“Goose” Chase

After a hiatus that literally spanned months, it is with my great pleasure to inform you that the Goose is no longer on the loose.

Yes, it’s true. I, Mitch “Goose” Larson, have returned to spew my outdoor-focused ramblings. Encouraged by two of the greatest music videos of all time (“Ice Fish, Baby” by Shad Rapp and “Mamma Said Knock You Out” by LL Cool J) I have decided to once more take on the world of walleyes, turkeys, and everything else out related to God’s great outdoors. Whether that’s for better or worse…well, you can be the judge.

While I have been absent the past six months, a lot has changed, but in a way, nothing has changed at all. Fall, like it always does, wisped by too quickly. Winter, in all its bleakness, gave us–as outdoors enthusiasts–the opportunity to find beauty where others only see hinderance. And where just six months ago our fowl were finishing rearing its hatch, they’re now on the verge of returning back to their nesting grounds. So despite the changes we’ve all seen in our lives since I last wrote, it’s fun to realize that nature has never left us. It’s always changing, but just as the certainty of the seasons, it’s always the same.

So as we begin to prep for the return of spring, I hope you also begin to check back in with the blog here at Mitch Larson Outdoors! It’s my goal to once again bring you fun and useful posts from the heartland of God’s Country.

So with that, in the genius words of our dear outdoor poet LL Cool J, “Don’t call it a comeback!”

-Mitch Larson


Well, put it this way, I began chipping away at my 10,000  casts over opening weekend. Besides that, not much else went my way during my first few days of northern Wisconsin’s muskie season.

Friday afternoon, with the muskie opener approaching with every tick of the second hand, found my anticipation building. Giddy, instead of antsy, might be a better way to describe my emotional state that afternoon. I had been waiting all winter for this. My mom compared me to a kid on Christmas morning as I re-organized my tackle box no less than three times, playing with each respective bait, as Friday evening began to draw on. My rods were readies, leaning against the wall by the door. Everything was ready and prepared for 3:30 am when my dad and I had our alarms set for.

My alarm clock rang out once before I rolled out of bed (a rarity, usually the snooze button is enticed at least twice) and headed for the coffee pot. Excitement turned to disappointment as lightning lit up the pre-dawn darkness. The Larson fishing team has few rules, but one that we always heed: no fishing when you can see lightning. Muskies:1, Larsons: 0.

It stormed all morning and by the time thunder rolled to the east, the wind jumped at the opportunity to play spoiler. Sending whitecaps rolling down the length of the lake, we beat our way toward the leeward side of the lake. It seemed like every other muskie, walleye, and bass fisherman in Vilas County met us there. We played bumper boats for the rest of the day, throwing bucktails above new weed growth while zig-zagging around the casts of our fellow fisherman. Not a fish was caught, not a fish was seen. Muskies: 2, Larsons: 0.

Sunday morning found us with renewed hope. The weather looked much nicer. Overcast with slight winds beckoned us to the water. I started out throwing a Showgirl, working some deeper depths than we did the previous day. The non-existent wind gave us opportunity to fish the lake in its entirety. Things were looking up for the Larson fishing duo.

That is, til our trolling motor stopped working 20 minutes into the adventure.

One doesn’t really realize how much they rely on their Minnkota til it’s unresponsive. No ability to effectively control your boat made for difficult muskie fishing for the rest of the day. Muskies: 3, Larsons: 0.

So while my first weekend of fishing was difficult and frustrating, to say the least, I’m not terribly disappointed. When I made the decision to hunt down my first muskie I knew it was going to be a work-in-progress. I never expected it to be easy.

Just 9,500 casts to go.

-Mitch Larson

Ladies and gentlemen of the Northwoods: Start! Your! Bucktails!

And after a long hiatus from MLO, I’m back with a vengeance. And this time, that vengeance is focused on one thing: boating my first true northern Wisconsin Muskie.

(Insert jokes about an outdoorsman from Wisconsin who has never caught a Muskie.)

But the truth is, I’ve never really taken the time to seek out muskies. If I was going to be on the water, I was going to be fishing for ‘eyes. Plain and simple. But all that changed when my parents bought a cabin last fall on a lake known for its muskie fishing. And as tonight at midnight marks the beginning of Wisconsin’s northern zone’s muskie season, I figured now is the perfect time to start this series.

I really began being drawn to the concept of muskie fishing when I started to really analyze its core. At its most true concept, I realized muskie fishing wouldn’t be like bass fishing, it wouldn’t be like walleye fishing, and no, it wouldn’t even be like northern pike fishing. No, this new endeavor I was contemplating, this new pursuit I was mulling over wouldn’t be fishing, at all. Fishing is far too passive of an activity to properly describe the pursuit of the elusive muskellunge. No, this new journey would have to be a hunt.

