A No-Wake Rule means the oversized fishing boats and smallish cabin cruisers that normally ply this large exurban lake need to all go at 5 m.p.h. or less, and forget about wake boarding, water skiing, and all those other fast, wake churning activities. The result? A lot of butt hurt, a near First World depression setting in in the Twin Cities wester suburbs. Somebody took away our boy toys!

But then, somebody went fishing. It isn’t a great fishing lake. It is mainly a go-fast lake. In fact, it is on this particular lake, I believe (with no evidence I quickly add) the method of fast-trolling for muskies was invented. This is a way to “go fishing” and go fast at the same time. You drag the lure behind you as fast as your boat will go. It is said you can catch muskies this way. To my knowledge it has never happened. Just more boy toy.

Anyway, somebody went fishing on the No Wake Lake, and guess what happened? They caught a boat load of fish! Literally! Then their friends went out fishing, and they caught a boat load of fish too! Pretty soon all the fisherpersons who had access discovered that when you don’t drive giant boats back and froth across the lake at high speed all day, the fish feed. When you do, they hunker down, feed infrequently, and grow slowly.

Now, I’m not going to vouch for this relationship just yet, but it makes intuitive sense. In my own experience, quiet places are where you catch fish. If I’m fishing up at the lake, once the boats start driving around skiing (say on a fourth of july weekend) I might as well reel it in and go get a beer, because that’s the end of the fishing. I’m pretty sure my best fishing has been on Wednesday and Thursday, before the startup of the loud and noisy weekend. And that’s on a quietish part of a relatively quiet lake.

The only reason I’m mentioning this now is because I came across this story from my Science News Roundup:

The blare of human noise causes birds to pipe down and frogs to breed less frequently. Now, scientists have found a humanmade sound that has a far more colorful effect: The boom of a ship’s engine makes common cuttlefish (Sepia officinalis) change the complex swirls of skin hues, stripes, and spots that they use for camouflage and communication. …when researchers placed a loudspeaker near cuttlefish tanks and played the sound of an underwater engine, the animals swam more and changed colors more often. They also raised their first pair of arms, which are used to sense water movements, more frequently…The sounds of crashing surf had no effect, providing the first evidence that engine noise may stress the animals out.

The original story is here, in American Naturalist.

I would love to see a large number of large lakes shut down for boating. No motors. Eventually, of course, there will be no gas powered motors, with the shut down of fossil fuels. I promise you, when we start using quiet electric boats for fishing, the fishing will get better.

Just so you know, he was not fishing for “bluegills” This is a bluegill:

Bluegills live in fresh water and are like “sunfish” and “pumpkinseeds” and “crappies” etc. all of which are in the bass family.

Bluefish live in the ocean and roam along littoral regions in large schools. This is what large bluefish look like:

Of course, when one is fishing for bluefish, there is always the possibility of catching the fish that eats them, such as striped bass. Like this:

The striped bass is not in the “bass family” referred to above. Striped Bass are Moronidae, bluegills, largemouth bass, etc. are Centrarchidae.

Anyway, sometimes you catch a shark.

The Mocking Bass. For four years this fish watched me cast lures and live bait from the end of the small dilapidated dock in the lagoon behind the cabin, without ever showing interest in what I had to offer. Two weeks ago I dropped a plastic worm on his head. The worm slid off and rested on the bottom. The mocking bass reoriented towards the worm and took a sniff. I jiggled the worm. And, BANG. He took the bait. My drag was set to medium, so WZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ .. he took off across the lagoon. I tightened the drag a little because he was running into brush and he turned direction and jumped. But I kept the rod tip up and used his jump to bring him in. He ran back and forth across the lagoon two more times and then headed out. WZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ against the harder drag with his last bit of strength, and one more jump. Then I brought him in, letting him struggle and tire a little more because they always manage to pull off that one last bit of resistance, the one where you lose most of the big ones. I got on my knees and pulled him out just as he got near the dock… And that fish was THIS BIG!!!!!

