Fishing during March and April in Iowa can be a fickle exercise. Time the weather and water conditions just right, and you could have the best outing ever. However, for folks that fish mostly after work and on the weekends, matching ideal cold-water conditions with busy schedules is challenging. If you’re like me, over the years these outings have delivered mixed results, and although there are sparks of brilliance at times, most often these opportunities end up below average to down right disappointing. If you read part one of this article, you already know how my spring is going, and if not, in a word it’s been “tough”. Thank goodness for the month of May!

If I could wave a magic wand and fish an entire month of the year it would be May. The days are longer, the weather is warmer, and multi-species opportunities abound! Post-spawn perch and walleyes strap on the food bag and bite eagerly. Crappies, white bass (and accompanying hybrids) spawn throughout the state and can be had further north as water temperatures increase. Migrating channel cats hungrily take nightcrawlers and cut bait as they head for spawning areas. By the end of May, pre-spawn bluegills and largemouths voraciously devour baits to build up reserves. The best part is that fish can be caught effectively from the bank and wading as well as from boats. There is no better month of the year than May for the shorebound angler.    

Recently we got into a hot crappie bite on a shad lake, and the proportions of these fish were extraordinary. The shortest fish we kept was 11”, and it still measured around 1” wide at the shoulders. The 13-14” slabs were true humpbacked giants, stretching the tape around 1.5” across at the shoulders.  

The kit and presentation on this day were pretty standard for spawning crappies. Although any ultralight or medium light spinning rod would’ve worked, we prowled the shallows with a 6’ St. Croix Triumph ML / Pflueger Lady President combo, and my personal favorite 7' WST Catfish and Carp / Okuma Avenger combo. Since crappies were the target, both reels were spooled with 6 pound Trilene XL, and we assumed the shock resistance coupled with a light drag would help if we got into any larger fish (spoiler alert, we did!). Slip floats set 2-3’ deep, #3 split shots, and #4 red octopus hooks finished the rigs. My wife prefers live bait, so she dangled a large minnow, hooked through the lips, below her float. To vary the presentation, I suspended a Bobby Garland Baby Shad Swim’R beneath my bobber.

Shortly after arriving at the first spot, my wife pitched her bobber and minnow. We fished downed trees along a rocky shoreline in water that gradually dropped from 2’-6’ deep. As I cussed the gusty winds and struggled to keep the boat oriented, she quickly landed a couple beautiful fish. The black crappies’ typical salt and pepper pattern had changed dramatically, donning a deep black spawning tint from head to tail. To say these fish were healthy is an understatement, measuring a foot long and nearly as tall with stout flanks. She quickly put the plug in the live well as I switched on the pump, and our first 2 fish were in the boat.

Unexpectedly, the action stopped as quickly as it started. Any seasoned crappie angler knows they typically travel in schools, and sometimes the numbers are shocking. However, for the next 30 minutes we plied every nook and cranny of the deadfall, snagging occasionally while precisely steering the floats through likely haunts. It was as if some cruel magician was playing a magic trick, teasing us with a couple quick bites to anchor us to this spot. Undaunted, we reeled in the lines, pulled in the anchors, and persevered to the next location.

When we arrived at the next place, I was immediately thankful for a slight respite from the gusting wind. Over the next couple hours, I was even more grateful for the hungry fish! While it lacked significant woody cover, out of the shade and strongest winds, the water was a little warmer and clearer. In these conditions, we were able to discern a rock ledge roughly 10 yards from the bank with our polarized glasses. The top of the ledge was in roughly 2’ of water and it dropped to around 4’ of water on the backside. Casting past the ledge and slowly dragging our baits across and then over the edge drew strikes. Bites were easy to identify with rising fish pushing the floats up flat to indicate a take, and running fish slowly drowning floats into the abyss. The action wasn’t fast and furious, and this can happen during the crappie spawn, but the quality far outpaced quantity. Fish on the short end taped at 11” and the largest slabs exceeded 14”. Little did we know something much larger lurked nearby.  

