‘No one does fishing perfect’: John Weiss’ lessons learned from fishing Sugar Lake with a 5-year-old – Post Bulletin

REMER, Minn. — In the soft stillness of Sugar Lake, the sun not yet over the pines and birches, I heard something.

Or did I? Sound carries so well over quiet water. A bird?

I continued fishing but no, there it was, a subtle sound. Sure enough: “grampa, grampa.”

My granddaughter Eleanor, recently turned 5 1/2, was calling me to breakfast and then to fish with her. The overnight oatmeal was great; fishing was more complicated. It was a week of fishing lessons, both jolting and joyous.

Seven family member spent a week on Sugar Lake north of Remer in early August and swam, loafed, read, puzzle solved and I had my first true chance to take Eleanor fishing. I also tried to get her to love and appreciate the quiet of a lake morning.

I grew up with lakes around Brainerd and spent a few weeks each summer for more than 40 years at my in-law’s lake near Garrison. There, I developed a passion for largemouth bass, their sudden smash of a lure, their jumps, their runs. For the past several years, however, it’s been a lake famine for me while I’ve feasted on moving water, and a new passion for trout, in the southeast’s streams and rivers.

Then came Sugar, a 702-acre near Remer (60 miles north of Brainerd) where I found loons, big bass, little green herons and thick-shouldered sunfish, along with those lessons.

Before we left, I bought a short Ugly Stick and an old, but solid, Johnson Century 100 closed-face spinning reel for Eleanor. I decided it was time for her to have decent gear; I left my own fishing rods at home, to avoid temptations. In that, I was only partially successful.

For tackle, I filled a bag with small plastic jig bodies, mostly things I used to ice fish, figuring we’d only encounter smaller sunfish. As an afterthought, I added bigger tackle, just in case I had time to seek larger fish.

I spooled the reel with 6-pound line that was a few (okay, probably several) years old but hey, we were only going to catch sunfish, what’s the big deal?

Two big mistakes.

The reel was too big for her little hands to easily handle and the line may have cost me a personal-best largemouth.

Lesson one: if we want to get novices into the outdoors, they need at least adequate, or better, gear for them. Experienced adults can use skills to make up for mediocre gear but beginners can’t. And don’t skimp on line.

At Sugar, I helped unpack then checked out the lake. Odd. No rippling or riffling, twisting, leaping or speaking like a trout stream. I tested the water with my hand and was shocked. Warm! I’m used to cool trout streams.

Before Eleanor and I first fished, I taught her to cast with just a bobber, no hook. Despite the reel being more for adults, she did quite well, though distance and accuracy were an issue. She only got hung up in one pine tree and her back casts missed me every time.

When we first fished on the dock, I put on a 1/64-ounce jig with a small plastic body and added Smelly Jelly, a fish attractant. She cast and cast but never did catch a fish. She couldn’t get the hang of having little slack in the line to be able to set the hook when the bobber bobbed. While waiting for fish, she made up a silly song: “It’s Smelly Jelly on the hook, it’s Smelly Jelly on the hook, it’s a Smelly Jelly hook.” She totally messed up the line and I had to cut and retie it. I’ve done much worse with my fly rod.

I kept teaching, encouraging, laughing and ducking. In the end, no fish. I was at a loss to find a way to help her, to pour in my knowledge. Then Eleanor jolted me with a gem of wisdom: “No one does fishing perfect.”

Lesson two: I should have just let her try, not aim for fishing perfect. Any time you can walk away from teaching a child to fish without frustration, broken equipment or hooks stuck in you, it’s a good day.

Contributed / John Weiss

The next day, we went out in a paddleboat and I tied on an old lure – a Legal Illegal lure, a bright metal disc, slightly cupped with a single hook. It looks too simple to work, but work it does. Eleanor cast it well and the line lurched. Fish on. It tangled in weed so I reeled it in. It was a little hammer-handle northern. I cautioned her to not get her hands near the toothy mouth and with that, she refused to even hold up the fish for a photo.

The next morning brought the hardest lesson — quiet. Mornings on mirrored lakes are perfect for contemplation, to sit quietly and let nature flow into you; I want to meditate. Streams are energetic, romping; I want to fish them or wade into them, to feel them.

I headed for the seat at the end of the dock, along with coffee, cell phone for photos and a favorite book of meditations. On-water reflections of bulrushes were elegant, Zen-like, and I took many pictures. I was busy recording it, not absorbing it.
Eleanor soon joined me and I tried to explain in a very quiet voice how such mornings are a time for peacefulness. She giggled and looked for fish and did everything except sit still. My taking pictures, reading and sipping coffee also smudged my contemplation.

Lesson three: Next time, no distractions. Just bring Eleanor.

That evening, we paddled to the edge of a large patch of bulrushes and I put on a quarter-ounce Beetle Spin, another venerable, deadly lure. “When the rod gets super super heavy, you take it,” Eleanor told me. Boom! she caught another fish and this one, to her, was super super heavy. I reeled in a fat, 8- or 9-inch thick-bodied sunfish. The lure was bigger than its mouth. Eleanor was delighted.

The next day, to help catch more sunnies, I bought waxworms – the smallest container had 100 of the little white larvae. Who needs 100?

Nearly us. Eleanor could lose waxies as fast as I could put them on or the fish could steal them – she still had that problem with slack line. I began to wonder if 100 was enough. But now and then a sunfish got lazy or she got lucky and she reeled in a fish. The biggest was maybe 2 inches. She loved them and insisted I even take pictures. I later caught a 4-pound largemouth and she was thrilled too.

Lesson four: all fish are the same to 5-year-olds.

Contributed / John Weiss

Another evening, I went out solo and cast the Beetle Spin. The line suddenly began moving sideways. A bass in the 6-pound class jumped and dove for cover. When the line tightened, it snapped. Had I lost that fish, which would have been the biggest of my life, due to old line? The question still haunts and taunts me.

The last evening, we caught a few more good sunfish and a decent crappie. We began to slowly paddle back for the last time. I cast a 3-inch orange-yellow twister tail jig and suddenly, the line began moving sideways. I was slow on the hook set (I set the hook for trout much softer) and the fish jumped in the bulrushes – another 6-pounder or better. It spit the lure that landed next to my granddaughter. My chances of landing it with that rod and line, and the bulrushes, was nil but I wish I had at least had a chance to find out. This memory isn’t as taunting and it renewed my interest in bass. We do have some great bass water down here too. Flyrod maybe?

After it was over, Eleanor said she liked fishing.

I asked her why. Spending time with me, being on the water, being out in nature? She was pragmatic: “Something to eat.”

Lesson five: I have more lessons to teach Eleanor, and she to teach me. I’ve already began trying to repair the reel’s drag or will maybe teach her to use a smaller open-face spinning rod and reel. I bought new line and new Beetle Spins for her rod.

I’m not aiming for fishing perfect, just fishing fun.