June 27, 2002
BY ERIC SHARP
FREE PRESS OUTDOORS WRITER
The rods are in their holders. The big plugs are running true. And a friendly wind has set up a nice chop off the Canadian shore of Lake St. Clair, just big enough to make it tough for a muskie to see that the fish it's about to attack isn't real.
| THE MUSKIE FILE |
|
Northern pike have the widest natural distribution of any freshwater fish,
from Siberia to St. Clair Shores.
Muskellunge and pike are so closely related that they can cross-breed -- producing a sterile hybrid called a tiger muskie -- yet the muskie's limited natural range in eastern and central North America shows that it evolved later and in warmer times. Lake St. Clair is unusual in having niches for large populations of both muskies and northerns. Muskies spawn in May or June, when the water is about 50 degrees. Pike spawn earlier -- when the water is 40 -- so when baby muskies hatch out a week or two after they are spawned, they are the perfect meal for juvenile pike, by now 3-4 inches long. Muskies grow very quickly, reaching 10-12 inches their first year and the keeper limit of 42 inches in about 10 years. Lake St. Clair's trophy fish of 50 inches and 30 pounds are at least 15 years old. Adult muskies and pike usually don't compete for food. Big pike, over six or seven pounds, like water temperatures of 50-55 and depths under 10 feet. Big muskies, over 15 pounds, prefer water around 70 and water deeper than eight feet. Early settlers wrote of muskies approaching six feet and 100 pounds. This might have been hype, but it also could reflect an era when few people fished prime muskie waters and the fish lived long enough to reach that size. But the record books list only about a dozen fish over 50 pounds caught in the past 53 years. Although it has been in and out of the books a couple of times (people have questioned its authenticity), the world record is the 69-pound, 11-ounce muskie that Louis Spray caught in Wisconsin in 1949. The Michigan record for a purebred muskie is the 49-pound, 12-ounce fish taken from Thornapple Lake in 2000 (the Department of Natural Resources guide still lists a 48-pounder). While tiger muskies usually are smaller than purebreds, the state and world-record tiger is a 51-pound, 3-ouncer caught in the Upper Peninsula's Lac Vieux Desert in 1919. By Eric Sharp |
"I think a lot of time muskies hit the lure because they want to kill it, not because they're hungry. It's like they're saying, 'Who do you think you are?' It doesn't hurt to tick them off," says Mike Pittiglio, skipper of the Muskie Mania.
This is a busman's holiday. On days he doesn't have a charter, Pittiglio goes muskie fishing with pals who often mate for him. On this day he's with younger brother Adam; Bryan Bombalski and Tony Radaj, friends he's known since Sterling Heights High; and fishing buddy Mike Zainea.
Like many charter captains, Pittiglio is a believer in the solunar tables, which use moon phases and time of year to predict the best fishing times. On this day we have an hour-long minor period starting at 2:30 p.m. and then a major period (theoretically the best fishing) at 9:05.
"I really see the effects of those minor and major periods. We went 10-for-12 (fish) yesterday, but we didn't get them until late, during a minor period," he says. He hops out of his seat and rings a small ship's bell mounted in the cockpit. "I almost forgot to ring the dinner bell and tell them the minor period has started."
Ten minutes later, a reel sings out and Adam Pittiglio plays and lands a beautifully marked 24-pounder. "He knows he better not lose it," Mike Pittiglio says as the pungent odor of muskellunge slime fills the cockpit. "When we're fishing for fun, if you lose a fish, you have to go into the penalty box and sit in the cabin until it's your turn to play a fish again."
Minutes later, another fish strikes. I'm up and play it for a few minutes, and I can see when it surfaces a couple of times that it's bigger than the 24-pounder. But when the fish is 30 feet behind the boat, I have to stop reeling while we clear the line, and the muskie kicks off. I talk my way out of the penalty box by pointing out that if I'm stuck down there, I can't make pictures or notes.
Lake St. Clair spoils muskie anglers. Most muskie lakes don't produce one 30-pounder per year; on Lake St. Clair, it's common to see a half-dozen or more landed in a weekend tournament. The biggest fish Pittiglio has landed on his boat was 36 pounds, 1 ounce; one day last year he landed and released a 31-pounder and a 33-pounder within minutes.