After adding another fat crappie to the live well, my wife baited her hook with a fresh minnow. She casted her rig to a new section of bank and her float almost immediately stood up. She’d found a deep pocket in between sections of the rocky fortifications. Suddenly, the bobber was yanked violently into the dark water, leaving an audible “plop!” and a gush of displaced water behind it! There was no need to set the hook as the rod was nearly ripped from my wife’s hands. For several minutes she expertly played the fish and let it pull drag, her pole bent in a satisfying arc. Eventually, the beast tired, and a quick dip of the net secured her prize. The spiny forest green of the largemouth’s back faded into a bloated white belly separated by deep black chain links. After removing the well placed hook, the fish was measured, and it exceeded 20” and weighed more than 5 pounds. Posing for a quick “grip and grin” my wife handed me the trophy bass, and I eased it back into the water. One powerful tail thrust later, the predator was gone, headed back to its lair between the rocks

With the livewell stacked deep with slabs, and the weather starting to turn, we decided to try our luck on the lake’s plentiful walleyes and perch. As we motored through the no-wake zone, distant rumbles announced the incoming squall. According to radar we had at least 15 minutes until the tiny system landed on the lake, so we pulled up to the point and prepared to anchor. Right on cue, the winds doubled, with the narrow chute we’d pulled into exacerbating the velocity. We abandoned the exposed location, motoring around the spit of land and getting on the leeward side of a tall bank. There we weathered the brief storm, sheltered behind the hill and trees.  

The gale quickly blew over the lake, and after the trailing winds subsided, we headed back to the point, picking up a couple bonus crappies along the way. Most of the fair-weather fishermen had already abandoned their posts, and our boat was the only one in sight.  

Anchored about 25 yards offshore, the boat straddled a narrow channel between flats. Recent rains had raised the water level of the main lake as well as the silt pond above it, providing a steady influx of freshwater and moderate current into the bay. Having been successful in this spot in the past, we were confident that suffering the cold and damp conditions would pay off.  

Preoccupied with my own rod, fishing from the back of the boat, I never saw my wife’s float go down. However, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, and turned just in time to see her set the hook on something solid! Judging by the bend in her rod, she no doubt had something big on the end of her line, but instinctively I asked, “Is it big?!” She replied, “Yes, it’s big!” In an instant, the relative peace on the boat was shattered!

Reflexively, I dropped my rod and desperately looked for the net. In the meantime, my wife struggled to control whatever was on the other end. The fish was getting the best of her, and that was when we remembered she hadn’t re-tied her hook all day. After more than a dozen crappies and one monster bass, the 6 pound line was already frayed and threatened to break at any moment. Recovering some line from the unknown creature, deep in the murk I briefly saw the broad green tail and white hot tip. She’d not only hooked a walleye, she was battling a monster! Chaos ensued, and a fierce, single-minded thought flashed in my head, “You’ve got to land this fish!”

After minutes that seemed like hours, she finally began to gain ground on the trophy walleye. At one point she leaned into the rod, raising the fish’s head briefly, and I stabbed the net downward. With primordial instinct, the fish anticipated the thrust and dove deeply at the same time, the net glancing off its head and grazing the tortured line. The drag screamed and we both tried to catch our breath as I stared dumbfoundedly into the water. My desire to land the fish nearly knocked it off the line, and I couldn’t believe we were still in the fight. With the patience and skill of a seasoned veteran, my wife fought the fish, while I hollered age-old encouragement, “..don’t horse him now…”, “...don’t tighten up that drag…”, “...keep your rod up…”, “...don’t horse him honey…”

The walleye’s runs became less frequent, and she was finally tiring. My wife leaned into the rod again, and the fish slowly lumbered up to the surface. I jabbed the net down aggressively, ensnaring the front half of the fish, and then scooped up powerfully, enveloping the trophy completely. For a few moments we simply stared down into the water at the exhausted fish, gills flaring and gulping air inside the warm embrace of the net. I removed the hook and then reached in to gather the fish for some quick measurements and pictures.  

Lightning struck twice for my wife on this trip, and I couldn’t have been more proud of her as she posed with her personal best 27” walleye. Due to the long fight and desire to get her back in the water quickly, we didn’t weigh the fish, but calculators suggest it was over 8 pounds. After a brief boatside revival, with a powerful flick of her tail she dove deep, soaking my face with a satisfying splash.

The moral of this redemption story is apparent. The sport we all love is called fishing, not catching, and you can’t let an early slice of humble pie ruin your season. If you can’t fight the itch, get out and fish in March and April. If Mother Nature kicks your butt and the fish Gods won’t cooperate, just remember that May is on the way.