Photo by Ron Sinfelt.

I could feel the questioning looks from my clients as I urged them to continue to let their lines roll off their level-wind reels. The constant chop of the 3-foot waves on the Columbia River rocked the boat as we idled upstream, just below the John Day Dam.

"Yeah," I said. "Let 'em out till you hit the second black streak marked on your spools."

I told them that they needed to get those Wiggle Warts out about 120 feet behind the boat, along the gravel bar where they were deep enough to tempt finicky walleyes.

"Deep enough" was about 15 to 18 feet down. That would put our lures within 1 1/2 feet of the rocky bottom -- right where ole walleye is most of the time.

The bottom undulated here as it does anywhere in the Columbia. But our Wiggle Warts would drag rocks and be a foot or so above the bottom the rest of the time.

This is a technique I've used to catch walleyes for better than 30 years, and it's a consistent producer in the early summer months in the Pacific Northwest.

The guys in my boat were old hands at salmon and steelhead fishing in both the Pacific Ocean and coastal streams, but they were new to walleye fishing on the Columbia River.

My techniques seemed extreme to anglers used to fishing for silvers 20 or 30 feet behind the boat. With light lines that test 10 pounds or less, I've found that trolling lines out more than 100 feet will drive even shallow-diving lures like Wiggle Warts down to 15 feet or deeper.

TROPHY-CLASS GAME FISH
Earlier that morning, the sun was just starting to rise over the Columbia Mountains as we launched my 20-foot Duckworth sled. This was our first turn up the river, trolling crankbaits.

I was just beginning to enjoy the crimson-streaked sunrise when I saw the tip of a client's rod take a dive toward the water.

"Grab that rod, stand up and set the hook!" I shouted above the wind and trolling motor.

Coaching a bit more I said, "keep your rod tip up, and your line tight. Everyone else stay seated and crank your lures in just as fast as you can to get 'em out of the way of that fish."

Looking at the straining 8-foot rod, I knew we had one of those wall-hanging 'eyes the Columbia is famous for. As the fish came to the boat, it dived deeper and began to bulldog its fight to the depths.

Walleyes made their reputation on the dinner plate, but aren't known for being great fighters. I think that's because most walleyes caught are in the 2- to 4-pound class. When an angler finally hooks a 15-pound walleye, it brings on a change in attitude in a hurry.

My guy pumped the fish to within 6 or 7 feet of the boat. I saw a huge female walleye with the fire-tiger Wiggle Wart buried in the side of her mouth. These anglers had told me they wanted to catch a trophy-class walleye to mount. Walleyes up to 6 pounds make the best eating, and I discourage keeping the big females unless they're going on the wall.

"Just a little bit closer, and we'll get her in the net," I urged.

Soon I reached the fish with my 10-foot, long-handled net, and she was in the boat. The scales said this was a nice 12-pound hen -- a beautiful iridescent gold and green Columbia River walleye. We all did a round of high-fives and eased the fish into the cooler.

That fish would go to a Portland taxidermist, and Chet would have a mount that would memorialize his fish and provide him with a lasting memory of a cold, blustery June day on the great Columbia River.