It was still before 8 a.m. when 12-year-old Mike Murphy walked up to the boat to meet Jason Durham and Jeremy Anderson.
His mother came along to see him off. The two men introduced themselves to the boy.
“You a little nervous?” Anderson asked.
“Yeah,” Murphy replied.
“Don’t be nervous,” Anderson said. “We like to have fun.”
Murphy was joining Durham and Anderson’s team for the annual KidPro tournament—held each July in conjunction with the Fort Frances Canadian Bass Championship.
They told Murphy they liked what he was wearing—a camo-styled life jacket and a shirt that read “Shut up and fish.” They had an upgrade over his Safeway hat, though—a black-and-red Mercury cap for the youngster to keep.
The natives of Park Rapids and Nevis, Mn. are competing for the first year as partners in the FFCBC. “The smallmouth aren’t the same in Minnesota as they are in Rainy Lake,” Durham said. “They’re not as wild.”
“They’re still big and they fight pretty good,” Anderson added. “Nothing compares with these.”
The three soon were in the boat and tearing off across Rainy Lake. They arrived at one of the spots the pair often fish.
“Let me tell you something about these smallmouth, and smallmouth anywhere,” Durham said to Murphy. “About the time you think you figure ’em out, they prove you wrong.”
“They’re tough,” Anderson added.
“Cantankerous,” Durham punctuated.
They baited their hooks, Durham talking Murphy through the ins and outs, boasting how well the bait will imitate a crawfish and attract a bass. Murphy was attentive.
They dropped their lines and before long, Durham snagged the first fish of the day—a 15-inch, 1.14-pounder. They recorded the numbers and quickly cast again, ready to boat something bigger.
Durham followed his first catch up with another—one which he noted has “got a big belly.” It wasn’t much longer but it beat the last one handily in weight.
Murphy was impressed with how quickly the fish were biting, and asked the two if their spot is one they plan to fish during the FFCBC. They said they honestly didn’t know.
“We don’t have a game plan at all,” Anderson laughed.
Murphy kept his attention on his rod and soon had a bite. After a brief battle, he worked the bass out of the water and into the boat. It’s not a record lunker, but the team was on a roll.
“Good job, Mike!” Durham said. “You’re on the board.”
Murphy couldn’t believe the pace these pros fish at. “Whenever we go fishing, it takes hours to catch three fish,” he said.
They fished the lake ardently. The morning was still young—and everyone on board was chatty. Durham talked to Murphy about dirt bikes, music (“Jeremy here likes two kinds of music—country and western,” he joked), and invited the boy to ride with them in the boat parade on Wednesday.
Murphy enthusiastically accepted.
Durham then decided to crack a joke. “Mike, you know what fish you should never tell a secret to? Largemouth bass, because they’ve got a big mouth.”
But Murphy wasn’t biting—he was too focused on a fish hanging around his bait. It only teased before letting go. Murphy didn’t want to lose a single one.
“That’s fishing,” Durham assured him. “If you caught every one, this tournament would be very different.”
They fished and chatted a while longer before moving along to their next spot—one near visible rocks. Durham and Anderson made a few quick catches and then the boat fell quiet.
Durham was telling Murphy that the bass look for food near boulders when he snagged a big one on his line. Murphy hurriedly put his rod down and grabbed the net.
The team landed the bass, which weighed in at a respectable 3.65 pounds.
Durham told Murphy to keep quiet about their fishing spots, including this one. “Here’s what you tell ’em— we talked about this yesterday. If someone asks where you were fishing, Mike, you tell them ‘Right by that one rock. The one with the seagull on it?’”
They caught another bass too small to measure and then moved on by about 10 a.m.—just as the weather got windier and cooler.
Murphy recalled some of the training he went through before coming out for the KidPro tourney, and that he was told to feel special that the team is spending a day with him that they could be pre-fishing instead.
Murphy’s word was “wasted.” The pros are incredulous.
