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One of the reasons we need to preserve this place.
I read a post by Mr. Alba a while back about how he's been going back and reading old posts from this site. Shortly after that, I started doing the same thing. It surprised me when I realized how much of what I was reading, I had no recollection of. It's been a major trip down memory lane, but what usually sticks out the most, was how much I've lost the grasp of time. Many posts I'd read, I'd think were from 5-6 years ago, then find out they were actually from 15-16 years ago. On one hand, that's kind of scary, but on the other, it just reinforces the bond we've developed here over the years. I stumbled across this post just last night and thought I'd repost it here. We lost Bassdog years ago, as well as TW, and this post brought back a flood of fond memories.
TW & Bassdog
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I made three (maybe 4?) trips up to Alberta to fish with Johnboy and TW back in the days when I could get around a little better and I will never forget those good times. TBH, I'd totally forgotten how Bassdog could write. While reading, I felt I was right back there on the lake. One thing he didn't include in this story was the absolute blast we had "getting blasted" in the hotel room "preparing" for our venture onto Lesser Slave Lake planned for 0-dark-thirty. Anyway, it's a long read, but it should be an enjoyable read. I have to thank P-hole for being responsible for giving me the opportunity to meet another solid gold Good Hunter in person. He is sorely missed. (As you can see, this is from over 20 years ago)
Here's the crew, TW, Bassdog, Bucky and yours truly (Johnboy was behind the camera). Note: That crazy Canuckian didn't read the memo and failed to wear the correct shoes and pants for the photo shoot. ;)
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The Great Alberta Walleye Expedition - Bassdog 8/6/00
This is my, Bassdog’s, version of the truth regarding the Great Alberta Walleye Expedition hosted and led by none other than the venerable TeeDub…
My flight into Edmonton was uneventful. Though I sat right across the aisle from Buckrub on the connecting flight from Denver, introductions weren’t made until we began to deplane. Barry Bob Posthole told me to seek out someone with the looks and disposition of Eeyore. He was right about the disposition part.
Clearing customs was a bit dicey as I had neither a passport nor a birth certificate to verify my US citizenship. The official looked at me as if I was the most pitiful pup of the litter and didn’t buy my explanation that I had been in Canada a number of times and never had to produce such proof. I offered my driver’s license but he said that only proved that I could drive in Iowa. Guess that these Alberta types take their job a little more seriously than they do in Ontario. I did the only thing I could think of and started shrugging my shoulders and made my bottom lip quiver and muttered "Oh woe, oh woe" repeatedly. It had the desired effect because I was granted entrance with an admonition to not try again without the required "proper" documentation.
TeeDub and Kribbs were waiting on Bucky and me as promised. We acquainted and reacquainted and proceeded on the next leg of the adventure -–TeeDub and Kribbs leading the way and Bucky and me dutifully in tow dragging our considerable baggage.
The rest of Thursday day and evening was spent getting provisions and preparing for the next few days of fishing. The first stop was the Edmonton Mall, the largest in the world, where we exchanged some American money for Canadian currency, the obligatory stop at Hooter’s (Jim is a piece of work-positively shameless. He has a well-honed patter designed, no doubt, to produce weak knees and giggles and damned if it didn’t almost work with that young, nubile, well-endowed bar maven), and we purchased our fishing licenses. Then it was on to Stony Plain with a short detour to buy the spirits that would sustain us over the next three days. The evening meal was terrific, the hostess was the most gracious and that Canadian beer will make you have visions if you’re not used to it. (I love that stuff)
Friday morning we arose early to pack the gear and get on the road. There was a minor delay while Bucky located his money, but we made the rendezvous with John semi on time. We stopped for breakfast in Athabaska, and then it was on to Calling Lake and the launching of the boats. Now Calling is deemed a collapsed fishery for walleye according to Alberta’s Conservation Department and because of that you may catch but you may not keep any fish. TeeDub thinks it may be that there is some reason that the walleye population is not sustaining itself as evidenced by the absence of young, small fish that are caught. My brother Booker confirms this assumption after I described the average size of the ‘eyes we caught – 2 to 4 lbs. common, 5 and larger not much less so. Book says it sounds like we were in pods of the same year class. That if the fish were successful spawners we most certainly would have happed across some shrinkers, as he calls them, and wouldn’t have been able to keep them off the hooks. I did catch about a 13 incher and the lack of others like it does not bode well for Calling. But I wasn’t complaining on this day.
