Making the case for playing some tunes while chasing fish

If you grew up as I did, you’ll remember being told to stay quiet and be still if you wanted to catch a sunfish or get a peek at the tadpoles swimming beneath the dock. As a kid, though, I loved loud noises—and making them. However hard it was for my parents to instill them in me, those lessons about self-awareness certainly came in handy later in life while sight-fishing for cautious carp or bashful trout in skinny water. They also carried me through the stillness of whitetail hunts.

Fast-forward to the beginning of my muskie obsession, otherwise known as becoming one of the most superstitious creatures on the planet. Now whenever I’m wearing or doing something and I catch a fish, even just once, it becomes part of my fishing regimen. For example, I must now always wear a necklace with the four medicines to ensure a catch. And to break dry spells, pigtails and visors are key, while wearing braids leads to personal bests.

At the same time, if I’m wearing or doing something and I don’t catch a muskie, even once, it gets dropped from my routine. Whenever a fish refuses to eat or dart away, for example, I conclude a particular shirt is too bright or something I’m doing is too loud. In my mind, the fish of 10,000 casts becomes another 10,000 casts away. The list goes on and on and on.

MUSKIE MUSIC

You see, I’m consumed by the idea that everything has to go perfectly. I believe the stars have to align or a fish won’t be boated, even though muskie fishing is never so cut and dry.

Yes, I know it’s sudden changes that turn off the fish just as they flare their gills and open their mouths to commit—the trolling motor stopping, the thud from throwing down a rod down prematurely, or the large net catching my line and bringing my fly to a heart-wrenching stop. When stubbornness settles in, however, I become a slow learner.

I’d like to say I’ve had some personal growth when it comes to superstition and muskie fishing, but I fear music may have only intensified it.

It all started during a particularly difficult week-long trip in the summer of 2021, when my friend Chantal Baron and I were chasing muskies in northwestern Ontario. We were covering water that was new to us, and in true muskie-fishing fashion, we put our well-being on the back burner.

When we finally hit the wall, Chantal put on some tunes, going so far as to boldly connect to a Bluetooth speaker in the boat. I disregarded my knee-jerk cringe at making too much noise, and instead welcomed the rift in the monotony.

“Roar” by Katy Perry came on, and no sooner did we both quip at the “eye of the tiger” reference in the chorus when Chantal set her hook—on a tiger muskie. Evidently, after four days of living in tune-less misery, all it took was 60 seconds of a pop song for us to finally wet the net. With the seal broken, we caught six more muskies during the last two days of our trip.

CATCHY EQUALS CATCHES

Embarrassingly enough, it had never occurred to me before that I could fish and enjoy a melody at the same time. I’ve since discovered that muskies—as well as brook trout, lakers and pike—are also aquatic heavy metal enthusiasts. And yes, Katy Perry still makes guest appearances when things get bleak.

Sure, there’s a time and place for music while fishing, and I never blast my tunes—sound really carries on the water. Music should feel like an escape, making you breathe a little deeper and care less (or care more).

Not that the Bluetooth speaker doesn’t get left behind on occasion. Even with my new-found acceptance of angling soundtracks, my boat continues to produce more two-stroke hums than rock ballads. Still, music has become part of my muskie-fishing process. Call me superstitious, but I encourage other anglers to give it a try.

The late great record producer, composer and musician Quincy Jones famously said, “There are two things you can’t live without. Water and music.” Perhaps when the two come together, their effect amplifies. Certainly, water inspires music, but does music give back as much as it’s been given by water? I believe it does, to the right listener.