“I wouldn’t say wasted,” Anderson insisted. “We’re out on the lake and we got another line in the water.”
“We love having people in the boat,” Durham added, noting the pair spend their summers guiding in a number of Minnesota lakes. “This is just another day for us.”
A light drizzle fell. Warmer clothes went on and the shades came off across the boat. Murphy asked if the team had a spot behind the cover of an island. Durham had a spot in mind—a cove some distance away.
Murphy said he had a feeling about the spot as they arrived. “Maybe we’ll get that five-pounder,” he remarked.
They stopped and got ready to cast.
“See, one thing me and Jeremy do is grade everything,” Durham told Murphy (both the pros are teachers by profession—Anderson has a Grade 5 class while Durham teaches kindergarten). “Rainy Lake, A+. The smell from the mill, D-.”
Anderson said he was looking forward the barbecue after the KidPro tournament. “I already know, ‘A,’” he said.
Murphy was eager to cast. “There’ll be something over there, I just know it.”
“I like your confidence,” Durham said.
Shortly after casting, Anderson landed a northern pike. “That’s the first one we’ve seen,” he noted.
It wouldn’t be the last—he had two more strong follow-ups with pikes. “I don’t want the trouble,” he complained.
Durham caught a smallmouth—right fish, but it wasn’t much bigger than his hand. The boat floated down the island and while Murphy was having no luck, the pros like his form.
“You’re really good at feeling that bait. I’ve noticed that,” Durham said.
“He’s been watching the end of his line and his rod, too,” Anderson added.
The bad weather had died down. So, too, had the fish. The teachers decided to ask Murphy about school. Murphy replied he’s in French Immersion, and also admitted he’s not the top student in his class.
“Just like you’re in the French Immersion classroom, this is fishing immersion class,” Durham told him. “The big thing when you’re fishing, you can’t say curse words.”
“Just like in school,” Anderson said.
“Yeah. That scares the fish right away.”
Durham got a bite soon after. “Is it a good one?” Anderson asked.
“Aww, it’s a jack! And a small one,” Durham whined. He pulled it up to the boat, but the little pike won the battle—and made off with Durham’s bait.
“Rats!” Durham said.
Durham tended to his line while the other two kept waiting for fish.
The pair then started to coax fish stories out of Murphy—he told them of an eight-pound muskie and a 6.5-pound walleye he had landed that got away when Durham hooked a fish.
Murphy offered to net it but Durham told him to just drop his line. It weighed in just over a pound. Back into the lake.
The next one Murphy was ready for—and Durham could use the net man. It was a 2.69-pound bass, just over 16 inches long, and good enough to make the top three fish that counted towards the team’s total.
Murphy said shortly after that “the only thing I don’t like is it’s a once-in-a-lifetime event.” The demand for youths to enter the KidPro is so great that any kid only gets one shot at it.
“But then you know what? You get to fish the tournament,” Durham assured him. “Imagine that. Doing this for three days straight . . . could you believe if there were something like this when we were young?” he asked Anderson.
“There was nothin’.”
The lake quieted down. “You guys got any other good spots?” Murphy asked.
“Oh yeah, comin’ out of our ears,” Durham replied. “We’ll move on and get that four-pounder.”
They motored down to a narrows not far off. “Let’s get you a fish there, Mike,” Durham said. “One that’s so big that when you get it out of the water, I get scared and jump in the water.”
Anderson lost a leech lure shortly after casting to a hungry fish. “He was small,” he noted.
Durham grabbed a small one of his own shortly after—“babycakes” he called it. He let it off the hook but paid careful attention when it coughed up minnows it had consumed earlier.
“Mike, what happens is when you catch ’em, they’re under so much stress that they cough up what they had for breakfast, and you see what they’re eating,” Durham noted.
“And then you match your bait accordingly,” Anderson added.
