Wind, leaves, needles, walleyes

If you went down to your lake yesterday, you no doubt saw its near-shore surface decorated. About noon a strong wind arose, breaking the now-tenuous bond between leaves and their twigs.

As I walked the 57 (yes, I’ve counted) steps down to Birch Lake, near Harshaw, Wis., oak leaves drifted by, sliding through the air like paper airplanes. Maple leaves spiraled down. Brown clusters of discarded white-pine needles littered the stairway. Around the pier, those same items dotted the water and lay on the bottom.

I had never fished this late in the season before – have you? It’s a beautiful way to watch the season wind down. The sun, amid gray clouds, slowly settled toward the woods. The trees to the east (mostly the oaks) still bore their colors, though less brilliantly, and more sparsely. As I anchored over my favorite reef, the wind, less energetic than earlier in the day, put what anglers call a “walleye chop” on the surface. Between my boat and shore, a musky angler drifted by, tossing a slender crankbait.

It soon became clear I had some things to learn about this late-fall fishing. The walleyes still haunted the reef, which rises to five feet below the surface, from 17 feet on the deep side and 10 or 12 toward shore. It took just a few minutes for the first walleye to grab a minnow and pull my chartreuse-topped slip bobber down. I waited to a count of 10, then yanked back on the rod and...nothing. I reeled in the minnow, still lively.

I cast out again. The bobber soon disappeared. I counted to 15...nothing. Next cast, count of 20 and...nothing. In summer a five-count was enough. These fish were behaving differently. I pictured the walleyes swimming slowly, mouthing the minnow, as if savoring before swallowing.

I learned to wait until a count of 30, or 40. I ended up with two keepers in the livewell, both lip-hooked even after the long delays. Given that much time in summer, the fish would have gulped the minnow down, the hook embedded deep in the throat, a situation to be avoided.

The lights went down on the evening, until I could barely see the bobber on the wavelets. It slid under the surface, and I waited. My basketball coach used to say always to end a practice on a made shot. I wanted to end my season with a caught fish (because, in all likelihood, this was my last outing of 2013).

I counted: 20...30...40... 45. Set! The season’s last fish – a 9-inch walleye. Lip-hooked. Released unharmed. I motored at low thottle through the semi-dark to the pier. On the way up the stairs I could half-see, half-feel, oak leaves still gliding down. The two walleyes? They'll be frozen and saved for a winter fish fry -- in memoriam.