Coleman Lake

The sun was creeping up behind the towering pine trees as I sip on my torrid coffee. The majestic views and tranquil sounds bring a sense of peacefulness to me during my long weekend retreat. I glance at my watch which reads 5:45 am, I gather my tackle box, which is overflowing with excess hooks and line, I stick in underneath the damp boat seat. With the water glistening in the morning sunlight, combined with the scent of pine needles which is always prominent in the crisp air of Northern Wisconsin makes it a very pleasant saturday morning.

Still half asleep, I lethargically begin to move the oars across the glass waters of Coleman Lake. The 12ft emerald row boat glides on top of the surface, making its way to the opposite side of the lake. I continue rowing observing the breathtaking views of this pristine lake. I swivel my head around and focus on the rustic cabins that scatter the shoreline. These ancient homes hold decades of memories. I prop my oars up and reach around for the polyurethane anchor line. I gently set the rusted ten pound anchor in the water and letting it plummet to the mucky bottom. My stern swings around as the anchor locks the boat in place. I thoroughly sift through my tackle box looking for perfect attraction to start my day. I snag my two 6’8 ft St.Croix rods and tie a mimic plastic crawfish on one and a spinner bait on the other. In addition, I tie on a big streamer that mimics a baitfish on my fly rod. I have positioned myself parallel to the shore and perpendicular to Bear Island which is an island located off the east shore of Coleman Lake. The thickness of the summer hydrilla covers the surface which provides superior habitat for smaller fish to hide. Smaller fish like bluegill and crappie that hide in these weeds attract more territorial and predatory Northern Pike that lurk for a quick snack.

I work the edge of the weeds searching for fish that are lurking for a quick snack. Thirty minutes pass, I come up empty handed and my hope of finding a big one begins to fade. I'm forced to trade my crawfish for a little green pumpkin swig jig. I launch the jig 30 yards parallel to the weed bed about 15 feet off the edge. I give it a 10 count in my head to allow the ⅜ ounce jig to drift towards the mucky 20 ft bottom. I moderately jig it along the bottom waiting anxiously for a strike. Only about 10 yards left till the lure reaches the boat I feel my line tense up and I immediately jerk my rod towards the sky to see the hook, Fish on!

The line darts across the surface of still water as the fish moves from left to right trying to shake the hook loose. Steadily gaining line on this mysterious fish, the line begins to lose slack a sign that the fish is coming to the surface. I race against time to regain slack and keep tension on him. I crank down on it as the bass breaks the surface propelling itself into the air while shakings its bucket mouth vigorously desperately trying to shake the hook. It dives back down as I continue to crank down on the reel. The fish surfaces exhausted, I anxiously snatch my net and swoop underneath the bass. Landing my first fish of the day release relieving sigh of relief throughout my body. I pin it down and surgically remove the hook that was lodged in the back of its throat. Carefully grasping the bass's lip I lay it horizontally against the measuring tape, 17 ½ inches it measures a very healthy fish with a substantial belly on it. I take a few action shots, blinding the fish with my flash. I dunk its head underneath the water, bringing life back into its body. Minutes later vigorously propels himself back under, leaving me grinning and covered with fish slime and mucky lake water.

The time reaches

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