Becoming a muskie hunter, I knew, would require not only a new arsenal of equipment, but an entire change in fishing philosophy. No doubt it would be a challenge, but it was one I decided I was ready to tackle.

Making the switch from a primarily walleye fisherman to the ranks of the musky hunter will not be easy, but in the next few weeks I’m going to chronicle my journey to boat my first ‘skie.  I’m going to be talking about how, where, and why I’m fishing the way I do. This is meant to be sort of a fishing log of the novice muskie fisherman.

If you’re a seasoned musky fisherman and see me doing something wrong, please, give me a comment. If you’re a new musky fisherman like myself, realize you’re not alone! Use these next set of posts as a tool to learn from my mistakes. I know I’ll probably make some huge (and stupid) rookie wrongs, but that’s part of what this is all about—the journey through trial and error to becoming a better a musky fisherman! There will be no guides, no cut-corners here. Just a fisherman and his quest to catch his first muskie.

Now, seeing as I’m quite the novice at musky fishing, I’ve been doing my homework and research over the long months of hard water. I think I’ve developed a fairly basic, but decent plan for fishing these first few weeks of the season.  I’ll be mostly fishing a deep, clear lake with a lot of points, mid-lake humps, and break lines. These first few weeks I’m going to concentrate on fishing shallow water (the water quickest to warm) and searching for new weed growth. I’m going to be throwing a lot of smaller bucktails with slow retrievals for cold water lethargic ‘skies. I’ll probably also be tossing quite a few shallow jerk-baits and top-water lures, as well.

Why, you may ask? Because, from what I’ve understood, in this colder section of the season, muskies tend to relate to the shallows. Zooplankton (the bottom level of the food chain) will be drawn to shallower water because it’s the first to warm. This, in turn, attracts the bait fish which feed on zooplankton, which, in turn, attracts the bigger fish which finally, brings in the top-dog prey fish. And it’s my goal to catch that ultimate prey fish—the water wolf of the northwoods.

So join with me on my journey. There’ll be times it’s going to be frustrating for me (and probably a lot more frustrating for you guys who know what you’re supposed to do) and there’ll be times of elation (I hope). But no matter what’s going on, I hope you enjoy reading the next installment of Mitch Larson Outdoors: The Muskie Curve.

Good fishing!

Kevin Pechumer of UW Madison's Fishing Team poses with a nice walleye

The University of Wisconsin has a lot of teams. Football, basketball, soccer. Name an activity or sport, chances are the UW has it.

And yes, that includes fishing.

And why not? Nestled on an isthmus between two large lakes teeming with fish, UW-Madison is the perfect spot for students to enjoy Madison’s water.

And that’s just what the UW Fishing Team does.

Lee Zinn, a senior majoring in biology who was president of the UW Fishing Team for two years, says that the fishing team is a great thing to have on campus.

“We were founded in 1996 and now have over 40 active members,” Zinn says. “We’re just a bunch of students who love fishing.”

Zinn, who became president of the fishing team at the end of his freshman year in 2008, credits his grandfather for introducing him to fishing.

“When I was six, my grandpa died. My parents must have felt bad for me and bought me a 14-foot aluminum fishing boat,” Zinn says. “I guess I was just destined to become a fisherman.”

So Zinn says it was an easy choice to join the UW Fishing Team his freshman year.

“My personal favorite fish is the musky. But when it comes down to it, I like to fish for whatever is biting. If a fish is biting my hook, I don’t discriminate,” Zinn says. “A fish is a fish.”

Like other UW teams, the fishing team does its fair share of travel. Zinn says the team tries to take a few fishing trips around the Midwest each year. In the past, Zinn says, they’ve gone to places like Green Bay, Lake Mille Lacs in Minnesota, and Lac Vieux Desert in the Upper Peninsula.

And while many people enjoy fishing because of its relaxing nature, some members of the UW Fishing Team embrace fishing’s competitive side, as well.

“We host two collegiate bass fishing tournaments a year:  the Midwest College Shoot-Out on the Madison chain and the Wisconsin College Shoot-Out on Lake Wisconsin,” Zinn says. “There’s a lot of pride on the line.”

Teams consist of two fishermen from each college who fish for two consecutive days. At the end of the two days, whichever team has the most pounds of bass wins the tournament.

Zinn says both of these tournaments are big draws. This past September, the Midwest College Shoot-Out had 20 different collegiate fishing teams attend with UW’s Fishing Team taking third place.

But when they’re not competing against other schools for bragging rights, the team takes a more relaxed approach to fishing.