John and I started on the east side of the lake pulling bottom bouncers and spinning rigs, long snells-4 to 6 feet, baited with live night crawlers in about 10 to 14 feet of water. As we marked fish on the sonar it was almost certain to be followed by a bite on one or both of our offerings. Most of the fish seemed to hang on the transition from sandy bottom to gravel, which is very evident when fishing with bottom bouncers. TeeDub, Kribbs, and Bucky worked a 12-foot depression in the middle of 8-foot water off the swimming beach and were met with similar luck. We experimented with different colored blades and also different sizes. It didn’t seem to matter to the walleyes. John mentioned reading an article by a walleye pro where the pro stated that he didn’t fuss with live crawlers and favored Berkley’s Power Crawlers – less hassle, less mess and every bit as effective as the real thing. It just so happened that I had some in my bag so I opted for the PowerBait and for the rest of the trip that was all I used.
We were having phenomenal success. Nearly every “paint” on the Lowrance X55 display resulted in a fish in the boat. The image would travel across the screen and not soon after it was out of sight, we’d feel the unmistakable tap, bump of a hungry fish. Drop the rod back to the fish, let the line go taut, feel the weight and sweep the hook home. TeeDub and the boys motored towards us just as, right on cue, I tagged a nice 4 pounder. "My best one so far." I proudly said as I held up the golden beauty for them to see, posing like a television pro. The response from the other boat was not what I expected but should have. "That’s nothing", "Peewee", " That’s as small as anything we’ve been catching." I humbly returned my catch to the lake.
"We’re heading over to the west side to fish over by the Volkswagen if you care to join us." And TeeDub pushed down the throttle and the Lund and its occupants sped away across the lake leaving us to rock in its wake.
I looked at John and we decided to stay on the east side for a while longer. A bird in the hand. Good fishing continued for us. John talks to the fish. He would see a mark on the sonar and start coaxing them.
"Come on. You know you want it. There you go." And wham! He’d drive the hook home. On one such occasion, I turned my head to watch as he started with his pick up lines. "Gotcha!" he said as he reared back on the set. The rod bent like a horseshoe, the drag on his Abu Garcia screamed and then, snap! There was nothing left of the spinning rig when he reeled his line back to the boat. "Look at that!" he said as he showed me the frayed line, "That’s 20 pound test!" Probably a big pike but, then again, maybe it was a giant ‘eye. We’ll never know and that’s what makes great fishing stories.
At this point, or roughly thereabout, we decided to head west and join the others. Little did we know how our luck was going to change.
The Big Ones
Our run to the west side of the lake was a rough one. The wind had picked up since we first launched and was creating swells of about 3 feet. John’s Smoker Craft handled the water well and aside from a few loosened fillings we were none the worse for wear when we reached our destination.
We set up our trolling path along a ledge that paralleled the north shoreline, dragging our bottom bouncers in 18 – 22 feet. The fish we were marking were hugging the bottom or just a foot or so off and every now and then we’d see a cloud of baitfish with big paints underneath. Much like it was happening earlier we would see an arc, or arcs, and in a few seconds there would be the anticipated bump. Fish on! But unlike earlier in the day, these ‘eyes were running bigger. It was at this time that I brought my camera out and started to preserve some of the moments of what would turn out to be the most phenomenal day of fishing I have ever experienced. Big fish and lots of them. Having put most of my walleye hunting time on the dishpan lakes of southwest Minnesota where 3 keepers (and I’m talking in the pound-and-a-half class) is a damn good outing, catching 4s and 5s nearly every time I dropped my line in the water was beyond imagining.
"You been keeping count, John?" I asked.
"Nope." He replied. " I just know it’s more than I have fingers and toes."
"So it isn’t just me" I thought to myself and lowered my rig back to the bottom to wait on another strike. We were doing well. The fish seemed a little more scattered than on the previous spot but were every bit as cooperative as their cousins on the other side of the lake. Later on in the day John hooked up with a real nice ‘eye. She stayed deep and shook her head for all she was worth but John prevailed and we got her into the boat.
"I’ve got a scale around her somewhere. I’m going to weigh this one." John said as he rummaged through one of the boat’s compartments. He managed to locate the scale and gently, almost lovingly, hooked the big gal under the gill, lifted her up, and watched for where the needle would settle.
"That’s not a 4 pound fish!" he spat. "This thing is broke. I’ve got to get me a new one." And he tossed the scale back into the compartment and released his fish into the lake. I confess, I am an analog man in a digital world (all of my watches have hands, no Dick Tracy jobs for me) but what I wouldn’t have given for a digital scale at that point. "John, that is an easy eight if I’ve ever seen one. Probably closer to nine." I said. My comment was obviously of no comfort to him as he just muttered and growled and got back to the business of fishing.
"You know John", I said some time and several fish later in the afternoon, "maybe you were reading the kilo scale on that thing." I had seen the red needle stop just past the 4 on the inside graduations but my eyes weren’t good enough and my brain wasn’t fast enough to register the reading on the outside set of little hatches. Damn bifocals.
"That scale doesn’t have kilos" he replied. And that was the last that was said on that subject.
