The rod bent and the line took off with a zing; the fight had just begun. I had just hooked up into a giant trophy walleye or just an ordinary pike. Either the sought after walleye or the nuisance pike, it was a battle to see what species would surface.

My family has a tradition; some of us pack our cars and drive the over 900 miles to Northern Ontario for a weeklong fishing trip.  My grandfather, who has been making the trek for over forty years now, started this tradition. Recently, we lodge at Klotz Lake Camp, which is at the edge of Klotz Lake, a seven-mile long “L” shaped lake that is very fertile, where we spend most of our time fishing.

Throughout the week we visit multiple lakes for the opportunity at landing a monster walleye. The most scenic and fertile walleye lake we visit is Kassigimini Lake, or “Kass” for short. After driving down the multiple miles of logging roads, we then haul the fishing rods, tackle boxes, 100+ pound boat motors, and other gear down a sloped ¼ mile-logging trail.  The path is made up of dirt, which makes it virtually impossible to walk on when it is raining.  The lake was carved by a glacier, so it has clear water, visible to the bottom in some places, and is surrounded by tall rocky cliffs with tall evergreen and spruce trees.

This year on Kassigimini was my most memorable year yet.  We woke up and did the usual morning routine then drove down to “Kass.” Before carrying our gear down the beaten path, we soaked ourselves in the smelly mosquito repellent to ward of the millions of mosquitos and black flies.  Once we packed our boats and secured our motors, we took off into the beautiful lake. In the morning the fishing was slow, so we tried to drift around some islands.  The amount of mayfly carcasses was discouraging, though. We decided to move to another spot. Cutting the glass-like water, the chugging motor propelled the boat toward our destination. It was a thin, rocky channel between two islands.  Finally, the fishing finally started going for the better.  We were “absolutely hammering the walleyes,” a phrase my father would use to describe the mid-afternoon fishing.  The current between the islands slingshot us through the channel and we caught beautiful yellow-green colored walleyes.
We were going through the last pass of the day between the islands when my rod bent, and the line took off with a zing.  With my heart racing hoping this was a monster walleye, I started to fight the behemoth. Like a tug-of-war match, the battle continued.  I could tell the fish started to get tired, so after its final run, it started to rise to the surface.  With the golden-pigmented skin breaking through the water, I could finally tell this was a monster walleye. “That is a huge fish,” I screamed, not able to hold in my excitement.  I yelled at my dad, “Dad, you better net this fish right!” Once the fish was away from any edges on the boat, my dad, brother, and I went wild. Our yelling and hollering could be heard throughout the whole lake.  The final size of the once-in-a-lifetime walleye was twenty-nine inches and nine pounds; in fact, compared to the average fifteen to sixteen inch walleyes, it is a monster.

Having won the battle against the beast, it is now waiting to be mounted on the wall of my room.  I can’t wait until next summer, so I can get another chance to relive this story. I am very thankful for my grandfather’s idea for a vacation many years ago because it has let my dad, brother, grandfather, and I to bond even more than before.  Some day, perhaps, I’ll take my son fishing on “Kass” where the chugging motor will push our fishing boat through the peaceful waters until a bent rod and zing begin the fight, the fight with a great walleye, to continue the tradition.