The numbers most of us hoped for never materialized and many of my brothers were bummed. Some of them tossed the gear into the basement and hauled out the boat for walleye. I can't blame them, I would of done the same. Many of the upper sections were devoid of fish and it was mid-April. The last trip out was was no different as some of my favorite holes coughed up some fish but no where the numbers of past seasons. Even the best gravel beds on the lower sections didn't have a lot of fish. Rewind to last season and there were plenty of fish to be had in May. What a difference one season can make. Last entry in my journal was littered with curse words and the number two. That's how many fish I caught.
Conspiracy theories ran wild. There had to be somebody or something to blame. I just figured that we were due for a bad year. It happens all the time when it comes to fishing. It doesn't matter whether it's steelhead, walleye, perch or pike. But, this season was exceptional terrible. I stowed the gear away and patiently waited for autumn. I would still see some fishing, refusing to throw in the towel. Suckers for punishment? I guess but why bother telling them. Let them figure it out.