“During the fall we try to have walleye and catfish nights each week,” Zinn says. “We just throw out our fishing lines and hang out with friends on the shore on the Union. We usually catch some nice fish, too.”

But when the ice begins to freeze, contrary to what some people might think, the UW Fishing Team remains busy.

“When you say ‘fishing,’ a lot of people automatically think summer,” UW Fishing Team member Trevin Kreier says. “But in honesty, we probably do more ice fishing than anything.”

Zinn attributes this to a lack of boat availability.

“It’s pretty hard for students to keep boats here on campus. A lot of times there’s too few boats to go around,” Zinn says.  “But when there’s ice across the lakes, anybody can fish.”

But just because anybody can fish doesn’t mean everybody is familiar with it.

“I get a lot of funny looks during the winter,” Zinn says, “especially when I take my ice auger and ice fishing gear on the bus. I’m sure it’s quite a sight.”

But according to Zinn and Kreier, a few funny looks are well-worth the great fishing that surrounds Madison.

“Some of the best ice fishing in the state is right in front of the Memorial Union,” Zinn says. “The Madison lakes have some of the best ice fishing in the state.”

And Zinn welcomes anyone who wants to witness Madison’s excellent fishing to join the fishing team—no matter what

Larson with a nice bass taken on a UW Fishing Team outing

their experience level.

“All it takes to become a part of the UW Fishing Team is to attend one fishing team meeting and to pay $15 for team dues,” Zinn says.

Kreier shares a similar attitude.

“If someone wants to go out and doesn’t have all the equipment, that’s fine,” Kreier says. “Fishing team members are usually very good about lending fishing gear. All you have to do is ask.”

“Fishing is a learning experience. You’re always finding out something new. It’s all trial and error until you get it right and start catching fish,” Kreier says. “Fishing is just a great opportunity for students to get out on the water, relax and forget about school for a few hours.”

For more information on UW’s Fishing Team, as well as a list of scheduled fishing team meetings, visit www.uwfishingteam.com.

Waswaaganan and Ogaa: the Torch Lights and Walleye

As the ice begins to retreat from northern Wisconsin’s lakes, walleyes begin to flock to shallow mud flats, preparing themselves to spawn. As the walleyes gather in the shallows, Justin Schlender and the rest of his Ojibwe brothers, spears in hand, brave the waters to meet them.

While their modern methods are quite different from the flaming torches mounted to the front of canoes, their goal remains the same: provide food for the clans and honor the gifts that the Creator has given.

“The way we spear has evolved since those past times,” Schlender says. “We still go out as soon as it gets dark, but the way we spear, like so much other technology, has evolved over the years.  Instead of canoes we use small johnboats with outboard motors. And now we wear helmets with car headlights attached to them instead of mounting torches to the front of our boats. We slowly motor our way around the shallows looking for the reflection given off by the eyes of the walleye.”

But while Schlender talks about the advancements in technology, he’s quick to point out the similarities in the way the Ojibwe spear now and the way their ancestors did.

“Like our forefathers, we always carry tobacco with us and offer it up before we spear. I never enter a boat without first laying down my tobacco. Tobacco is what carries your prayers up to the creator. I don’t ask for much. I just ask for safety and that we’re well taken care of,” he says.

Even with boats, lights, and prayers, though, the plight of the Ojibwe walleye spear fisherman is not an easy or safe one. Early spring conditions, freezing water, and less than stable boats can quickly turn a spearing outing into a failure.

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The Tradition, the Heritage, the Future

“The rights of Indian people to take fish and game and gather food are, and have historically been, an integral part of their subsistence as well as their cultural and religious heritage.” –Commission of the American Indian Policy Review, United States Congress, 1977

Long before the French arrived in Wisconsin and saw Ojibwe torches hover above the water, the Ojibwe relied on their sacred foods: wild rice, venison, and walleyes to sustain them. Still today, these foods provide more than just physical sustenance; they nourish the spirit of the Ojibwe people, as well.

“For as much as we don’t want to lose the treaty rights that we’ve fought so hard for, the Creator has more influence on us and how we do things than, say, the government,” Schlender say. “The Creator has a way of letting us know if we’ve been doing things the right way.”

For a long time, Schlender says, the Creator has provided for the Ojibwe.

“When the walleyes come in the spring, your food may be dwindling from the winter. But come walleye time, it’s time to fatten up again. That’s how the Creator takes care of us. But in order for him to continue to provide, we have to make sure we’re doing the right things. ”

According to Schlender, the best way to do this is to honor and respect, not just the walleye, but all the earth’s natural resources. This includes being generous with what the Creator has provided. The best thing you can do, according to Schlender, is give to others.

