Tuesday night my dad came east for another go at walleyes on the Detroit River. We did much better this time than a couple of weeks ago, 8 fish between about 5 and 10 PM. All were over the 15" size limit, and I caught the two largest which were over 20. Most came early or at the very end of the night. This may not be much to brag about, seeing as DR regulars frequently take limits in less time (we were two fish shy of ours), but for us, this was practically the night of a lifetime, at least where walleye are concerned. Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera with me.
In spite of the fishing and a pleasant night with my dad, I was a little dispirited on the ride home. There were no facilities at the launch to clean fish, which meant I would have to take care of mine after I got home sometime around midnight. I don't see fileting a bunch of slimy walleye in the wee hours of the morning as an ideal way to close the day. But the chore took less than an hour, and by the end, if I didn't actually enjoy the task, I did appreciate it.
Once at home, I rounded up my equipment with grim determination and set up shop on my back deck. I put down several layers of newspapers, set my filet board on top of them, then laid out plastic bags for filets and offal. I turned on water to the garden hose coiled on its reel next to the deck and got to work.
I was in too much of a rush to put on a coat before I got started, and as I began cutting, I could see my breath. Still, I wasn't uncomfortably cold. Rain began (or rather, resumed) falling lightly around the time I finished my first fish. But I wasn't getting soaked, and I didn't think it was worth the trouble to get my raincoat out of the car. (The cooler of fish was in fact the only thing I'd unpacked). The chill and the damp actually felt pleasant in a way they might not have any other situation.
Blossoms on honeysuckles opened late last week, and I caught a whiff of their fragrance from time to time. Frogs trilled in the nearby woods. As I plied the fish, scales rasped against my hands, and bones pricked my fingers. I sprayed down each clean, pink filet with water, noticing that more blood was visible on those from the fish that had a lamphrey scar on it.
I noted appreciatively the toughness of the walleyes' skin. Cutting skin from the back of a trout filet requires a careful touch, since their skin is delicate and one careless or too forceful slip of the blade can cut through it, severing a part of the filet prematurely and making it difficult to start a good, clean cut on the rest of it. You can lose a good deal of meat when that happens. With walleye, you can put more muscle into the job, shearing the knife quickly along the edge of the skin.
Not being very dexterious, I take pleasure in succeeding at small but necessary manual chores. It felt even more satisfying doing so in the situation of the other night. The weather was not punishing, but not something I could put out of mind. Signs of spring life suffused the air, penentrating even my closest concentration on the fish. I was preparing a harvest from (arguably) the wild that would give us several good meals--and the sooner I tended to that harvest, the better the meals would be. When I came home, I had grumbled about having to perform a messy chore at a time I should have been going to bed, but my sense of timeliness changed as I worked. As much as catching the fish, cleaning them was an experience of doing the right thing at the right time, and being aware in as many ways as I could of what the time was.
Tag: Fishing
No comments:
Post a Comment