space between us to allow ample room for casting. I went upstream. Erik went down. Before I had made more than a half dozen casts the quick and forceful movement of a long rod coming under extreme load caught the corner of my eye!
Erik was hooked up! The fun began as the fish got into the fast current and headed for deeper water with the power only a serious fish can muster. After a back-and-forth battle the fish conceded and slid calmly into the rocky shoreline where Erik triumphantly hoisted the dark green 40” class muskie!
Watching someone battle a muskie on a flyrod is such an incredible sight that seeing it for myself for the first time filled me with a combination of jealousy and a commitment to making it happen for myself. No matter how many casts it would take!
Ben unleashes a cast into slimy waters Photo by Erik Thue
We switched positions on the river and I fished a seam between heavy current and slack water waiting for my shot at a 40″ river rocket. As I stripped the fly by my feet a mid 30 inch fish came flying out of the water pushing the fly high into the air, an epic fail on the fish’s part but certainly an interaction between predator and faux prey that will be burned into my memory for a long time to come. My “almost catch” was interrupted by the sound of line ripping off the water as Erik was fast into his second Muskie. A fight of the same proportion ensued, and a very unhappy Muskie fell temporarily into enemy hands.
At this point, I needed one for my own! After assisting Erik with the release of his second fish I was now even more driven to make it happen for myself. We returned to our fishing stations and it wasn’t long before my rod tip jolted as I saw my line go slack. Instinctively I ripped back with my left hand in an attempt to bring my line tight again and felt it stop dead in its tracks! Game on! Heavy head shakes ensued, the fish turned to bolt for deeper water… and it ended as fast as it begun! The heavy load on my rod relaxed and my hopes of having a river girl of my own were dashed. As all anglers do after the loss of a big fish I was exasperated and looking for an explanation as to why my quarry had escaped me. I lifted the trusty Lambeau out of the water, turned it a few times in my hand for closer inspection and quickly spotted the problem. Right where the barb was crimped, the hook point failed and was broken clean off. For me to have sent that hook home and keep it there would be like driving a 55-gallon drum into the ground with a tack hammer. Clearly it wasn’t meant to be and I was again reminded of one of the many, many ways big fish avoid getting caught! I will admit, I was pretty unhappy with the way it went down but as is the life of a Muskie fisherman. The day was about as successful as possible, a completely new experience, chasing an all too familiar heartbreak.
It’s a place I will hold near and dear, a river cut out of pure wilderness, devoid of other humans but filled with our good friend Mr. Muskellunge.
Check out this short video of my time on the water in Hayward, WI
Great video. Love the river!