In 1949, a
good friend of mine, Cal Johnson, a sports writer, beat me
out–so I was again back in second place. To get beat a second
time, naturally was quite a let down, but I was happy for Cal, a
wonderful man if there ever was one.
I was then
living in Rice Lake, Wisconsin, was forty-nine years old, and
was taking a good look at my financial future. I figured it was
time to quit fooling around and start laying something up for
our old age. Although I felt, “To heck with muskie fishing,” I
couldn’t get it out of my head completely. I knew of a monster
on the North Fork of the Flambeau and one in the Chippewa
Flowage. So, in the fall of 1949, I decided to have one last
fling at these two fish and then forget about it–win, lose, or
draw.
But
now, whom do I fish with? Good old Tommy Campbell was in
Florida and while I learned later that there were some excellent
muskie fishermen in Rice Lake, I had not met them. Ted Hagg,
who operated a nightspot in Sarona, Wisconsin, came into my new
bar in town one day and I approached him on the subject. He
said, “How much do the Indians charge per hundred pounds?” Ted
was the kind of individual whom everybody wanted to be around,
with always a witty crack on the end of his tongue. He said it
would be good for him to get away from the place for a while, so
I had myself a partner.
I told him
I wanted to fish the entire month of October and he was
agreeable. So, on October 1st, we took off for
Herman’s Landing to fish on the Chippewa Flowage, and did so
each day until the 20th, when we finally hooked and
landed old “Chin Whiskered Charlie,” as I had named him. He was
a granddaddy: 69 pounds 11 ounces, 63½ inches long, and had a
girth 31¾ inches. It was taken in the late afternoon, around 4
o’clock I suppose, and it was getting kind of dusk when we got
in.
Everyone
on the flowage knew about “Chin Whiskered Charlie,” except no
one would talk about it. They all wanted to go out there and
get it themselves. I knew that big fellow was there. I’d been
after him for several years myself and hooked him a number of
times. Even Ted Hagg once had him hooked, about three weeks
before I finally caught him, so he was no stranger to us. We
had spent nineteen days fishing in that one hole for this “Chin
Whiskered Charlie.” He was lying in a pretty bad place, near a
jam of logs along the shore.
Roy
Risberg, who had a place not too far from Herman’s Landing, had
hooked a huge muskie during that time. When we’d come in each
evening from fishing, we’d stop in there and get a few hot
drinks or high balls and, one day, Risberg happened to be in
there and called me off to the side to tell me about this big
fish that he’d seen on Fleming’s Bar. He told me that he had
him on about three weeks before that and that I ought to go and
try for it over there. I thanked him very much for the tip.
During the
preceding five days before I caught my fish, it had been very
warm with temperatures in the 60’s and winds from a southerly
direction. I was out for nineteen days in a row before I
finally caught him, and I wouldn’t have gotten him that day if
it hadn’t been for the urging of our guide.
On that
particular day, George Quentmeyer, a guide who was off duty,
joined Ted and myself for a fishing expedition. Ted couldn’t
understand why I always kept going back to one particular spot.
Off and on, during the days we fished the flowage, we’d fish
there for an hour or so, and then go away and fish some place
else, but we’d always come back to it, several times a day.
Even
George Quentmeyer, as much as he guided the Chippewa Flowage,
didn’t know what I was there for; but he caught on fast. He
must have surmised that there was a big fish lookin’ around
there; he knew I had one spotted. George used to kid me about
going back to the log jam, as he called it. There were a lot of
logs there and it was a pretty wicked place to try to land a big
muskie.
On the
morning of Thursday, October 20th, it was still warm, but by
afternoon the weather had made a sudden change and a major cold
front moved in. We set out for our fishing trip to the flowage,
first stopping in at Charlie Pastika’s Bait Shop in Hayward to
carefully hand pick our suckers. We got our boat from Herman’s
Landing and set out on the water shortly after noon. It was a
cold, damp, foggy, dismal day with temperatures in the 40’s and
a steady drizzle almost turning into snow. A strong northeast
wind had blown up and it was generally nasty weather.