Brother Booker has always said that when you tag into a giant ‘eye, you’ll know it beyond all doubt. "You’ll feel the bite, drop your rod tip toward the fish, and rear back to cross its eyes and be stopped dead. It will rock you all the way to your shoulder and to the bottom of your shoes. You had better hold on ‘cause the first move she’ll make when she feels the hook is down. That is how a big sow will feel." He has two of them on his wall so you have to believe the man.
It was getting late in the afternoon and close to the time when we would have to load the boats and head for Slave Lake when I discovered just what Booker always talked about. I was still using the Power Bait but had down-sized the spinner blade and shortened the snell to about 4 feet because the last couple of fish I had caught were on the trailing hook of the 2 hook crawler harness. The display was painting some really nice arcs just off the bottom and we waited with anticipation for the strike.
I felt a bump and immediately dropped my rod back toward the fish. I watched my line go taut, felt the weight and swept my rod to set the hook but this time was different. Instead of the long sweep I had employed the entire day, I was stopped cold after travelling only about a foot or so and the suddenness of it jolted all the way to my shoulder and down to the bottom of my feet. I turned to face the fish and raised my rod up high and watched the line strip off of the reel. This was a BIG fish. I tried to gain some of the line back but it continued to run off the reel. "John, I can’t budge this fish" I said and he brought in his rig, grabbed the net and made himself ready to assist should I manage to get this girl to the boat.
I was finally able to turn her head and was starting to recover some of the line lost when the resistance lessened and it almost seemed as if this walleye was swimming toward the boat. That was a short lived sensation however as just as suddenly she headed back toward the bottom shaking and jerking her head against the hook and line. Big walleye, I found out, will really put a bend in your rod. And when they’re sounding and jerking their head the end of the rod throbs up and down and it feels like a puppy tugging on the end of an old sock. Line was growing back on my reel when I saw the bottom bouncer and behind it a long, dark shape. Then there was a flash of gold as she turned broadside and the sun reflected off her flank and down deep she went. The giant ‘eye made several more attempts to go deep but she eventually tired enough for me to get her within netting distance.
"She won’t fit in my net!" John exclaimed as he reached out with the net and I steered her toward it. John scooped, lifted, and at last we had her in the boat.
It’s hard to describe accurately all that I was feeling and thinking at that moment. Exhilaration. Relief. Unmitigated joy. My feet, which had been driven so firmly into the deck on the hookset, were now a foot above it. It felt like the first time. Not the first first time but the first time with that very special someone that happens so unexpectedly and leaves you deliriously happy and gasping for breath, never wanting the moment to end. I was weak in the knees and even the simple act of removing the hook, which I had done countless times that day, took all my concentration. I reached my hand underneath her gills and raised her up. My 10 pound walleye!
"We’ve got to get her back in the water," John said and I looked at him and came down out of the clouds.
"Yeah. Let’s get some pictures." The pictures would have to tell the story. Weighing the big girl on John’s scale was not a consideration, no telling what it would read. My priority at this moment was to get a couple of pictures and get her back in the water and hope I hadn’t had her out too long. The glorious event preserved on film, I moved my left hand under her belly, grabbed her tail with my right, leaned over the side of Smoker Craft and gently lowered my dream fish into the water. I moved her forward and back a couple of times to get some water through her gills and felt her coming to life. I let go of her tail and watched as she swam out of sight.
"That’s it for me John. Let’s go in" and we headed for the landing.
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I’d like to take this chance to thank some people…TeeDub, Kribbs, Buckrub and John for making this fishing trip an unforgettable experience. Singular rogues, each and every one of them but no more generous and genuine people will you ever meet.
Thanks to TeeDub’s wife Marg for her hospitality and kindness.
Barry, thanks to you, friend, for the invite. Sure wish you could have been there. Next time.
Laura, thanks for riding my butt to get the plane tickets.
My thanks to the moderators and members at Good Hunting for your indulgence and for providing a forum where a hack can pretend he’s an honest to god writer with something worth sharing.
Booker, thanks for preparing me for a moment I thought would never come. I could hear you in my head the very split second the shock went up my arm as the giant walleye stopped my hookset cold dead and all throughout the battle to bring her to the boat. I can finally relate.
Thanks to Brother Paul for your infectious enthusiasm and encouragement. You knew the day would come. I hope I am there to share your 1st double digit ‘Eye.
Lastly, I’d like to thank my Dad and dedicate this account and the fish to him. Dad took my brothers and me fishing. He taught us how to catch them, clean them, and cook them and nobody enjoyed walleye fillets more than Dad did. He passed away this past April just 4 days short of his 73rd birthday after a long battle with cancer. During a visit home just before Booker and I were to leave for a day’s fishing, I thanked him for teaching us how to fish and promised him that when he felt up to it, that we were going to get him out in the boat and return the favor. Needless to say, that chance never came. Thanks, Dad.
