Pine Knot Outdoors: Dallying is no option under a revered Harvest Moon

I stood parallel to the Cloquet goal line cheering on the hometown Lumberjacks football team Friday night under the lights of Bromberg Field. The moon struggled to break through the thick white clouds intermixed with the blue smoke rolling off the B&B wagon. It finally busted free over the visitor's goalposts. I noted the time: 8:30 p.m. on the nose. The Harvest Moon. It only rolls around once a year, so I knew I needed to take full advantage of its presence. (For the record, the Lumberjacks proved victorious.)

Saturday morning I filled the tank in the Suburban in anticipation of putting some miles on over the course of the day. First stop, the Cloquet Lumberjacks soccer game in Superior. Sitting in the bleachers enjoying the T-shirt weather and outpouring of Cloquet goals, my mind began to shift to evening plans. By the time Joseph arrived home, it was pushing dinnertime. We were both a little worn down, but vegging out during a fall full moon was not a viable option. Joseph, David and I hooked up the big blue Lund and headed west.

Our wheels didn't stop turning until we were over an hour from home. A new lake had beckoned us - its walleyes calling from the DNR creel survey like the tempting song of a siren.

We dumped the boat in around 7 p.m., well before the sun would dip below the horizon to the west and the moon would rise to the east.

We trolled shallow water on the inside and outside edges of weed beds, laying our tracks for after sunset. We were rewarded with a couple of early biting walleyes that didn't realize we were there to catch them after dark. I scanned the lake and took note of the locals heading out in their pontoons as dusk descended. Each one of them eventually anchored up on the outside edge of the weeds, pitching lighted bobbers in all directions. Later in the darkness, I would use them as giant lighted buoys marking my path around the rim of the lake.

Our early success faded with the sun. A lengthy dry spell had us questioning our choice of lakes and our technique. Having packed no live bait nor bobbers, we were forced to stick with our trolling routine. The moon was late compared to its appearance over the goalposts the night before. It struggled to illuminate the water through the thick clouds gathered atop the treetops. When it finally broke free, it was high and full and bright. The water reflected its brilliance.

Because it rises shortly after the sun sets, the Harvest Moon has allowed farmers to work late into the night ever since the first Neolithic settlers scratched their livelihood from the soil. We felt a kinship with eons of gatherers as we filled our live well. The walleyes on cue went into a frenzy by the light of the moon. Recklessly they hammered crankbaits trolled far behind the boat or hanging just over the gunnel. After a few hours, flush with fish and memories, we hit the landing. Both boys were fast asleep within minutes of our departure.

Life is measured in these moments. It's not about having the time; it's about making the time. Experiencing the Harvest Moon behind my tiller handle will always be a priority for me. Each Harvest Moon spent on the water versus plopped on the couch is a small victory.

Bret Baker is a lifetime resident of Cloquet. He is a proud husband, father, educator and outdoorsman. He began guiding fishing trips when he was 16 years old.