Ted was
seated in the front of the boat, I in the middle, and George was
in the stern on the oars. I had Gladding 42-pound test line on
and good gear (a Union Hardware rod and Cycloid casting reel)
because the fish was lying in a pretty bad place. George was an
excellent man to handle the boat, so I knew he would be a great
help if we ever did catch him.
About 3:30
p.m., I knew Ted was freezing because he was not dressed for the
cold, so I suggested we go in and have some hot drinks and get
warm at a nearby resort (Indian Trail Resort). He was all for
it, but George–who was no novice at handing out the old malarky
jazz himself–chided us with such remarks as “tenderfoot,
pansies, and city slickers.”
I was all
for quitting and trying him the next day, but the guide insisted
we give it one more try. George had been guiding all summer,
and this was his chance to finally catch up on his own fishing.
So when we left the tavern and got back into the boat, instead
of heading towards home, George took over the motor and ran us
right back to the same old spot and told us that we were going
to fish some more, like it or not.
Tired of
that spot, Ted complained, “What again, well that beats me,” and
just sat there all huddled up. I myself hated to get down into
that cold water in the minnow bucket for the sucker, but I did.
My fingers were numb with cold when I rigged my own make up of a
harness onto a fourteen-inch long sucker and laid him in the
water.
George was
rowing around in that spot, and I would let the sucker troll out
and then bring it back in with a series of jerks. The sucker
was really too large to cast so the trolling gave us the best
percentage.
It seemed
like no time until old “Chin Whiskers” hit the sucker and about
half a dozen little treble hooks that I had placed onto the
harness were set into his jaw. The big fish hit in about eight
feet of water. There was quite a fuss for a minute or two, as
“Chin Whiskers” asserted himself in the usual way, breaking
water and splashing. The muskie leaped out of the water three
times, just high enough for us to get a glimpse of it.
When the
fish broke water for the first time, we all thought it weighed
80 pounds! I can say it was just like any large fish, whereas
you had to use a certain amount of horse sense. He was heavier
to handle than my other muskies, but I had the right line and a
good man on the oars. The only difficulty we had was with Ted
Hagg when he stood up in the boat, an unpardonable sin in the
ethics of muskie fishing. George got to using a little swear
words as he immediately directed him to sit down or get clouted
with an oar. But Ted was stone deaf, for his eyes were glued on
the fish battling away out there.
So I said,
“Ted, will you help me a second?” He agreed.
I said,
“Sit down and don’t stand up again.” Ted countered by asking
George if he would do something for him, like take him to
shore.
Now, in
the next few lines you will see who was responsible for landing
my world record muskie. George was an artist in handling a
boat. There was a wind blowing us towards the log jam along the
shore, which would have been fatal had “Chin Whiskers”
successfully reached there.
I had my
pistol, at many times, ready to shoot, but couldn’t do it. The
wind was quite high and George was busy with the boat, working
it away from the shore. As best I could, I got the fish out in
the lake where there was nothing to do but wait for the
opportunity to plug him.
I had the
fish up a few times, but there was always a wave or something to
prevent a good shot. George was quite perturbed, at least once,
when he thought I should have shot and I didn’t, but he couldn’t
see exactly my predicament. When George asked, “Why don’t you
shoot?”, I told him why and then he understood.
Finally,
“Chin Whiskers” came up again–this time back by George. My back
was to George so I didn’t know what he was up to and then, as it
went on past, I heard, “BING-BING,” and saw the fish stiffen
up. I could have kissed George on the spot, for he had–with the
quick skill of an expert guide–dropped the oars and shot the
fish twice, in rapid succession, in a very vital spot–and he
killed it.
So now it
finally boils down to this: If it hadn’t been for George, we
wouldn’t have gone back to that spot. Had it not been for
George, the boat would probably have drifted into the log jam
and the fish would have gotten off. Had it not been for George
shooting the fish, it might have gotten off, as anything can
happen when fighting a fish as large as that. So in reality, I
got the credit for the catch, while George was 99% responsible
for it.
