Dennis Anderson: Empty net can't diminish full day

Wednesday in the still-dark of early morning, I awoke the younger boy and hooked the boat to the truck in hopes of finding a willing muskie. Lakes in the metro that harbor these big fish are now numerous, and while the predicted prevalence of high pressure over the region wouldn't enhance our chances, in these last days of warm weather -- and before, later in the day, I would drive to southwest Minnesota to look for ducks -- I wanted to chuck some baits.

Summerlike as the morning began, and summerlike also as the day would unfold, autumn nevertheless had begun in Minnesota. Some tree colors have changed, also many ducks have fledged and in recent days returning flights of non-breeding Canada geese have arrowed over the state. Sealing the deal have been the cooler evenings, the noticeably shorter days and the widespread inclination among Minnesotans to consider with alarm the worrisome echoes of empty freezers.

Cole jumped from bed willingly at word of the muskie idea, having not yet begun school and eager to be on the water

"I'll start with a Cowgirl, you hook on a TopRaider," he would suggest later, after guiding our boat alongside a deep weedline.

Shorn, largely, of other craft, and mirrorlike, the lake was calming in the manner of easy money. Loons are around yet and one near our boat warbled its morning song. Above us, a smattering of mallards traded north to south. And on shore, soon after sunup, a homeowner strolled across his very large and very flawless lawn, coffee cup in hand, phone to an ear.

"It would be a nice morning to hook something big," I said, a father making conversation.

"That's obvious, Dad," Cole said.

On this same lake not many evenings ago, Cole, I and his older brother, Trevor, were casting, and on a figure-eight Trevor hooked what would have been the biggest muskie of our summer, 50 inches or more.

But a net malfunction occurred and the big fish disgorged itself rather too soon, a sequence of events that nearly devolved into flying fists.

Such misfortune in some families would be forgotten as quickly as it occurred, perhaps even forgiven. But in ours, Scotland's motto, Nemo Me Impune Lacessit -- Latin for "None shall injure me with impunity" -- would, we all knew, govern its eventual disposition.

We moved the boat in an hour, changed baits, and soon thereafter I had a follow by a fish Cole estimated to be in the high 30-inch range. The fish darted at my bait once, then again; taking a whiff, as it were, but not inhaling.

"That would have been a good fish," Cole said. He and his brother have landed nine muskies this summer and with each have claimed an ever-higher ground of expertise. "You know, for you."

Finally, Cole said: "Let's get a gas-station breakfast. We're done here."

Which we did. Then, at home, I threw a pair of old boots and an overnight bag into a vehicle and headed west by southwest, down Hwy. 169, then short-cutting along one blacktop county road, and another and another, before settling finally on Hwy. 14, west from there through Sleepy Eye, Springfield, Lamberton, Walnut Grove and, eventually, Tracy.

For much of Minnesota's first century, this was the beating heart of the state's best duck country. In certain years it still is. But now along U.S. 14 in August, an interloper mostly sees corn and soybeans, not ducks.

In Tracy, I visited for a time with Winston Peterson, a Minnesota treasure and kingpin of an inspiring shallow-lake restoration effort at Lake Maria, site of his family farm.

"Win" can recall firsthand the years when Minnesota was the promised land of farmland wildlife, not only ducks, but muskrats, leopard frogs and, of course, pheasants.

True enough. Still, on the same day that began on a metro lake that offers a reasonable chance to catch a muskie, I passed the final few minutes of a crimson sunset watching squadron upon squadron of wood ducks pitch into a Murray County marsh.

Mallards were there also, and teal, and for recreation, and inspiration, few experiences are the equal. Fifty-inch muskies in a boat, included.