.jpg)
Catching walleyes, it’s part of what fishing is to me, and then catching, one big one after another, the photos, of course, slooping them back into the water, big tail flash, gone, the walleye chop on the lake, sunshine cloudless blue sky as a pelican sails in off the far shore. I feel extremely happy.
Were backtrolling betwixt and between a chain of islands, one with a lime green tent and an upturned canoe along the shore, the lakebed is a gravelly rocky bait bumping only six feet deep, and its loaded with walleyes.
I net yet another very large walleye Mrs. has just caught, my goodness it’s a doosey, and for some really unexplainable reason beyond anything I know, they just keep coming. I feel giddy.
We take a break on the lake, motor off, cooler opened, feet up noshing ice-cold watermelon, a bald eagle spinning circles high above, two honkers taking a noontime dip, Mrs. is verbally replaying her biggest walleye of the day so far smiling, and I’m smiling right back at her.
We both mention that we’ve caught numerous walleyes a time or two, but never this many truly large ones and no small eyes, no northerns, just big walleyes, and not one single itchy irritating bug bite.
--The trout whisperer
