Surf and Turf … Minnesota Style

My wife will no doubt agree that I’m full of great ideas. On this particular November Sunday I’ve decided I should chase some walleyes. That’s not the great idea — it gets better. I have sold myself on the idea of fishing a new stretch of water and, just to be different, I will be packing my blaze orange and deer rifle.

After consulting the onXhunt app on my phone, I’ve identified a section of river that meets the criteria I’ve laid out in my head. It needs to have a decent boat landing, and it has to give us plenty of access to huntable public land. I’ve also roped another seemingly level-headed man into joining me: Chad Vermeersch of Cloquet. We will take his 16-foot Lund to the upper reaches of the St. Louis River in search of walleyes and whitetails.

As with any new adventure, there is a planning phase. This planning phase can last for months, or — in this particular case — minutes. We have the boat; we have the fishing equipment; our deer hunting stuff is all piled in the truck, leaving only one major detail to figure out. When it comes to the law, we really don’t want to guess as to the legality of transporting our deer rifles via boat. We show no interest in finding our name in the paper, or in the Game Warden’s weekly report. Luckily, Chad, a Cloquet firefighter and paramedic, has some connections. He calls one of the local game wardens, and he is more than happy to point us in the right direction. Our newly found understanding is that you can use a boat for transport to your hunting location, but you may not hunt deer from a motorized vessel.

Our plan is to launch and head upriver, trolling for a couple of miles. We figure if the motor conks out, it’s much better to be upstream of the landing. We’ve also picked out a pinch point on the map that shows a set of rapids. It is here we plan to disembark and try our hand at surf and turf, Minnesota style. We launch the boat and point it west, against the current. Having never fished this stretch of river, my immediate concern is the depth of the water. Fortunately, Chad has fish TV. This is what he has nicknamed his enormous Hummingbird graph that sits at arm’s length from the tiller

handle on his 40-horsepoweYamaha. The graph fluctuates between 4- and 6 feet for large sections of the river. Outside bends and the main river channel register 7-11 feet.

It’s in these deeper holes we find our fish. The first walleye that comes to the boat measures about 8 inches. Not what we are looking for, but at least it’s the right kind. We work our way against the current, maintaining a trolling speed of 1.8-2.0 miles per hour. In an hour we land a couple walleyes that find their way back to the river, and several more that bang around the bottom of the cooler.

We have also arrived at our destination, about two miles from the landing. We slide into position and tuck behind a small point. Chad chucks the anchor onto the grassy bank and we come to rest. We grab and pull at trees, our boots struggle to find solid ground as we scurry up and over the steep embankment.

We admire our newfound territory. A couple miles or more from the nearest road, the woods feel wild and untouched. No four-wheeler trails cut across the side of the ridge, no broken-down treestands mark human presence. We scan the banks of the river, across a short flat, and up the side of a steep ridge. The ridge reminds me of Jay Cooke in its ruggedness.

I scan the ridge for any sign of life. I picture a doe rounding the tip of the ridge, a thick-necked buck on her trail, grunting with each footfall. I imagine another buck, panting from the rigors of the rut, making his way down to the water’s edge to steal a quick drink before resuming the pursuit. My visions remain mirages as the afternoon descends toward darkness. It’s comforting to climb into a familiar blind or deer stand. It’s also a thrill to experience something completely outside the norm.

Pushing off into the rushing river as the wind and the snow swirls around us, I’m thankful we’ve taken the challenge and left routine behind. The snow drives hard down the length of the river and bites into our exposed skin; we quickly decide it’s best to make our way back. Of course, we stop and troll where we found walleyes on the way up, adding a few more to the tally. In fact, the day proves much more productive for surf than turf.

Bret Baker is a lifetime resident of Cloquet. He is a proud husband, father, educator and outdoorsman. Bret began guiding fishing trips when he was 16 years old. Today, in his 40s, his passion is to introduce people to the tremendous outdoor adventures available in our region.