An Evening on Hall Lake

It really shouldn’t be this cool in June, but I’m enjoying it. But will it affect the fishing, I wonder as I slide the canoe off my truck? The wind is fairly brisk out of the northwest. I load the canoe, a fly rod and a lightweight spinning rod and reel, a pouch containing my tackle, a lifejacket which goes under my knees but satisfies DNR if they happen by, and my dog. I’m trying to train him to be a paddling companion, but he’s not a water dog. Actually, that’s good, for I know I don’t have to worry about him going overboard to investigate something. The dog has been through the routine before and immediately lies on the bottom of the boat, between the middle two thwarts. Occasionally he’ll lay his head on the wooden thwart and look out or to invite me to pat him, but mostly he lays low. It’s about ninety minutes till sunset.

We paddle out along the eastern side of the lake, maneuvering behind an island that’ll protect us from the wind. There’s a deep channel through here and I put on a spinner and began to cast along the edges. After a few dozen casts, I finally get a strike. The fish bends the light tackle, but it’s a fairly small bass. Before releasing it, I show it to the dog. He’s not interested. Another few dozen casts, but no more strikes. I move further along the eastern side of the lake, into a small inlet, trying several prime looking spots. Almost ever cast comes up with weeds, so I change to a plastic worm with a weedless hooks. I let the worm sink deeper into the channel. A few casts later, a fish strikes but I miss it. I cast out parallel to a log that juts out into the water. Just after I begin reeling, a fish hits; I yank and he’s hooked. He comes to surface and jumps out of the water. It’s another small bass, but he’s smart. I watch him dive, then turn, pulling my line toward the log. I keep the line taut, and keeping him from tangling my line behind the log. He tires quickly and I reel him up to the edge of the canoe. He’s hooked in the lip, allowing me to reach over the side and release him without taking him completely out of the water. As soon as he’s free, he dives and disappears in the weeds.

The sun drops lower on the horizon behind steely gray clouds that look more wintry than summer. The other boats on the lake are heading in. I stow my rod and paddle a bit, talking to the dog while admiring the purple irises jutting out from the bank. Finally the wind diminishes and I reach for my fly rod. With a little black spider at the end of my leader, I work the lily pads along the edge bank, continuing to make my way along the eastern side of the shore. Nothing happens. I’m all ears listening for the recognizable sound of a fish coming to surface and my eyes scan the surface, looking for that familiar swirl of water at the end of my line.

The calm water begins to reflect the pastels of the sky. Even if I don’t catch any more fish, I’m happy to have been out here at the time of the evening. It’s chilly for June, I think, but I keep casting and waiting. Then there’s a swirl of water, but I’m late and miss it. I cast back, dropping the spider just a few feet behind where the fish was at and slowly pulling it across the water. Another swirl. This time the fish takes the bait and I yank back and begin to work the fish toward the boat, keeping him away from the lily pads. Like his brother earlier, he jumps, but he too tires quickly and I pull him along side the boat and release him. I notice more fish coming to the surface and even though it’s cool, now that the wind is calm, mayflies and mosquitoes fill the air. For the next thirty minutes, as soon as the spider drops into the water on almost every cast, a fish rises. I catch another three bass and eight or ten bluegill as the color bleeds from the sky.

After stowing my fly rod, I began to paddle south, across the center of the lake, back toward my truck. The cool air over the warmer surface of the water creates a light fog, providing a mystical setting. I’m careful not to bang the boat or to make any more noise than necessary. All is quiet except for the sound of the paddle and of fish feeding on the surface. Through the trees to the southeast, I notice the moon rise. I want to keep fishing and to bask in moonlight, but it’s getting late. The dog is happy to be back on shore and wants into the truck right away. That’s fine; I won’t have to worry about him when it’s time to go. It’s close to ten o’clock by the time I have the canoe secured for the ride home.