Northwoods River Surrenders Smallmouths as Clouds Move In

   What sounds better?

   Option 1: The gurgling “plop, plop, plop” of a Whopper Plopper bait chugging across the surface of a Northwoods river.

   Option 2: Your 8-year-old grandson trying to pronounce “Whopper Plopper” when explaining how and why it became his all-time favorite fishing lure during an eight-hour float trip July 2 for muskies and smallmouth bass.

   I’ll go with the second option, especially after buying two Whopper Ploppers for my grandson Connor Switzer before we fished farther south for northern pike the next day on Lake Poygan. Before entering the store’s fishing department, Connor even convinced me that his 8-year-old cousin, Eddie Morse, also needed two Whopper Ploppers. Apparetly, he didn’t want Eddie to get left behind in fishing tackle’s arms race.

   Besides, childhood mispronunciations are a finite pleasure. The boys will solve this tongue-twister and others as they grow older, and I must enjoy the garbled words before they’re merely memories.

   Therefore, I told myself it was OK to buy the Whopper Ploppers. Connor’s request was sincere and personal. It wasn’t spawned by TV or social-media advertisements. In fact, it grew from experience while fishing near Clam Lake with John and Brenda Maier of True North Guiding and Outfitters.

     Connor Switzer, age 8, holds a 2-pound smallmouth as John Maier takes his photo during a float-trip in the Northwoods near Clam Lake.     — Patrick Durkin photos

   The Maiers’ credibility helped, of course. We’ve become friends the past decade through my visits to Tom Heberlein’s shack near Cayuga to hunt the region’s deer or turkeys, icefish for its pike or crappies, and float its rivers for muskies, smallmouth bass or anything else that bites. If the Maiers tell you to cast a Ned rig into a midriver pool, or to pull plastic swim-baits through wild-rice shallows, you know they amassed their knowledge through time afield.

   Still, jigs and soft-plastic worms don’t look or sound as cool as surface-chopping baits, and Connor had caught fat smallmouths on a Whopper Plopper that John Maier clipped to his line. In between, he’d also battled a muskie that struck the magical bait as he cast and probed a rock-strewn river bend.

   But I’m getting ahead of myself. The first three hours of our float-trip felt futile that day. In fact, Maier had been worrying before we arrived that we’d face low water, clear skies and hot temperatures the entire day. “Not the best conditions for fishing, but we’ll see what happens,” he texted the night before.

   Plus, I had sensed Maier's skepticism that an 8-year-old boy had the patience, endurance and casting skills to spend all day aboard his Rangeley guide boat. Most kids the Maiers guide are at least a couple of years older, and they’re typically more experienced casting to specific sites whether seated or standing. They’re also less likely to feel discouraged when countless retrieves end without strikes.

      John Maier of True North Guiding and Outfitters walks his Rangeley guide boat along the shallows of a Northwoods river toward deeper water around the bend.

As we settled into our boat seats around 9 a.m. that day — Connor in the bow and me in the stern — Maier said he would have to drag us across many shallow, rocky sections of the river. “This route is usually a six-hour float, but it will be closer to eight hours today,” he said. “We’ll have to go slow, and carefully work every pool that’s deep enough to hold fish.”

   We hadn’t triggered one strike when we took a short sandwich break at 11 a.m. But we had welcomed each passing cloud that blocked the sun as temperatures rose beyond 85 degrees.

   Finally, at 12:30 p.m., Connor set the hooks into a smallmouth, and Maier squat-walked under the bent rod to grab the landing net. After photos and a high-5 celebration, Connor released the fish, and Maier pulled and tugged the boat downriver toward another pool.

   “It would be nice to get some rain tonight, and put a few more inches in the river,” Maier said. “It’s not too bad today because you guys don’t weigh much. Some days the boatload is much heavier, and it’s an all-day workout pulling it through the shallows.”

   When I asked him to define a heavy two-person load, Maier said he asks new clients in advance for their combined weights with gear. “I guided two big guys yesterday; a father and son,” he said. “They said beforehand they weighed 550 pounds with their gear. When they stepped out of their truck, the father laughed and said, ‘Here’s our gear,’ and handed me this little day-pack bag. They were great guys. We had a good time.”

     John Maier of True North Guiding and Outfitters nets a smallmouth bass.

   After noon, the Northwoods’ blue skies faded to a hazy gray, and light winds fluttered the alder leaves beside us and the aspen leaves above. “This is looking better,” Maier said as the sunlight softened. Sure enough, a 2-pound smallmouth pounded my Ned rig seconds after I cast into a pool around 1:15 p.m. The soft-plastic bait barely had enough time to hit bottom and stand upright above the mushroom-style jighead.

   Before 2 p.m. arrived, Connor landed another smallmouth of similar size, and twice had muskies bite off his Ned bait the instant they hit. Sometime around 4 p.m., Maier told Connor to pick up the spinning rod with the Whopper Plopper and work a river bend behind a rocky flats. Connor’s fourth cast dropped into calm waters 2 feet from the riverbank, and the waters erupted before he cranked his reel four turns.

   Connor reared back on the rod and fought the fish about 10 seconds before the muskie threw the hooks. First, Connor looked gravely shook. I couldn’t tell if he was shocked the fish hit, or that it got away.

   As if to console him, the day’s biggest smallmouth smacked the Whopper Plopper minutes later, just before 5 p.m. We didn’t have a scale, but Maier estimated it weighed 4 pounds. A day later, Connor claimed it weighed 5 pounds, so I asked, “Didn’t John say it was 4 pounds?”

   Without pausing, Connor answered: “Four to five, I think.”

   Kids. Fishing makes them grow too fast.