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May 9, 2025
Dear Buck -
Well, tomorrow’s the opener, and I don’t have to ask you where you’ll start the season. You began going to the same spot that you started with your dad before you probably even remember. Over the last 70 years or so, you’ve caught hundreds of ‘eyes with your dad, your neighbor, your kids and now your grandkids. I even spent a couple of openers with you there. What a great tradition you’ve had all your life!
My opener has been a bit more nebulous over the years. Oh, early in my youth the DAY was sacred. I was always excited and went through my sparsely equipped tackle box over and over in the days leading up to it. The day was important, but not the “where”. Before I was ten, Snaptail was the only place I knew. Because we didn’t have a big boat, it would be either dad and me or sometimes my brother that would circle the reefs in front of the Point Cabin in one of Grandpa’s homemade wooden row boats. As I grew older, we would hit spots where we could fish from shore. The Twin Bridges. Where Balsam Creek would enter the Prairie River. Below Hartley Lake Dam. Little American Falls near Craigville. Below Winnie Dam. Mom would pack a picnic lunch, and we would make a family day of it. Those who could fish did. Those who couldn’t, would bring – or find – some other entertainment.
When we got the Crestliner runabout we expanded our options. Opener might be close by on Lawrence Lake or maybe even Spider Lake. For a couple of years, we got to be adventurous. Spent some time on Cutfoot Sioux and on Ball Club Lake. Our tradition was more about getting out than where we went. Having been couped up inside all winter, the beginning of fishing season loosed all the pent-up energy and was a great way to signal the start of a summer that would be arriving soon.
I hate to say it, but as I got older the luster seemed to dull a bit. It seems that adults have a lot of stuff going on that soak up some of that excitement with necessary chores, obligations and conflicting schedules. Every year I did my best to make room for that certain Saturday in mid-May, but yardwork, graduations and even my baseball coaching seemed to pre-empt what should have been a holiday written in stone.
Other factors started to creep in. Can you remember how many opening weekends were made unpleasant because of the weather? I do remember one year in the early ‘80’s that was sunny and 85, but that memory is erased by a couple of dozen times it was cold, rainy and the wind blew so hard you couldn’t hold a boat or canoe in the right spot. More than a couple of times I remember the snow coming down so hard you couldn’t see the shoreline that was only fifty yards away. If it wasn’t snowing, it might be raining and the cold water going down your neck was only a degree or two above being the white stuff.
And oh, the fish can be finicky at that time of year. With post spawn and cold water temps, you might find Shangri-La, but more often the “bite” would be almost non-existent. I have a few pix of happy fishermen holding a stringer of golden walleyes, but many years that stringer wasn’t worth the waste of a bit a film to be sent into Kodak.
And people! It seems as if Minnesota’s population grows severalfold on that magical day. Parking “miles” from a boat landing to playing bumper cars in the best spots to standing shoulder to shoulder in some of the trout and salmon streams seemed to become the norm. Lines crossed, tempers flared and trolling routes impossible to find, it took a lot of the fun out of it.
When I was guiding, I used to dread taking clients out on opening day. I was the “expert” and a guarantee that we would fill our limits. If only I could be so confident. I knew where the fish should be, but not having wet a line for the weeks leading up to the opener, I was just making my best guess. Sometimes I was right but sometimes I was wrong. Opening day was some of my best outings, but also some of my worst.
Those were the dark years. Friends would ask “Where are you going for the opener?” I would scowl and reply “Nowhere, if I’m lucky”! If I wasn’t guiding, I’d find anything I could to get in the way of going out onto the water. Chores were good. A trip down to Duluth to shop was a good excuse, and for a while, the lesser of two evils. Cousin Fred’s wedding in Bemidji? Couldn’t be better timing. Nasty weather? I’m going to melt if I get wet.
Well, fortunately, I mellowed from those troubled times. The fishing opener has become something I look forward to again. What did it take? The biggest factor was a realignment of my mental attitude. I used to think that it was sacrilegious NOT to go out. To stay off the water was a sin – possibly punishable by poor fishing the rest of the summer. If the fish weren’t biting and I wasn’t going to catch a limit, I would be disgraced in front of all of my fishing buddies. If I didn’t fend of the sleet and hurricane force winds that might be covering the region, I’d be regarded as something less of an outdoorsman. Well, none of that happened. I could embrace the opener whether I went out or not. If I hit the water and didn’t catch a stringer full of fish, it would be okay.
The opener became the freedom to go where and when I wanted to. I didn’t have to catch all the fish in my favorite spot opening day. I could spend any time in the coming weeks to do that. Cold and snow that Saturday’s morning? Looks like the weather gets much better by Tuesday. A hundred boats bouncing off each other in the best spot? They’ll all be at work by Monday – and I’m sure they left enough for me! Might there be a place that only I know about, or ambitious enough to get to? Oh, yeah!
There is another factor that has changed my outlook on what I do on that wonderful day in May. For a time, several years ago, my kids were an opportunity to introduce them to the wonders of the outdoors. We went on several outings where we shared experiences, our purpose in life, had enjoyable moments – and sometimes even caught some fish. All too soon those times were over. Fortunately, now my grandkids are at an age when I can show them what it’s like to smell clean air, work hard to accomplish a goal, learn how to set up a fishing rig, clean a walleye, search for the right habitat, show all my secret spots and feel the excitement of a tug at the end of their line. It’s a calling to bring them to this, and I relish it.
It’s not always easy. Some live far away. College, work, sports and friends tug at the attentions of grandkids that live close by. But I’ll take what I can get.
Buck, the Opener has again become something that I anticipate with excitement and remember with fondness. My tradition is different than your tradition, and that’s okay. When you get to our age and can still feel the importance of a particular day in mid-May, it’s a comfort that lives within us the rest of the year.
I hope you catch lots of walleyes tomorrow. But I know – even if you don’t - you’ll be satisfied and sleep well tomorrow night. As will I.
Hoops
