The Pig Pen
A call came in from a close buddy saying the ramp was open. South winds and a little rain had eating the ice off the lake several days sooner than I had expected. I had been caught with my pants down, still changing the line on reels and building leaders for the upcoming spring ice out muskie season. Most of my baits had been checked and the hooks replaced and sharpened with new split rings. I have learned that the ice out season can come as early as the first of February, so I always start working on the season in January during the long cold nights after returning home from goose hunting.
My buddy said he was headed down after church. He wanted to know if I wanted to climb in his boat. The answer was a sound, “yes,” after he explained there were still patches of ice on the lake and my big glass Targa would be of no use to us if we had to break some ice. I had a couple hours to get a few baits and rods ready before I had to meet him at the ramp. The choices of baits were easy, big rubber and big glide baits were on the menu for this afternoon. I grabbed a couple of newly re-lined Johnny Morris wide spool reels and two 7’6’’ Bass Pro Shops muskie angler rods. My choice of leaders was 9’’ solid spring steel leaders that I make myself along with a couple of 100 lb. fluorocarbon in case the water was extremely clear. I grabbed one clear box and started filling it with baits. Oh, crap. I almost forgot the order I had gotten in from Rollin and Helens Muskie Shop I had received a few days prior. There were a few new baits I was wanting to give a toss.
Time for launch was nearing, so I grabbed my 100-mph suit, put the liner in the jacket, toe warmers in the boots, and tossed it all in the Tundra. On my way to the ramp, the truck was being moved around a little from the strong southeast winds. With ramp in sight, I thought to myself, “I hope he has enough trolling motor to keeps us fishing in this wind.” I was not really thrilled about spending the afternoon being spun around the lake like a top on a tabletop, but in the back of my head, I knew my buddy was also a perfectionist and his equipment would be up for the task at hand.
I turned down the road towards the ramp and I could see he was already unstrapping the boat. There was no one in sight, so the open water was ours. The Mercury sprang to life after a couple of cranks and we were off with both of our eyes glued to the electronics looking for that exact area where the Pig Pen had been set up for that day.
What is a pig pen you ask? Well, a Pig Pen is a spot where the wind, water temperature, and clarity have made the conditions perfect for the large gizzard shad schools to congregate. These large schools of 6 to 8-inch shad are perfect hunting grounds to bring the pre-spawn female muskies in from all areas of the lake and concentrate them in a small area I call the Pig Pen. A pen of hungry muskies eating, preparing to eat, or just finished eating. You can sit on these areas for a long time because the fish are moving in or out of the schools. Every cast you make has the potential of contacting a fresh fish looking for an easy meal. So, that explains the pen part of the equation, and we all know what a Pig is, a big fat pre-spawn muskie, the fish that have haunted our dreams since the boats have wintered. We contacted a large school of shad not far from the ramp. The ball looked good but did not have the large arches near it meaning the muskies were not there. Opting not to fire cast at any shad balls until we contacted big fish near or in them, we pushed on. Not far from the last ball was another. This one was much deeper with good arches on it. We dropped in the Minn Kota and started to launch baits at different angles at the school. The wind had picked up, and boat control was getting tough. Without a follow or any hits, we moved on.
The 3rd school we contacted was tucked in on the back side of a point so we could position the boat out of the wind but still hit the bait ball. Within seconds of our baits hitting the water, we had a follow and then another. Slow and deep they came, one after another. No takers. They just slipped back into the darkness without much interest in our baits. The dark day was turning darker, and the cold was freezing the water in the guides as the afternoon grew later. My buddy knew of one last place he had contacted large schools of shad the spring before, so we pulled the electric and made for one last spot.
As luck had it, the shad were on the spot as well as the muskies. The wind was perfect and blowing into a little cove. We were low on battery power, so we set up upwind letting mother nature move us along. It was not long before I had a tap on the large plastic, kind of like a light walleye hit, but firm. I reeled back and set the hook. Immediately, the fish ran for deep water so hard it spun the small aluminum boat around 90 degrees. We were deep in the cove, so boat control was tough. The fish ran hard, and I yelled, “get me the hell out of this cove so I can fight the Bi…!” Before he could make the hard turn, the fish was gone. Damn. I never caught up to her. I don’t think I got the hooks buried. The combination of wind, slack line, and a bad choice of rod action cost me a fish. The 7’6’’ medium heavy action rod had not been stiff enough to bury the hooks in her tough jaw bone.
