The making of a magnet

Just down the shore from our pier on Birch Lake stood a tall white pine, its roots right at the waterline, its imposing trunk angled over the water at about 30 degrees from the vertical. It helped make great pictures, framed against an orange sunset or puffy cumulus on blue sky. We wondered if it ever would tip into the water -- it seemed to be defying the tug of gravity.

Well, now we have our answer. By early summer, the tree had tipped to about 45 degrees, and as I paddled by in a canoe one day I noticed a large, lengthwise crack at the base of the trunk. Surely it was only a matter of time, and from that day on, when heading out in the fishing boat, I made sure to give the tree a wide berth.

A few weeks ago, the old pine did come down, but not with a spectacular splash. It eased down, like a staccato second-hand on a watch, tick, tick, tick. I was fishing nearby when the tree began its official descent. I'd hear a "crack," and then another, and another, every few minutes, and though I couldn't perceive any motion, I knew gravity was winning the fight. That evening as my wife and I lay in bed, door to the screen porch open, we could hear the periodic cracks. The next morning the tree lay in the water, extending out some 60 or 70 feet from shore.

It was sad to see a venerable pine go down -- one much like it stands right at the foot of our pier, canting ever so slightly toward the water. We wonder if one day it will lose its root-hold on the bank and settle slowly down in the manner of its near neighbor.

There is a plus side, though, to this tree's fall. It lies in what already was a fair walleye hole, just off the edge of a bed of emergent reeds, at a U-shaped dropoff that anglers like to call an inside turn. Snorkeling around the tree, I have seen young-of-the-year smallmouth bass darting amid the twigs and browning needles. Last weekend a friend and I fished slip-bobbers near the tree, and he caught a near-keeper walleye. This bodes well -- the old pine is likely to become a fish magnet on a lake that has relatively few truly productive spots. There's only one drawback: To any angler who knows anything at all, it's about as obvious as a spot can be. So this place just down from our pier is likely to attract many visitors.

That's all right. For one thing, I live right here and so can keep a close eye on the spot. And not far down the way in the other direction lie a couple of submerged brush piles that are great fish concentrators in their own right. And their locations are strictly classified.