An Easy Way to Fish

As I've written before, I am not, and never have been, real keen on fishing. But before Stephen and I would drive and hike to the Rum River, or Cedar Creek, I would sometimes be up at my uncle's cabin near Grand Rapids. The cabin was high on a hill overlooking Little Wabanna Lake. Little Wabanna was one of those tiny pond-like lakes, great for pan fish and a few northern pike. Only catching the big fish was difficult. The reason was the lake was so inundated with small fish the big fish hardly bothered with bait on a hook.

We used to sit on the big pontoon raft about thirty yards from shore in fifteen feet of absolutely clear water. You could see the bottom. You could also see hundreds of pan fish swimming in the pontoon's shadows. We would row out to the raft with cane poles and a carton of worms. Then we would fish.

This kind of fishing was incredibly easy. Hooks would barely enter the water before six or eight fish would swarm upon them. A quick jerk of the pole and up came the catch - generally a pitifully small sunfish. Sometimes it would be an even smaller perch. The bigger fish were deeper down, but getting the hooks down there was a trial. We would put six or eight lead sinkers on the lines and drop them in. But with all of the small fish the odds of catching a "keeper" were fairly slim. Yet it was not catch and release. The lake was so overstocked with fish that the rule was keep everything. What you didn't eat yourself would be fed to the hogs, or buried in local gardens for fertilizer. There were just too many fish in the lake.

I found this out first hand when Helvie and I were fishing. We ran out of bait and as a joke I just dropped an empty hook into the water. I caught a fish. We thought it was so funny we sat and caught a dozen more. From that day on we never used bait. We just went out with hooks and caught fish. For eight and nine-year-olds it was great.

What I remember, though, is how the fish quit biting around sunset. That was when the lake's surface became covered with water spiders, gnats, and other insects. At that point the fish would ignore even the best of bait and head to the surface to eat bugs. We would sit and listen to the popping sounds all around us. It sounded like a room full of gum chewers smaking their lips. It would last until dark. Then the fish would be done until the morning.

Eventually the lake's overpopulation of pan fish dwindled. I haven't fished there in at least forty years. My aunt still lives there, but I think she's gone most of the year now. The bug population is still high. Mostly mosquitos.