The ride back home was full of questions. I walked in the door and immediately looked at the weather on my laptop. The really cold stuff was not going to be back in the area until tomorrow night. I ran back outside and plugged in my Targa. The LED lights sprang to life like Christmas tree lights on a cold December night. All systems were charging. I went back in the house, removed the layers of clothing, and headed to my basement lair where I had several new rods fresh in from Bass Pro Shops. My eyes were straining in the dim light to make out the small writing on the rods. Back upstairs, I bolted for my cheaters, fumbling through the new rods until I grabbed one that was a broomstick, 9‘ heavy action the small print said. This rod was a piece of lumber and just what the doctor had ordered. I unwrapped it and mounted the Johnny Morris wide spool reel, and set to work making a couple of leaders just a little longer, considering the size of the fish and the slack line often encountered when fishing rubber deep.
The rest of the night was spent tossing and turning, reliving the previous day’s events. Was that fish still there? If it wasn’t, were there bigger ones on the same school of shad? I awoke twice and rechecked the weather, reassuring myself there was a window that I could get my boat in and have another go at it.
Around 9 am, the weather had finally gotten above freezing. The boat was on the Tundra, and I was just loading my thermos with hot coffee when the phone rang. It was my buddy who had been in the office all morning moving appointments trying to free up a couple of hours to get back on the water. He had succeeded and was headed to the ramp. I was happy to hear this because the fish had been in an area without much wiggle room and another hand would be a great help if one of us hooked one of the pigs.
We watched my new Hummingbird big screen for signs of life under the surface as we motored to our previous spot. On the way, we were getting discouraged because of the lack of life moving. We had not seen any shad moving. Had last night’s cold temps pushed them back on the bottom? With 100 yards to go to the spot I lost the fish, the new color screen lit up with all of the colors of the rainbow. Whoo hoo! The shad were here and so were the pigs. They were still penned up at the mouth of the cove.
I immediately dropped in my Minn Kota and turned on the front electronics. We both double checked the split rings, drags and hooks before lobbing our first cast into the bait ball. I was using a knew bait, same style but new color. I had given the bait I had hooked on the fish on the day before to my buddy. The shad were about 10 feet deeper than yesterday, so we counted the baits down before each retrieve. About 10 minutes into the set, we had calmed down and were working the baits at the proper depths. I made a long cast out over the bow and counted the baits down to 12 before I raised the rod. I lifted the rod. There was no resistance from the bait. I dropped the tip and reeled the slack up, feeling weight, I reared back with everything I had, hitting the immovable object so hard I felt like I broke a rib. The object I had hooked was solid. It did not give an inch. Had I hooked a stump? Wait. There it was, a hard head shake meaning the new 4x hooks had found a soft spot. We immediately went into a controlled frenzy. Fish on……Get the net! I could not move her. She stayed deep.
The heavy action rod bowed like the leaf spring on a jacked-up truck. I held on with everything I had, backing off the drag ever so slightly. I was not about to give her any slack this time. She stayed deep, always heading nose down on her runs until the heavy action of the rod made her level out. Slowly, I worked the fish, keeping steady pressure on her. It had been several minutes since I hooked her, but she was showing signs of tiring. Foot by foot, I recovered the line until she broke the surface 10 feet out facing away from the boat. I yelled, “she is not ready yet.” “Wait until she is turned toward the boat.” “I want her face first into the net.” “Don’t you miss this fish buddy!” The heavy action of the rod forced her to turn and head our way. Into the water the big Fraible net went as she swam towards us head first into the net. “Holy sh..,” I yelled, as she rolled in the net still in the water. All I could see of the big bait was a small piece of tail hanging out of her mouth. “Damn, she ate that one,” I exclaimed. She remained calm as I went to work on removing the hooks from her. Twice, she slammed her mouth shut sending the jaw spreader flying almost out of the net. You cannot believe the power these big fish have.
Hooks out, I struggled to hoist her out of the water for a picture. We put her back into the water quickly making sure she was good to go after such a hard fight. Her large tail seemed to be waving goodbye at us as she sunk back into the depths she came from. She was a true giant, I never got a girth measurement on her as the hook removal took some time and I wanted no extra stress put on her. A stare into two buddies’ eyes after an event like that cannot be explained in words. It took teamwork to land that fish. It was as much as a victory for my buddy as it was for me. It will forever be burned into my brain with the other memories from the PIG PEN until the ice once again leaves the lake and the hogs put on the feed bag!
I will, once again, be taking a limited number of clients out looking for these big girls. If you want a crack at one of them, you better call or e-mail me soon as trips are limited. You can reach me at 309-267-8309 by phone or by e-mail at trolling@mtco.com. I will also be doing seminars at the Bass Pro Shops in Bolingbrook, Illinois at the Spring Classic in February.
SEE ‘YA ON THE WATER!