They told him how fishing can be a mental game—they were tested with some rough pre-fishing on Saturday. It’s not until a quarter to noon that another big bite came along, chomping at Durham’s line. Murphy was optimistic.
“It’s not three pounds,” Durham assured him.
“How do you know?” Murphy asked.
“Just fished enough, fished enough tournaments. We know,” Anderson said.
They weighed it. Another 2.69-pounder. Not three pounds, but worth recording.
They backtracked to a spot they wanted to hit earlier that another team had been fishing. Anderson reached into his tackle box. “You using a topwater?” Murphy asked.
“I’m going to, how did you know?” Anderson asked.
“I just guessed,” Murphy answered.
They cast. Durham told Murphy how he likes Fort Frances, how people from here are nice, how they always smile and wave.
“People in town wave to anyone,” Murphy said dismissively.
“Oh, so we shouldn’t feel special,” Durham joked.
They discussed lures and knots. The weather got warmer and the clothes came back off. But the fish didn’t bite and Durham said it was time to move on.
“Hold on, I wanna make one more cast,” Murphy pleaded. They obliged. Nothing comes of the cast or the spot. They moved.
Murphy was eager, and ready to cast before the boat stopped in their new spot. Anderson cast by some reeds. His topwater lure interested a fish, which attacked the hook—producing a large, quick splash.
“I missed it. Never felt a thing,” he said. “He just blew up on it. He was mad.”
Durham told Murphy about the aggressive dogfish back home—“they’re ugly fish, too”—then tried another joke on him. “What do dogfish like to eat? Catfish. What do catfish like to eat? Mousefish.”
The joke got a laugh out of Anderson, but not young Murphy.
Durham got a bite shortly after, but let it go. Too small. “What was that?” Murphy asked.
“A mousefish,” Durham laughed.
Durham caught and then landed another. Even smaller than the last, this one only a few inches long. “Little guy like that you gotta name,” he told Murphy. “He needs a name, he was just born.”
Murphy was uninterested.
Durham instead showed him how to tie a palomar knot. Anderson, the last holdout still wearing warm clothes, gave up on his “sauna suit” (heavy pants). He caught a bass shortly after. Yet another small one. Unfocused, he cast—sidearm, one-handed, with the left.
“You know what that was? An ‘F,’” Durham joked.
Anderson decided to grade the fish that had teased his line. “D-, because at least he showed himself.”
Anderson cast again. Still lazy. “That’s a double ‘F,’” Durham said.
Murphy complained he wasn’t catching anything with his jitterbug lure.
“That’s an old standard,” Durham said. “Been around since 1950 . . . lures don’t stay around that long if they don’t catch fish.”
Durham got another bite—the fish tore his bait in half, but he made the catch. Another bitty one. Durham almost apologized for bothering. “I knew it wasn’t good.” They moved on.
“This is the four-pounder spot, the five-pounder spot,” Durham promised.
Anderson went to bait his hook. He showed Murphy the pair’s collection of baits, stored in packs in a large tupperware container, stood upright. It has the look and feel of a filing cabinet.
He produced a bag of baits—a 100-pack. “That’s how much we like ’em,” Anderson said. Murphy wanted one for his line. Anderson obliged. They cast. The fish didn’t come. They left.
Their next spot was a ride away. “Here she is,” Durham pronounced. They stopped at an open stretch of water with nothing notable nearby save for a buoy with a seagull perched atop.
“This is one of those places where you have to trust your equipment,” Durham told Murphy.
Durham caught a fish—not impressive, but respectable in size and a sight for some sore eyes. The team is much quieter now in the afternoon. The morning talk has subsided into the chewing of sunflower seeds.
The fish was all that came of the spot. “Last cast and we’ll move down,” Durham said. “Down to the four-pounder spot.”
They returned to their chairs. Murphy asked the pair about their best finish. “I think it was 21st was our best,” Durham said.
“That’s good,” Murphy replied.