“Never be greedy with anything that the Creator has provided you. I tell people not to be greedy with their walleyes,” Schlender says. “You’re going to get a few who just want to get the mother-load of walleyes and will be tight with them. Well, you know what? The next year, they’ll go out and they won’t get anything. Those are lessons that the Creator puts down for us to learn.”

“There’s no greater feeling than providing fish for your elders,” Schlender continues. “They shouldn’t have to worry about getting fish, they’ve earned that right, because they’ve taught me. I’ve had elders cry when I’ve given them fish because, by giving them walleye, I’ve given them respect. I could win a million dollars, but it will all be gone someday, but that memory of those elders shedding a tear for me, that will last forever. That’s what spearing is all about.”

Schlender says that if you’re generous with the gifts you’ve been given, the Creator will continue to give you good fortune the next year.

“What you give, you will get back in return,” Schlender says. “That’s a tradition that was taught to me long ago. Never be greedy. That’s why I don’t angle fish with hook and line. I’ve gotten all the fish that I need; let someone else go out and get theirs.”

Schlender practices what he preaches. Of the 160 lbs of walleye fillets that he speared this spring, he kept only enough for three walleye diners.

“Our family is very traditional and we have a lot of feasts. When we have a feast,” Schlender continues, “there’s always a spot for walleye. Walleye is one of those sacred food items that we always have to bring to a feast. We need these sacred foods. When I eat them, I feel rejuvenated. They help us survive. Those were the staples of our people way back in the day. Those were the things that got us through the winters and through tough times.”

Before the Schlender family began to embrace spearing, Schlender says there was a disconnect between old traditions and present Ojibwe culture. But now, as spearing once again has become ingrained in Ojibwe culture, he’s seeing a change in the way his people act. It, he says, is a return to traditional and family values.

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As ice finally leaves the last of Wisconsin’s lakes and sports fisherman make their final preparations for the opening of the fishing season this weekend, I think it’s important for them to take some time to remember who they’ll be sharing the water with.  The following is the first of a three part reflection on Ojibwe spearing and the importance, tradition, and future of walleye spearing in their culture.

The throbbing cadence of tribal drums blaring over Justin Schlender’s speakers drowned out the rest of rush hour’s traffic.  The rise and fall of the traditional native chants offered a stark contrast to the usual bass beats and techno that bump out of downtown subwoofers. At first, I couldn’t help but to find it ironic. Here, in downtown Madison, who would imagine that Ojibwe music would be causing all this ruckus? After all, aren’t the Native Americans supposed to be the quiet, reserved ones?

But after sitting down with Schlender for a few hours I realized that those thumping drum beats weren’t noise pollution, at all. They were a reminder. Now, even hundreds of years after European encroachment on Indian lands, Wisconsin’s native American tribes are still here–still going strong in their traditions—and won’t easily be forgotten.

The struggle

The Ojibwe have always been spearers. It’s a tradition that’s nearly as deep-rooted as the wild rice that brought them to the land that would become Wisconsin.

Justin Schlender, a member of the Lac Courte Oreilles band of the Ojibwe, has a long history with walleye spearing. It was, after all, his father, Jim Schlender, former head of GLIFWC (Great Lakes Indian Fish & Wildlife Commission), who locked horns in the ‘80s and 90’s with the state and the DNR in order to ensure that spearing rights were recognized.

“Spearing has always been in our blood,” Justin Schlender says. “When the Europeans first came over long ago, they saw us out on the waters in our canoes. It was night time and we had baskets of flame hanging out over the canoe bows. Burning bright, they lit the waters, guiding our spearing ancestors to the walleye. Thus, the French called it Lac Du Flambeau–Lake of the Torches.”

Since the time the first French settlers met the Ojibwe people, much has changed. More and more Europeans settled the area, the United States won its independence from Britain, and the lands of the Ojibwe began looking more and more desirable to the fledgling country.

Under pressure from the United States, the Ojibwe signed the Treaties of 1837 1842 to cede large tracts of land to the United States government in order to bolster a growing American timber industry. With great foresight, though, the Ojibwe leaders who signed these treaties made sure to retain the right to hunt, fish, and gather in ceded territory. This, they hoped, would ensure the survival of their descendents.

But while the Treaties of 1837 and 1842 represented the supreme laws of the land—a binding promise between the federal government and the Ojibwe—state law and DNR officers began dismissing the importance of treaty rights. Ignoring the rights guaranteed by the federal government, law enforcement and the WDNR began restricting and prosecuting any Ojibwe who speared or violated state resident fishing regulations. When the state of Wisconsin was created, they claimed, the Ojibwe lost the right to spear in ceded territory.

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