On July 5, 2026, Tom Neustrom passed away at his home in Grand Rapids, Minnesota. His passing marks the loss of one of Minnesota’s most respected anglers, guides, outdoor communicators, and conservation advocates. For me, it also marks the passing of a friend whose influence on my life stretched back more than 50 years.

I first met Tom in 1975 when I was guiding part-time in north-central Minnesota. Like so many friendships between anglers, ours began by comparing notes on lakes and fish. Tom had a particular fascination with crappies and was always interested in learning more about catching them throughout the year.

Tom’s curiosity about crappie fishing extended well beyond the spawning season. He was always asking questions. Where did the fish go after they left the spawning beds? Were they relating to outside weed edges, cabbage, rock structure, or simply suspending over deep water? Did feather jigs outproduce soft plastics on a given day? And perhaps most of all, which lakes consistently produced those big slab crappies? That curiosity never seemed to end, and I think it was one of the qualities that made Tom such an outstanding angler and teacher.

At the time, I was paying my way through college by selling tackle at Paul Bunyan while continuing to guide and write. Fishing wasn’t just a hobby for either of us—it was a way of life.

As the years passed, our friendship grew. We volunteered together at Camp Fish in Walker, where we shared our knowledge with young anglers and families eager to learn. Tom had a gift for teaching. Whether he was speaking to a beginner or an experienced fisherman, he made people feel welcome. His enthusiasm was genuine, and people naturally wanted to learn from him.

During those years, I watched Tom’s relationship with Al Lindner and the In-Fisherman organization continue to grow. It became obvious that Tom had earned the respect of some of the biggest names in fishing. Along with the Glorvigen family in Grand Rapids, he became an important part of Minnesota’s fishing community. I also recognized that Tom was developing strong relationships within the Minnesota DNR and the fisheries community.

There is nothing wrong with building those relationships, but it wasn’t the path I wanted to take. Throughout my career, whether writing or serving on advisory groups, I preferred to stay outside those circles and evaluate issues independently. I’ve always tried to reach conclusions based on my own research, observations, and experiences rather than simply following the prevailing opinion.

Around that same time, I made a decision that surprised Tom. I stepped away from pursuing a full-time career in the fishing industry.

He never really understood why.

The answer was actually quite simple. I was burning the candle at both ends. More importantly, I realized I never wanted to make something I loved become just another job. I also needed stable employment with health insurance, something the outdoor industry couldn’t easily provide in those years.

There were hints that I might have an opportunity with In-Fisherman, but I chose another path. I found a career in sales that challenged me, provided security for my family, and allowed fishing to remain my passion rather than my profession.

Tom’s situation was different. Working nights in law enforcement gave him the flexibility to guide, write, promote fishing, and eventually become one of Minnesota’s most recognizable outdoor communicators. He made that balance work remarkably well.

Even though our careers followed different roads, our friendship continued. Whenever business brought me to Grand Rapids, I’d stop to see Tom. We always found plenty to talk about. As my own writing career developed, I had the privilege of writing for several national fishing publications, and whenever the story fit, I enjoyed featuring Tom, because I knew readers would benefit from his knowledge and experience.

Years later, our paths crossed again through the Minnesota DNR Walleye Species Committee. Initially, I supported the proposed statewide four-walleye limit. But the more I researched the issue, listened to different perspectives, and thought through both the biological and social implications, the more my opinion changed. As I have always tried to do, I followed my own research and intuition rather than remaining with my original position.

Before making that change public, my wife, Deb, and I happened to be visiting friends in Grand Rapids. I drove over to see Tom while Deb waited in the car. I wanted him to hear directly from me why I was changing my position and explain my reasons face to face. I felt our friendship deserved nothing less.

He didn’t agree, and from that point on there was some distance between us. It also seemed that some of my relationships within the committee and the broader fisheries community became quieter. Whether that was intentional or simply the natural course of events, I can’t say.

What I can say is that Tom never completely closed the door. Although he tended to keep me more in the background during those later years, there was still respect. When my term on the committee came to an end and I decided it was time to move on, Tom told the other committee members he wished I would stay. He also let me know he didn’t like my decision to leave. That meant more to me than he probably realized.

Looking back now, the disagreements seem far less important than the decades of friendship that came before them.

What I remember most are the phone calls. There was a time when Tom called me three or four times a week. We’d talk about fishing, conservation, writing, or simply catch up on life. Those conversations became part of a friendship that stretched across more than half a century.

Tom leaves behind an extraordinary legacy. Thousands of anglers learned from him through seminars, magazine articles, television appearances, guide trips, and simple conversations at sport shows, boat landings, and around a dock. He had an enthusiasm for fishing that never faded, and he genuinely wanted others to experience the same joy he found on the water.

We didn’t always agree, but I believe Tom respected that I always tried to think for myself. In turn, I never stopped respecting his passion, his convictions, and his dedication to Minnesota’s fisheries.

Friendship isn’t measured by agreement. It’s measured by respect, shared experiences, and the influence someone has on your life. Tom Neustrom had that influence on mine. For that, I will always be grateful. Rest in peace, my friend.

Learn more about the life and career of Tom Neustrom in our in-depth interview from 2015.