They stopped. Murphy wanted to try a new bait from his box. Durham helped him get it on his hook. “These ones are bigger than the ones you guys are using,” Murphy noted.
“Mmhmm,” Durham said.
“Is that bad?” Murphy asked.
“You’ll find out,” Durham said.
The two cast. Durham caught a bite before too long. “I don’t think it’s that big but it’s nice! It’s a jumper!” He dropped it once it got to the boat, but noted this one was snacking on crayfish.
He put the line back in the water.
“I’ve had dreams about this spot since I’ve been up the way. Honestly,” Durham said.
He caught another small one without much of a fight. The team agreed they think another good one is down there. Soon it showed itself—another pike. A strong follow-up,
Durham warned Anderson that one was headed for his line. It pulled hard, having well swallowed Anderson’s lure. He landed it—a big, nasty-looking, two-foot pike.
Anderson grabbed the pliers and went to work on it. The hooks were in deep and fast. “He doesn’t want to give it up,” Anderson said.
Eventually, his surgery proved successful and he released the pike back into the lake. He turned to bait is hook.
Murphy cast—a good one. “That was a nice cast,” Durham encouraged. “That’s an ‘A.’ Now, Jeremy’s inability to get a bait in the water—‘F.’”
Anderson did get his bait in the water, and soon after caught another little bass. “I just dropped it straight behind the boat and caught that one.” The other two had no luck. Time for a new spot.
“Here it is, the secret spot,” Durham said. “The rock with the seagull on it.” (It’s actually a few rocks with a half-dozen seagulls). Murphy wanted to go back to the first place on the way back to Fort Frances.
“We can,” Durham said. “We won’t need to if we catch two four-pounders here.”
The spot was uneventful. Durham said they’ll return to the first spot after one more.
They arrived well into the afternoon. Murphy remained seated after the boat came to a stop. “You ready, Mike?” Durham asked.
“You never know when you’re gonna get a bite,” Anderson said. Murphy got up and cast his rod. It was quiet on the boat. Durham broke the silence.
“Uh oh. Another big pike.”
One was going for Murphy’s line, and there was concern his line might not be able to handle it.
“I wanna catch a pike just for the fun of it,” Murphy said.
The pike lost interest. The team catches no fish at the spot. At 2:15 p.m., they go to make their last stop at their first spot.
“Okay, last spot,” Durham said. “Big fish.”
Anderson caught a bass within a minute. Durham snagged one while his partner reeled his in. They land them both—two nice smallmouths. The three were focused on getting a photo when Durham noticed a tug on Murphy’s rod, sitting perched on the side of the boat.
Murphy grabbed the rod. He immediately knew he had a fish. Durham returned the two bass to the lake while Murphy struggled with the fish. The pros stood by, ready to encourage and help him land the fish.
The boy pulled it into the boat—a walleye, but a big one. It measured 21 inches and 3.11 pounds.
“Walleye king,” Anderson anointed Murphy.
The group asked Durham what the bass weighed in at. He said he didn’t weigh them. He’s beside himself—the group figured the second of the pair was a three-pounder, bigger than all but one of their catches.
“I can’t believe I didn’t measure that bass,” he said. They cast. Durham still couldn’t shake it from his mind.
“You told me to measure it and weigh it?” Durham asked Anderson.
“Twice!”
Durham shook his head and stared at his line. “Weighing our smallies—‘F.’”
They kept casting but the walleye is the last catch of the day. They motored back, careful to not submit their scores late. Their weight of 9.03 pounds ended up good enough for 13th place.
The five-pounders that eluded the team also eluded the rest of the 28-team field—the big fish of the KidPro tournament came in at an even five.
They pulled in near the docks. Murphy already could see his family waiting for him. He’ll soon tell them all about his day—the fish they caught, and the fish they didn’t catch.
But he saved his biggest endorsement for the team before even leaving the boat.
“That’s the best time I ever went fishing,” he said.
Fort Frances Times
Local News from Across the Rainy River District
