Barge thoroughfare yielding big fish in early spring

ON THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER – Wednesday was cold. At times the sun shone in a blue sky. But the wind was bitter and the water temperature was only 34 degrees. This was our first open-water trip of the year, Dick "Griz" Grzywinski and me, and we were jigging for walleyes, with gloves on.

We had jumped the gun a bit. Typically we break out the boat battery and rods and reels closer to April 1, when walleyes and sauger are going in Pool 4, near Red Wing.

Oftentimes until then there's enough ice on area lakes to support the pursuit of sunnies and crappies, however intense or casual. Not this year. With alternatives few, the big river beckoned, and we bought in.

"Let's try Pool 2," Griz said.

Extending from the Ford Dam to Hastings, and winding through downtown St. Paul, Pool 2 in summer is a barge and push-boat thoroughfare. Captains of these vessels seem not to mind the smattering of fishing craft that gather upstream or downstream of wingdams, or sometimes on the backsides of eddies or in the current seams that angle from bridge abutments. Viewed from above by one of the many eagles that circle these waters, such comings and goings must seem curious indeed — real busybodies, these Americans at work.

"It don't seem right," Griz was saying as he idled down his outboard. "But these things" — he was holding a 2-inch-long lump of extruded plastic — "have produced better than minnows."

Griz had been on this pool a day or two in the previous week collecting walleyes for the big fish tank at the Northwest Sportshow, which concludes Sunday at the Minneapolis Convention Center. For this, Griz, a St. Paul fishing guide, has a special permit from the Department of Natural Resources, allowing him to catch, keep and transport these fish alive, as long as certain rules are followed.

"You keep your plastic," I said. "I'll use minnows."

Each of us had quarter-ounce jigs, and we dropped them to the river bottom, the distance to which changed moment by moment as Griz's john boat swirled in the fast currents that gathered and rolled toward St. Louis, Memphis and points south. Wildly off-color, opaque to the max with runoff, the river was throwing us a curveball.

Yet as fast as Griz lowered his plastic mystery lump, he snookered a fat walleye that went 4 pounds easy, maybe 5.

"I thought you said the bite was tough," I said.

Griz said, "It has been tough." Then he released the fish.

We caught no more fish. Not for a while. In some boats when this happens tensions rise. Instead Griz and I pass the good time advancing cockamamie theories about fishing, politics, even the arts, this last including his days long ago riding in a motorcycle gang astraddle a '48 flathead, an art form in itself, particularly with blue lights flashing behind.

Action then picked up. Griz caught one walleye, then another and another, each on his plastic mystery lump.

Reeling in, I airmailed my minnow. "Give me one of those things," I said.

Cascading from northeast to northwest and back, the cold wind nipped at exposed skin. Yet on the bright side we were on open water and, notwithstanding the long underwear we wore, spring seemed not so far away. Doubtless just then some Minnesotans were in Florida or Mexico or Belize, drawing tight lines on redfish, speckled trout, tarpon or even permit.

There's attraction here. But in the end, fishing is fishing. And we were fishing. Plus, this was Pool 2, home waters to some of the biggest walleyes that swim in Minnesota, little-known fact that that is.

Soon enough, my mystery plastic turned the trick and I boated a plump 3-pounder. How exactly in the dark water this walleye encountered my bait I had no idea. Burnished green and gold, its sides glistened.

"Nice fish," Griz said.

It was.

Soon mid-afternoon had come and gone and clouds moved in. The water temperature topped at 38 degrees then dropped off incrementally. We had a dozen or so walleyes to our credit, none bigger than Griz's first. We were happy.

Turning tail, we left downtown St. Paul in our wake. A brisk chop roiled the river's surface and Griz's john boat pounded downriver. We passed beneath the Interstate 494 bridge and rattled along a few more miles before banking into our takeout.

Editor's note: Guide Dick "Griz'' Grzywinski can be reached through Blue Ribbon Bait in Oakdale, 651-777-2421

Dennis Anderson • danderson@startribune.com