THE LAND NORTH OF SUPERIOR

 <o:p></o:p>

Those days gone by, as seen with the mind’s eye, are the profit we have from our experiences, whether they be flattering or not.  This is how it was in the land north of Superior, and you are welcome to share it.

 <o:p></o:p>

There we were sitting on an island watching as the rain poured down.  A nice warm rain to be sure but lots of it in a hurry.  The wind had picked up as we fished for those tasty pickeral.  A black cloud had moved from the west to sit over us, and we had made shore just in time, as the heavens opened up.  A small tarp over a couple of small evergreens provided some measure of protection.  As we waited we thought we might as well have something to eat once the rain let up.

 <o:p></o:p>

Within half an hour the sun was blazing down on us again.  A quick salvage operation netted a large pile of sticks and driftwood for our fire.  The dry stuff, from under the trees started well and six smokies were sizzling on willow sticks in no time at all.  Hot dog buns, slightly cramped, from one packsack and mustard, ketchup and cheese chunks made for a tasty hot meal.  Potatoe salad, pop for the two boys, beers for the adults, covered all the basic food groups.  Who cared, we were now dry and full.

 <o:p></o:p>

 <o:p></o:p>

The old bailing can was ever so useful even without legislation mandating the availability of one. We were back on the water and fishing.  Up to this point I had done very little jigging except for perch and the incidental pickeral caught that way.  Out here jigging was the way to go once you found fish by trolling.  The fish we found were small ones so we trolled on a hundred feet until the next strike.  These were the nice plump 11/2 pound variety.  Our two boats were headed back to the landing with stingers full, and a couple of light cases of sunburn.

 <o:p></o:p>

On the way back we stopped on a rocky, fast drop-off, point to clean our fish.  The first thing that met us was a wall of flying insects.  Back then we scaled the pickeral, took out the back fin, cut the tail and gutted them.  The head was kept for kalla mujaka (Finnish fish soup) fish was fried with the skin on, just like pan size specs, and just as tasty.  We had a lot of pickeral to clean

 <o:p></o:p>

My two boys, young as they were, helped in the scaling; as did my wife.  It was also agreed that my sister would scale and that her husband would gut and despine the fish.  To get a jump-start on the scaling I pulled out my brand new six inch, red handled Norma knife; and scales began to fly. After I had done three I started to clean the fish.  Starting at the head end, with the fish cradled in my left hand, and angle cut is made beside the dorsal fin and down to the backbone.  On the other side of the fish a similar cut is made the length of the fin.  A light twist and the spiny top fin, and very little wasted meat, is discarded.  The fish is then turned onto it’s back and the throat is cut.  A cut is then made the full length of the fish to beside the anus.  The anal fin is cut in the same manner as the top fin, and with practice comes away attached to the guts of the fish.  Two quick cuts to get the gills and the fish is clean and the head is still attached to the body.  The pickeral cheek meat goes well in the mojaka or can be removed and fried with onions, mushrooms and home fries for a meal on it’s own if you have enough fish.

 <o:p></o:p>

When I have made the two gill cuts I insert the knife blade under the gill connective tissue, pinch down with my thumb and lift out the  gills and entails in one piece and throw them away.  Usually what happens is that my pinkie and the next finger hold the knife and the guts fly away.  I was rushed, and being chewed to a pin cushion and I opened my hand as threw --- everything away, including my brand new knife!  I had already reached for the next fish to gut when it caught up to me, I had thrown my knife away.

 <o:p></o:p>

As per usual when you do something stupid somebody else will notice.  My brother-in-law was rolling on the rocks busting his gut laughing.  He still to this day likes to tell the story of how the Big Guy cleans fish, and how expensive it is, one knife per fish. That day every time I went to throw fish guts away everyone warned me to hang onto my spare knife.  At the landing as we locked the rented boats and motors, I was asked if my knife made it this far.  A mile and a ½ later at our vehicles I was asked the same question.  Thankfully we were in different trucks on the three-hour drive home or it could have got really boring.

 <o:p></o:p>

I have to admit to another bad knife habit I have.  I leave my filleting knives stuck in logs all over my world.  I used to leave some expensive ones in the old days.  Now-a-days when I see some sporting goods store with cheap knives for a few dollars I’ll buy a dozen, just in case.

 <o:p></o:p>

If you have found one of my filleting knives, stuck in a log, I hope you took better care of it than I did.  Some people get to reap the benefits as I explore the lakes and rivers that make up the land north of Superior.