outdoors

Watching Brett Farve play this year, and especially this past Sunday, reminded me of an article I wrote about 18 months ago. Mr. Farve played like the Vikings of old. His passion reminded me of a great walleye fishing partner I lost and one of the greatest Vikings to play the game. I hope you all agree, as I think we were lucky to have been able to watch a guy bring back the way the game is suppose to be played. Here 's the story......from October of 2008.

As I drove home from the celebration of Wally's Hilgenberg's life last weekend, I reflected on the 30-plus years I was privileged to have him as a friend and walleye tournament partner, both on and off the water.

I had just listened for 2 hours of reflections on his life from his family, former NFL teammates, business associates and countless people that he had touched during his joyous, flawless life. What I heard was exactly as how I knew him as well.

Two aspects of his life always stood out. One was his strong faith and the other was to be a winner. To be the best he could be at whatever he chose to do and be.

As I drove, I recalled many of the experiences and cherished moments Wally and I spent together. But I kept coming back to the memory of a day we spent in an MWC event in 1988 on Lake Winnebago. THAT day was truly a defining day when reflecting on how Wally lived. THAT day, I concluded, was a perfect example of what made him tick.

This story is about who Wally Hilgenberg was and always will be to me and all who knew him.

It was the second day of the 2-day MWC event taking place in Oshkosh Wis., on the western shores of Lake Winnebago. Wally and I took off that 2nd morning in the Top-5 some place. Funny, I can't recall our exact place, but we knew we had a good shot at winning. It was a tough bite, tough to get a limit.

Many of the 150 to 200 teams had brought in less than the limit the first day. But we had our limit by 10 a.m. and weighed in early. So we headed out on a mission. Repeat the first day's results and we had a shot. We crashed across the 10-mile span of open water to our east shore hot spots. The heavy NW wind meant the ride back west was going be a rough, slow one. So we knew we had to get the fish early again to allow for enough time to make the final weigh-in on time. Being 1 second late, we'd be DQ'd and all our efforts would be lost.

The first spot we fished forced us to leave with an empty livewell. The second spot produced the same. And the third and fourth spots were no better. By 1 p.m., I had scoured the top of every reef I knew, every which way I could. We had to be in by 3 p.m. The NW wind had built to 20 to 30 mph. We knew the ride back was an hour or more if we were to play it safely.

From the very first MWC event Wally and I fished, it was easy to see why the Viking teams he played on had such great locker room chemistry. From the start, there was never an "I" in our boat. And nothing less than winning was acceptable. But Wally had also learned, as a student of Hall of Fame coach Bud Grant, that every team needed a leader. Early on, I was designated as "player/coach."

So, here we were, with the clock running down fast, staring at the potential of blowing the advantage we started the day with. It was pretty quiet in the boat. Wally pulled the anchor after another fishless set and turned to me and asked, "well coach, have we used up the playbook?"

I scanned the water in every direction, envisioning all the reefs we had in the arsenal and said, "all but one play, Wally. We neglected the Hail Mary today!"

Wally's expression looked as if he'd just seen a ghost.

"Did we forget to pray this morning," he asked.

My answer was obvious. And with that, it was like we hit the 2-minute warning. In that brief moment, our day had just started over.

The anchor went back in on the number one reef at about 1:15 p.m. We had been fishing three bobber rigs, which I ran, and Wally pitched a light jig leech combo.

I was reaching for the second bobber rod and Wally hollered for the net. We were on the board. I looked up while taking the fish from the net and couldn't find the lone bobber floating anywhere. Number two! At 1:40, fish number six was in hand. I was shaking like a leaf. I recall having trouble getting a good breath. I probably had the boat going 10 mph driving up to the anchor. And ol' No. 58 kept up with the slack rope at a pace only he could. We had a shot.

In those days, most tourney boats were only 16 feet. We had a 50-hp tiller for power. It was still early enough in the new high-end walleye boat era to have them beefed up enough such as they are now, to handle grueling rides like the one we were on and many have been faced with on Winnebago that day.

That said, a mile into the trip, the linebacker was sprawling in the boat as his seat ripped out of the floor. And sure enough, a few hundred yards later, I joined the seat-less Wally. Now we're both kneeling, as we ducked the waves in our face and held on with white knuckles as the boat would go airborne and then slam into the next wave. But I kept the coals poured to her as the clock ticked against us.

Wally Hilgenberg cut an imposing figure on the football field but he was an unselfish fishing partner on the water. (Photo: Minnesota Vikings)

Early on in life I was taught to be a tough competitor. I lived by the philosophy that "pain was temporary and quitting was forever." No doubt I thought that this was the acid test. It couldn't get any worse, I thought to myself. No problem. Or so I thought.

About halfway across the lake, withstanding a beating only a Linebacker could identify with, I smelled smoke - smoke!

I hollered at Wally but still squeezed the throttle to the max.

"Do you smell smoke," I asked.

Squinting because of the spray in his eyes, he turned and hollered back, "YUP!"

I yelled, "Should we stop to see what's burning?"

Wally pointed forward toward the smoke now coming from the casting deck storage compartments and yelled back, "Keep going strong. The fire is in the front half of the boat and the gas is in the back half."

I got goose bumps. I hadn't felt that pumped up since I ran out onto the field for a high school home-coming game. I squeezed the throttle even more as we both hunkered down and took each pounding wave for granted. The skyline of Oshkosh was getting bigger as our time was shrinking. But the gas was in the "back half of the boat." The Hail Mary play was in motion.

That was a defining day. It was, to say the least, a Wally Hilgenberg-kind of day. He had put his faith in control and did all that he could to be No. 1. He put it all on the line. He gave it all he had at any cost. He hit running backs using the same game plan he lived every aspect of his life -- be it being the best husband and father he could be, being the most honest and profitable businessman he could be and yes, even being the best walleye tournament angler he could be.

We passed the time keeper boat with 30-something seconds to spare. Had we even stopped or slowed to discuss the smoke, the day was a zero. But we had made it - in a big puff of white smoke. Between the fire extinguisher and a few quick buckets of water, what was left of the casting deck quit burning. Evidently, a trolling motor battery had broken loose and created a dead short. The wiring had lit the carpeting and plywood. But, as Wally reminded me, the gas was in the back of the boat.

What place did we end up in? All I know is we didn't win. That's all that mattered. But we had fought a good game. We did it the Hilgenberg way.

I parked the car and looked up to the stars. For the umpteenth time that day, I had tears pouring down my cheeks. But these tears were happy ones now. Because I knew I was taught by the best. I knew I would live on, because my faith and the will to be the best was the game plan I will live by.

It was the playbook Wally Hilgenberg wrote.

Thanks for the memories Brett!! And the lesson reminder. contact Steve at 651-270-3383 or sf1954@embarqmail.com