October 27th, 2011
Published by: mooresb
Sisters in the Mist By Robert W. Butche October 27th, 2011
This is the story of two streams that ply the forests and caress the marshes of Minnesota's north woods country.
One of them, the Mississippi, begins at Lake Itasca between Park Rapids and Bemidji. The other, the Crow Wing, has similarly humble origins in the marshlands west of giant Leech Lake in the heart of Paul Bunyan Country near Akeley. On summer mornings these two streams, and dozens of others that build the Mississippi in the far north woods, are in many ways indistinguishable -- eternal sisters in the mist.
On a bright sunny morn, just as the sun rose 'oer a mile long field of wild rice nurtured by the gentle current of the Crow Wing, Keith and I headed for a new adventure -- our first fishing foray upstream from the Bear's Den in the deep cold waters of 7th Crow Wing lake. Keith brought his favorite Jon Boat some five hundred miles from his home on Gages lake in far northern Illinois that spring so we could fish on a lake not accessible to the S.S. Lois, his sturdy, reliable and far larger pontoon boat. Once we had our gear stowed in the boat, we sat knee to knee as he started the outboard in a flume of gray smoke accentuated by the familiar roar of the outboard. Moments later, bow to the sun, we smartly crossed the lake and headed for the mouth of the Crow Wing where it connects the 6th and 7th lakes. In the brightness of the morning sun we soon entered the shallow blue waters that meandered through the golden rice in gentle, undulating, bends. At only two to three feet deep, we could swatch schools of fish darting in every which direction as our Jon Boat slowly wound through a mile of golden rice stalks.
Although the Crow Wing and the Mississippi begin in marshy areas barely thirty miles from one another, they join together some seventy five miles downstream at the beautiful Crow Wing State Park at Fort Ripley. No matter the Mississippi is the more famous, Minnesota's Crow Wing river is one of the most beautiful on the North American continent. Along the way, we passed several young Eagles perched in the trees along the north side of the marsh, eyeing their domain and no doubt planning on a breakfast of fresh caught perch. One of them screeched several times as we approached, perhaps to remind us that this place was their domain and not the lawful property of balding fisherman who ebb and flow annually with the summer solstice.
From the moment it trickles out of the spring fed marshes north of Akeley, the Crow Wing flows nearly 80 miles through a dozen beautiful lakes -- connecting each by way of serpentine water flows that meander through lush forest country and beautiful fields of wild rice that rise from its rich waters in the August heat.
Before long we approached the corrugated tube where the Crow Wing flows under highway 13. Soon the bright light of day was subdued as Keith steered the Jon Boat through the tube and into the wild rice marsh on the other side of the road at the southwest end of 7th Crow Wing lake.
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October 27th, 2011
After a quick tour of the long lake, Keith positioned our boat astride the wind and popped open the tackle box. "Leeches or worms today?" "I'll start with the worms," I assured him, pulling the light spinning rod into place to release the hook.
Published by: mooresb
Dick to return from town, I waited for Keith from the high deck overlooking the lake. As I took in the immense beauty of this marvelous place, I wondered how it was that I had been so lucky as to share the Sisters in the Mist with men I had known for over half a century.
"Did I ever tell you that I've never, ever caught any fish in this lake?" Keith announced as he prepared to toss in his line. "No Keith," I answered, wondering why he waited so long to tell me. "We catch a great many fish wherever we go," I responded -- "so what's kept you skunked on this lake?" "Dunno," Keith answered, as he often does to penetrating questions. "I've come up here a couple of times and never caught a damn thing." "Well, today is different," I assured him as I cast into the lake. "How deep is it here?"
"Seventy feet," he answered, "and the fish finder sees fish all over the place." After a moment he turned the fish finder display toward me, "Here, take a look at all those fish down there." Nearly five hours later, having tried nearly every area of the lake we were still scoreless. It wasn't that we hadn't fished well, for we tried everything from drift fishing, to bobbers in every promising area of the lake. Finally, when the scorching sun was directly above, Keith wondered if we ought to go home and fish our old haunts along the central channel where the river flows through 6th Crow Wing lake. Before long we were back in the ripening wild rice patties, through the tunnel, and in familiar waters. No more had we begun when I caught one of the larger Bowfish of the season not far from Keith's new homestead. Soon after, Keith reeled in the first Walleye I ever saw come out of 6th Crow Wing lake.
Life is good on the rivers that feed the mighty Mississippi. Sharing it with friends is living at its best. Next time you're in the neighborhood, visit one of the Sisters in the Mist for yourself. Then stay awhile. Take in the beauty, share the bounty and enjoy the friendly people who call this sacred place home. And while you're here, let your heart be warmed by the sweet song of the loon. Then you too can be inspired by America's thriving Eagles flitting in delight o'er the lakes, or spy deer in the twilight, or hear the bay of distant wolves in the sweet silence of dawn. Then you too will come to know the innermost secrets of Minnesota's Sisters in the mist. Be still my heart -- for the call of the evening Loon is sung to remind us that his place here is forever -- while ours is only for a moment.
FBefore long we were back at the dock, ready for lunch with Bill and Dick. Once the Jon Boat was safely tied, our tackle secured and the fish we had caught safely back in the lake, I climbed the long stairs to the house. While waiting for Bill and 2