Arriving at the Sheboygan harbor boat launch at the crack of 6 a.m. that early June morning, only to find but a handful of parking spots available—on a weekday, no less‚ said it all. Apparently confirming that the intel my old friend Joe called to provide the evening before was spot on.

With about no wind as predicted, the lake’s surface was at once mirror-smooth and rolling with a widely spaced, 6-foot groundswell as a result of the previous day’s northeasterly blow. So, while the big walleye boat could have made short work of the four-mile run to fleet central under flatter conditions, we took our old-bones-saving time, alternately powering up and sliding down the seas to get the most comfortable ride we could.

Now, Joe and I have been at this Big Lake fishing business since it started in the mid-‘60s. And though far from being as hardbitten about it as we once were, we still take part when everything is right. Which is to say, not often enough that when we do, everything involved in the process is like starting all over again. So, we shut down a good half-mile east of the pack to give us time to get our act together before we would have to deal with the traffic.

And what an act it was!

Both of us—though we hate to admit it—are in that stage of life where everything is harder to do than it used to be. Beginning with our ability, or lack thereof, to walk around in a 21-foot boat, rocking and rolling in a heavy swell. As far as sea legs go, well, it seems we’ve left them somewhere in our past. So, we were glad that no one was watching as we stumbled and bumbled around, rigging and deploying our minimalist, but long-proven, six-rod set. A process after which we plopped down with a collective, “Whew!” and sat back wondering, but not saying out loud, “What’s next?”

The question was soon answered as a full-on coho comedy—one reminiscent of many in our now long-distanced but fondly remembered pasts—began to take shape.

I was at the helm plotting a course, paying attention to our speed, and studying the electronics when Joe, pointing to a ‘rigger rod casually offered, “I think we’ve got one.”

Since he obviously wasn’t going to make a move, I popped up and took the two wobbly steps needed to grab the violently throbbing rod, which I promptly stuffed in Joe’s hands. Responding then only because he had to, my good friend finally got his game face on.

Good thing, too! Being out of practice, barely 5 pounds of silvery muscle and sparking electricity gave us about all we were prepared to handle. Hooked only 25 feet down, it shot to the surface in a heartbeat, tumbling and thrashing for all it was worth, before it shot off on a slack-lining run that took it past our bow before Joe could get a handle on it and lead it back into my waiting net. Even then, that coho continued to go ballistic, making me wish for the “coho clunker” that was standard equipment back in the day. But which has never found its way into the current walleye boat.

So, was it just luck? A tale-ender of the early morning bite we were late for? Or were there more to come? Valid questions that were soon to be answered when, after resetting the portside ‘rigger, its starboard mate went off.

Sticking with the program, Joe was on the rod again. Just as I’d finished cranking up the downrigger wire, the Dipsy pole on the same side started to dance. Job one was to land the ‘rigger fish on its lighter-actioned rod. With that accomplished, Joe jumped on the Dipsy setup. After wrestling the hook out of its mouth, I left the first fish in the net where it was joined by the second half of our double.

With that twofer in the bag, things just fell into place. While we could see nets flying out in the pack, we were comfortable holding our ground, pretty much fishing all by ourselves. It was one of those rare times when we stopped on ‘em and worked the area effectively enough to enjoy putting a total of eight cookie-cutter-sized, 5- to 6-pound cohos—with one jumbo pushing ten—and a solitary, sky-dancing rainbow on ice.

But the significance didn’t really sink in until the boat was on the trailer, the fish were cleaned, and we were on the road home enjoying some pretty upbeat conversation.

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