It is true that there are many components of the act of fishing that one might do otherwise because they are pleasant things to do. One may socialize, one may entertain the kiddies, one may tool around in a boat, one may visit a local park, one may sit on the shore of a lake or river, one may hang out on the end of a dock taking in some sun or a gentle breeze. If you do any or some combination of these things with a fishing pole in hand does not matter. The fishing may only be the excuse to get outside, get some sun, get some exercise, whatever. Or, one could just be honest with oneself and recognize that the fishing itself does matter after all. And fishing without catching fish …. well, there IS a reason they call it FISHing.

Years ago I would hang out with my friend Robert, and we’d talk about art and politics and enjoy being with each other, but there would be fishing going on at the same time. These days I hang out with my friend Asha and we talk about relationships, running, racism, and all sorts of things that start with the letter “R” and there is also fishing going on at the same time. But the truth is that although the friendship and the sunshine and the breeze are all warm and worthy of effort, we are also paying attention to the fish. Or lack thereof. So Robert and I would prefer the harder to reach but more likely to produce pond, or we would row across the lake to the good spot, or leave an unproductive shore for another with more potential. Asha and I are interested in exploring each other’s past and learning about each other’s interests, but we are also exploring the local lakes and rivers, and learning about what baits are working to actually catch some fish.

Indeed, there is something that I enjoy immensely that utterly goes against the concept that it is the experience, not the fish that I will be happy to tell you about. Here at the cabin, I spend most of the daylight hours in one place or another where I can see either the bay on one side of the property or the small shallow embayment that we call the “Lagoon” on the other side, or the channel that connects them. I am observant and attuned to the signs of nature. I am aware of the direction of the wind, the twist of the current, the shoal of the baitfish, and the position of the shade from shoreline trees. Even in my peripheral vision, I notice the surface spoor and the indicated pattern of movement of predators such as the northern pikes. I am one with the herons, the eagles, and the loons who are also following the fish. Their movements and activities are a book I know how to read. I know when and where the fish will bite before the fish themselves know it. I am the fish. I am Kung Fu Fish.

On the porch leaning against the faux redwood table is a light tackle rig and a medium tackle rig. At the moment, the medium rig has a Mepps Agila #5, and the light tackle is rigged with a plastic worm a little heavy for the line but sometimes I take chances. At some moment during the day conditions will change. I will perceive some piscene activity, a sign of predatory movement, a disturbance among the minnows. Right now a brisk breeze is pressing the natural flotsam against the bay shore so within casting range there are tens of thousands of minnows. Too many minnows. And the water is choppy so a lure has too much competition for attention. The clouds tell me that the breeze will lighten up in the next hour or two, but then it will be too warm. But after another hour or two I expect the stirred up highly oxygenated lagoon to be a place of activity. As conditions change, I may change the lures on the rigs leaning against the table out on the porch. Later on, the bluegills may start feeding off the surface on flying insects. In their state of distraction the smaller ones will be prey for the bass, or perhaps the tiger muskies that occasionally pass through under conditions like this. A well placed medium Mepps Agila or a weedless crank bait will do the trick. I will watch for signs of the fish becoming active, and in their state of hunger and the simple fishy-limbic distraction of pursuit, becoming careless as well.

And then, I will select the appropriate tackle rig and walk down to the lagoon. I will choose the spot from which I will cast. I will see the rise or the ripple. I will cast. If no fish takes the bait on that single cast, then the fish have won and I will retire to the cabin to meditate, over a glass of chilled chocolate tequila, on what I did wrong. Or, it will be the fish, and not me, making the mistake. And I will land the bass or the muskellunge, there will be a brief knowing eye contact between us, and I will release it. And only the fish and I will understand that I am the one-cast kung fu fish master.

Other times, I just cast and cast and cast and nothing happens and if you ask me what I’m doing, I’ll say: “Actually, this is good core body exercise. Actually, I’m mainly practicing accuracy in casting. In fact, actually, I hope no fish bite, it would actually ruin all the fun!”

And you would think, “Man, what a loser!”