Going With It

Sometimes things just work. You can’t explain why, and even if you might want to do things one way, That Other Way is just simply better. At least for now.

Case in point: I spent a couple days out in western North Dakota with my friend Tyler Webster chasing walleyes. Normally walleye fishing out there is off the chain, but Tyler had warned me that the fishing had been terrible, so I adjusted my expectations.

That first night on Lake Sakakawea we rigged up and slow-trolled nightcrawlers on a little spinny lure using something called a Lindy No-Snagg slip sinker. We fished in about 18 to 25 feet of water. Tyler has caught zillions of walleyes with this method.

If you’re not familiar with it, Lake Sakakawea, one of the largest reservoirs in the United States, is a gigantic impoundment of the Missouri River. It is legendary for walleye fishing, but also has introduced species like coho salmon and brown trout. Smallmouth bass are abundant, and a guy could catch nice pike, burbot, channel catfish and panfish if he knew what he was doing — and for the record, Tyler does. He just prefers walleyes.

You are very aware that you are in the heart of the Great Plains when you are on this lake. Yes, there are trees, but mostly cottonwoods, which are the emblematic tree of the plains, rising to towering heights where they can find subterranean water. Mostly, however, the grasslands run right to the shoreline. It is big sky country.

Pay attention to the bluffs along the reservoir’s banks and you’ll also be aware that you are very much in mining country. The great Bakken Range is here, and the county Tyler lives in has more millionaires per capita than anywhere else in the country. Look about two-thirds up the bluffs and you’ll see a black seam of coal running right through all the other rock layers. Thanks, Carboniferous Period!

You can see the coal seam in the bluffs on the right.

Weirdly, the evening was still. The Plains are not known for being windless, but when it happens it’s magical. It’s so quiet on those moments you can hear your heart beat; it also means you can run your boat full throttle with no problems.

Tyler may historically have caught lots of walleyes with this set-up, but alas, not that night. I managed to catch one little walleye, which we released, but other than one short bite, that was all the action we had.

We talked to the woman at the bait shop, and Tyler called all his friends — he really wanted to get me on fish, considering it’s an eight-hour drive from St. Paul — and they all came back with the same advice: Use a bottom bouncer with a nightcrawler, and fish in 35 feet of water.

This was music to my ears, but not to Tyler’s. He has what I think is an irrational hatred of fishing that “deep,” which is laughable to me considering I regularly fish in the ocean at depths far exceeding 200 feet. He also loathes bottom bouncers because the odd wire that tics along the bottom, just below the sinker, can get wild if it’s swinging around on deck, piercing upholstery… or cheeks. Yikes.

I promised I’d be careful, so we rigged them up. The next morning, we returned to the same spot as the previous evening, which meant we’d fish again in 18 to 25 feet of water. Nada. Zilch. No bites.

Finally, after letting things play out for a few hours, I gently suggested that maybe we go to a spot to fish a little deeper. By then Tyler’s resolve had cracked, so he agreed. This new spot had five other boats at it, which can be a good sign — or just a sign that a bunch of guys are congregating and no one really knows what the hell they’re doing.

We dropped our gear in 35 feet of water, and almost immediately I got a serious bite. Tyler netted the fish, a pretty 24-inch walleye. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if we limited out in 35 feet of water?” I said breezily. Tyler harumphed.

Um… we limited out in 35 feet of water. Things went so well we fell for the “devil fish” curse, which is when you get so cocky you toss back marginal fish in the hopes of catching larger ones. We had been keeping 15-inch walleyes, but with only two more fish to go, when we caught another 15-incher, we’d release it.

And of course, the minute we got cocky, the lake reminded us who’s in charge. The Fish Gods generally frown on arrogant anglers, so they made us wait for more than an hour to get that last walleye, which was, yes, you guessed it, a 15-incher. Oh well.

We were happy. Plenty of walleyes for a fish fry, and one nice one. Tyler admittedly had to eat a little crow, and said he would have likely continued to fish his way had I not been there because he’d rather catch no fish his way than lots of fish using a method he dislikes. Truth be told, I’ve been guilty of that same stubborn streak plenty of times. The lake reminded us both that it pays to bend now and again.

Driving home, I reflected on the larger lesson here. We all have our ways — sometimes holding fast to what we know works, but, sometimes, loosening into something different is what’s called for. In this case, going with the flow of what tackle and depth everyone else was catching fish at clearly worked. You can see the same thing in the marsh on days when ducks are simply not coming to the call: Sometimes the best move is to fall silent, other days it’s to keep on quackin’. The art is knowing which day is which.

You might want you job or your relationship to look or work a certain way. You may want your spouse to be more or less of something: exciting in bed, or more eager to try new foods or travel, or less focused on personal hobbies. Or you may want more than someone can give right now. Ask yourself then: Does the situation you are in, in real life, work? Even if only for now? Then go with it.

Fish change their preferences. The next day Tyler could have gone back to his Lindy No-Snagg rig and smashed ‘em. What works today may shift tomorrow, and that’s okay. The key is to notice when the current carries you somewhere unexpected and good — and let yourself stay there fully, for as long as it lasts.