Two Spoonfuls of Discipline and Fifty Rigs of Delusion

Not much of a fishing report today because…I didn’t go fishing. I know. Take a breath. We’ll get through this together.

Instead of fishing, I finally scratched the itch that’s been driving me nuts for months. Tackle organization. Yes, I am that guy. I am also apparently the only fisherman in North America with too much fishing stuff. Other guys say they have too much gear. I actually do.

My brain functions way better when everything has a home. When spoons are sorted. When flies are aligned. When meat rigs are not living in what looks like a plastic spaghetti explosion. Peace comes from order. Order comes from knots. Lots of knots.

Prerequisite to organizing anything was re-tying about 50 meat rigs and flies. Combined, not 50 each. I am not that insane. Yet. And yes, can John King sue me for typing “meat rig”? I still don’t know if that’s real or just a rumor fishermen pass around to scare each other.

I should have filmed the re-tying process. Instead, I just sat there questioning every length I’ve ever tied. Is it 20 inches? 22? Did I make that up in 2018? Thankfully, Surgeon Jenn was there. She has some sort of surgeon-level photographic memory. I say, “Hey, how long was that fly leader we liked?” and she’s like, “26 inches from hook bend to swivel.” Like she’s reading it off a chart. Ahh, or we just measured what we had!

For the record, here’s what we landed on:

• Flies: 26 inches from the round of the hook to the tip of the barrel swivel.

• 12 inch Paddle Flies: 58 inches from the round of the hook to the tip of the barrel swivel.

• Meat heads: 20 inches from the round of the hook to the tip of the #3 snap swivel with a bobber stop holding the head in place.

• Twinkie rig. Or “teaser rig” in case Hostess has lawyers. 42 inches from barrel swivel to barrel swivel with this lineup: barrel swivel, bead, teaser, bobber stop, bead, teaser, bobber stop, bead, teaser, barrel swivel. Teasers were 13 inches tip to tip.

The goal this round was stealth. Lighter line. Lighter hooks. Just on a handful. I’m not fully committed. Supposedly lighter means more bites. Which means based on a barber shop conversation I had in Ludington with Mark, I should now expect three to four times the bites. So if I was averaging 15 a morning, I’m now projecting 60. Seems reasonable.

Will we land 60? Probably not. We might go 4 for 60. But imagine the excitement.

Surgeon Jenn absolutely crushed it. She has tied approximately one billion surgical knots in her life. So when I showed her a few fishing knots, she just nodded and started tying like she was closing up a patient. She tied almost everything. I became Organizer Guy and Quality Control. Which is perfect because if something breaks on the water, I can calmly say, “Ahhh, Jenn tied that one.”

There were some educational moments too. She’s never lake trout fished. Never seen a rig. Picks up a rigged chrome Spin Doctor and goes, “Oh look, a Whirly Gig.” I froze. “How do you know that’s called that?” “Ahh, It looks like a Whirly Gig.” WTF? I have always thought that was the dumbest name in fishing. Apparently it makes perfect sense to normal people.

We also made soup while tying. Highly recommend this move. If you’re going to organize fishing gear and tie 50 leaders, having a pot of healthy, deeeelicious soup simmering in the background is elite life management. Productive and nourished. That’s growth. (Click Here for soup recipe!)

THE Logan was under the weather but still coaching via text. Real MVP behavior. We repaid the kindness with a custom door-drop soup delivery. Because that’s how this ecosystem works.

I also confirmed two important things this weekend. One, the sticker is still next to the toothpick holder at El Rancho. Two, they have a new toothpick dispenser. It’s taller. I’m assuming demand has increased from readers aggressively grabbing toothpicks for their meat heads.

For about a day and a half, I had the coolest condo in Ludington. Rigs hanging everywhere. Flashers laid out like art on display. Swivels and beads scattered in organized chaos. It was equal parts joy and low-grade anxiety. The kind where you’re happy but also thinking, “What have I become?”

Of course I made a stop at Chuck’s. Strict discipline this time. Only two spoons. That’s restraint. They have all the good ones and the prices are way better than I can find most places. Walking out with only two felt like a personal breakthrough.

So no fish were harmed this weekend. Just 50 rigs tied, one condo reorganized, one soup batch consumed, and one brain slightly calmer.

Had to rush home for UWGB school work, which means the organization is 92 percent complete. That 8 percent will bother me until I go back and finish it. Might try to catch the Keating thingy at Chuck’s next weekend if I can carve out time – that will be tough though. If you’ve never seen him, go. Worth it.

Next blog hopefully includes actual fish. Or at least 60 bites. Based on barber shop math, it’s basically guaranteed.