Dave Dorazio

Back in 1985, I interviewed Ken Ackley, one of the Chippewa Flowage's pioneer muskie guides, for a profile I was doing on him. After spending the evening with him and hearing countless tales about his illustrious guide career, I was left with a much deeper insight into the history of the Flowage... and what it was like in the raw wilderness back in the days of old. Of course, he told me numerous stories of big muskies that had been caught or lost... but there was one valuable piece of information interwoven into one these tales that especially captured my attention. It referred back to a happening on the Flowage that occurred back in 1933.

During the summer, Ackley told me, there had been a terrible drought: it was hot, there'd hardly been any rain, the water was eight feet down, and - worse yet - the fishing was terrible. He told me the best fishermen in the lake couldn't even "buy a muskie." The fishing was so tough, Ken said that they started row trolling spoons and yellow bucktails in the deeper water, right down the middle of the old river channel, to see if anything was out there. They began connecting with muskies out in the deep water and, when word got out at the nearby resort which Ken's father-in-law had owned, many of their guest ended up getting in on the action too. With only a week or so, Ackley said their guests caught fifty-two muskies... with one of them being close to 40 pounds.

That story impressed me because it had taught me that, no matter how "bad" the muskie fishing appeared to be, it gave me hope and confidence that maybe trying different tactics could make the difference. Of course, being tuned into the shallow water bar pattern which is the primary method of approach to use when fishing the Flowage, I didn't get too excited about fishing out in the middle of the lake. but, I figured, I'd keep this method in mind.. for the next time a severe drought came along.

Two years later, during the summer of 1987, we were plunged into the beginning of a two-year drought. By the middle of July of that year, the rains had become scarce and the scorching days quickly brought water temperatures up to unbearable levels, as far as "Mr. Muskie" was concerned. It seemed as though the muskies had all but vacated the traditional shallow bars that normally produced so well on the Flowage. Three weeks had gone by with very little action and only meager catch reports. People talked about this being the worst drought since the thirties and, more than once, I heard discouraged fishermen say, "Boy, you can't even buy a muskie." And then I remembered what Ken Ackley had told me two years earlier... and what he did during the big drought of `33. Well, I don't know about teaching an old dog, new tricks, but I do know this was one case where Ken had taught a "New dog", old tricks.

Figuring I had nothing to lose, I thought I would follow Ken's advice. Although I wasn't about to go row-trolling spoons in the middle of the lake, I figured I'd adapt this method into something that I believed could work. So I decided to take a multi-colored Bootail - something that was noisy and very visible - and "crawl" it over some deeper water structures. I knew where there were some deep stumps and snags near where Ackley had told me that he had all his action years before. Figuring the deep wood in those cooler waters might be harboring muskies, I slowly "crawled" my Bootail though the area. Amazingly, within only fifteen minutes, I had a good fish nail my lure in the depths and had for myself a nice 20-pound plus muskie. What a great confidence booster, to get a fish so quickly when trying out a new method.

The next day I came back to the same area and rose three more fish: had a nice one hit, caught a 36 incher, and I lost one by the boat that was well over twenty pounds. This time though, I was using a shad colored, Striker jerk bait. With its gliding darting motion, I just knew this lure would be one that muskies couldn't resist. I wasn't disappointed.

Excited about the good action I was getting into, upon consulting with the other muskie men, I was interested to hear that no one else was seeing fish. yet. It seemed I was onto an alternate pattern that was working. Thinking about what other areas on the Flowage had similar kinds of deeper structures, I began trying them out... being pleasantly surprised to discover consistent muskie action coming to me on most of these new deeper water "connections".

And then came August 11, 1987. Hitting the water at daybreak, I anxiously set out to an area that I found several years before, during the winter draw-down period, where there was much deep wood in ten to twelve feet of water. There was a full moon, the early morning skies were clearing skies, and fairly strong south wind was building. Upon tying a fresh knot onto my large striker jerk bait, I began making a series of forty yard parallel casts... with the idea of sweeping this deep, stumpy area clean. The sun was just beginning to rise and I was primed and ready.