"We're crying if we don't get 10, 12 fish a day. There are a ton out here, but the problem is that there's a whole bunch of little ones that grab the lure before a big one can get to it. That's why in July and August, when the water warms up, I like to fish mid-lake. You don't get as many out there, but they're nearly all big, 45 inches or more," he says. "I caught 16 muskies over 30 pounds last season, and I bet 12 of them came from mid-lake. . . .
"The fish are getting bigger. Ten, 12 years ago, a 30-pounder was something. Then they raised the minimum size up to 42 inches, and 30-pounders became pretty common. I'd like to see the limit moved to 46-50 inches. You'd see 40-pounders then.
"And raising the limit wouldn't make much difference to muskie fishermen, because they hardly ever kill a fish."
His assertion is backed by the Michigan Ontario Muskie Club, which has been keeping records on Lake St. Clair since 1946. Its records show that in 1960-87, no more than three 30-pounders were entered in any one year, and that happened only four times. But since 1992, after the 42-inch limit had time to take effect, the lake's annual catch of 30-pound and larger muskies has been in double figures every year, even occasionally topping 20.
At 26, Pittiglio is one of the youngest charter captains on the Great Lakes. He quit a job as a tool designer and bought a 31-foot Sea Ray with an 11 1/2-foot beam and twin 454 big-block engines. He named it Muskie Mania and hung out his skipper's shingle.
"This is my first year of chartering," he says. "Muskies are all I fish for. I used to mate for (legendary muskie captain) Steve Jones, and he taught me a lot.
"I don't know how true it is, but a lot of guys think the sound of the big-block 454s attracts muskies when you're trolling. Some of the guys with smaller engines put on mufflers that are tuned to sound like a big block."
That "right sound" belief is shared by skippers around the world, who tune their exhausts to produce a sound that they think will draw fish, whether it be muskies or marlin.
Muskies are among the hardest of freshwater fish to catch; they often are called "the fish of 1,000 casts." On Lake St. Clair that could be "the fish of 1,000 yards," because the most effective technique is trolling 10- to 20-inch plugs at 3-5 m.p.h. As we troll, Pittiglio and his crew change lures constantly, selecting from tackle boxes filled with hundreds of plugs that average $10 each.
"First, you have to find the fish," he says. "Then you have to find how deep they are. Then you have to see if there's a color they like better than others. When it comes to muskies, the harder you work, the more you catch."
Despite their size and predatory nature, muskies can be tentative about striking a bait. At 7 p.m., the drag on a starboard rod screeches for a half-second then goes quiet. At 7:11, another starboard rod does the same. At 7:15, a portside rod goes "click . . . click-click . . . click . . . click-click." Bombalski picks it up: "It feels like a small muskie," but after a few seconds it kicks off.
When Bombalski reels in the lure, tooth marks prove he was right. "Three rips and three zips," he says. "It just baffles me how a muskie can hit a lure with three big treble hooks on it and not get hooked. If I just handle a lure, I get the hooks in my fingers."
Pittiglio comes out of the captain's seat. "I just realized, I forgot to pay them. These are Canadian fish, but I've got some Canadian quarters," he says, pitching a couple into the wake. Thirty seconds later, a reel screams, and Bombalski lands a seven-pound muskie. We quickly empty our pockets of coins.
At 8:30 p.m., we get another mini rip-and-zip on a starboard rod. "We still have a little while to go," Pittiglio says. "The major solunar period doesn't start until 9:05."
Thirty-five minutes later, Radaj says, "OK, the major period started. Where are the fish?"
Pittiglio answers, "How do you know if the muskie's watch is set the same as yours?" The words are barely out of his mouth before a portside rod starts bucking and screaming as a big fish makes a serious attack.
"WHADIDITELLYA!" Pittiglio exults as I grab the rod and feel a heavy weight and some very strong head shakes. The fish makes a couple of runs, but while muskies fight hard, they don't fight long. Soon we have it in the boat, where we weigh it at 25 pounds and put it back over the side.
The day ends with five muskies caught and released and seven more missed. Three of the muskies were 4-7 pounds and the others 24 and 25, beautiful fish that in other parts of the country would be the catch of a lifetime.
"I just love muskie fishing. I wish I could do it every day," Pittiglio says as he steers Muskie Mania home across the night-shrouded lake. Asked what he plans to do in the winter, he doesn't hesitate before answering: "Get depressed."
Pittiglio can be reached by calling 586-260-4068 or online at www.muskiemaniacharters.com.