I had only made less than ten casts when the big one hit - on my second jerk - probably in about ten feet of water. It hit hard and with authority, and I was right on him with a powerful hook set. After my hook set, the huge muskie immediately reacted by exploding out of the water like a tarpon... piercing through the surface of the water and jumping five feet in the air. Who ever said that huge muskies don't jump?

Upon seeing the size of this fish, it was almost hard to believe that it really was a muskie... for it was too big, too long, and too thick. This muskie was so big that I knew at a glance that it was a "keeper"... a fish that was at least in the 55 inch bracket and over 45 pounds.

My heart raced, as I knew that - as a muskie angler - this was my moment of truth. Only twice before - up until that time had I seen muskies that I knew were that big: once, back in 1977, when I had on and lost a 45-pound class muskie, known a "the Alligator", on Fleming's Bar- and, in 1979, when I had a 60 inch class fish explosively nail a sucker from the surface, not far from Cranberry Bar. There was also the time in the fall of `77 when I lost a huge muskie on two separate occasions in the same spot... but I never did see that fish. All of these defeats flashed through my mind as I saw this grand specimen of a muskie explode out of the water like a missile with my striker in his mouth. The fish seemed to hang in the air for a moment... as if to make sure that I got a good look at her. Upon crashing back down into the water and it taking off to the side, I felt confident that this fish was mine... as it seemed to be well hooked and I was out in the middle of the lake - free, I thought, from any obstructions. Although I was able to work the fish to the boat by the power that the fish exhibited, there was no question as to who was in control... the fish. I attempted to pressure it to the surface but, as if to say, "I think not," the muskie just powered off to the side and remained hidden well beneath the surface.

The muskie seemed to fight harder and harder on each successive pass that it made by the boat, never allowing me to get a glimpse of it. All I could see as the fish cruised by the boatwas my taut, white 40-pound Micron line cutting a purposeful track though the water. The fish then took off on a run of continually increasing power away from the boat, into the wind. Increasing my thumb pressure and expecting to turn the fish after it had run perhaps twenty yards, I couldn't even being to slow it up. I watched incredulously as fifty yards of line was ripped from my reel, as the fish just kept up its hard run up wind with no sign of slowing.

Granted, the boat had been drifting away from the muskie at the same time... but still, I have never had another muskie make a run like that. Acting fast, I started my outboard motor and began backing into the wind towards the fish. With the moderate chop rhythmically pounding into the stern of my boat as I began regaining my ground, it reminded me of the time that I was fighting a 90 pound sailfish in Mexico and my captain had thrown his boat into reverse to follow the fish. Upon catching up with the muskie, I shut my motor off and again pressured the fish towards the surface. This time I was able to coax it to the top - but only for a moment - and there it was... laying on the surface with the waves breaking over its broad back. Then it quickly vanished back into the depths. I knew the battle was far from over, but at least round one was done with. Still feeling confident and convinced that I wasn't going to lose this fish, I figured I would just play it out until it began to tire.

The muskie made a hard run off to the left and, suddenly, the fish stopped dead and I couldn't budge it. A sick feeling in the pit of my stomach told me that something was very wrong. Hoping the fish had just momentarily stopped and was "playing possum", I realized that my gravest fear had just come true... the muskie had hung my lure into a stump. I frantically tried to jiggle my lure free but couldn't... eventually breaking my line off and seeing my hopes of landing such a beautiful trophy dashed, once again. I literally felt sick to my stomach.

And there I sat, peering into the water with a blank stare, wondering where I had gone wrong .... and knowing that I would never know whether that fish remained hooked to that stump with the lure or had torn itself free. One thing was for sure though, had it not been for Ken Ackley's bit of advice... I never would have even had the chance at such a magnificent fish.