Kayak Fishing For Walleye On The Detroit River
Alright, settle in, grab your imaginary coffee, and let me tell you about a little adventure that still has my fishing buddies chuckling. We’re talking about kayak fishing for walleye on the Detroit River. Now, you might be thinking, "Kayak fishing? For walleye? Isn't that like trying to wrestle a badger in a kiddie pool?" Well, not exactly. It's more like wrestling a surprisingly well-fed, slightly grumpy, aquatic badger while your legs are kinda… floating.
The Detroit River. This isn’t some sleepy, babbling brook where you’re more likely to catch a rogue flip-flop than a fish. This is a big river, a mighty waterway that separates two countries and, more importantly, is absolutely crammed with walleye. We’re talking about fish so plentiful, local seagulls have started wearing tiny life jackets and carrying their own fishing rods out of sheer necessity. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a tad. But only a tad!
My friend Dave, bless his optimistic heart, suggested it. Dave is the kind of guy who, if he found a single Cheerios in his cereal box, would declare it a sign of impending good fortune. So, when he said, “Let’s kayak fish the Detroit River for walleye, it’ll be epic,” I just nodded, picturing myself doing a graceful swan dive off my kayak and becoming a permanent, soggy fixture of the riverbed. But hey, where there’s Dave, there’s usually a good story waiting to happen, so I was in.
The plan was simple, or at least, Dave said it was simple. We’d launch our kayaks near a spot he’d heard whispers about, a place where the walleye apparently held their annual underwater rave. We’d drift with the current, toss some lures, and reel in some of these legendary fish. Easy peasy. Except, when Dave says “easy peasy,” it usually translates to “requires advanced trigonometry, a waterproof dictionary of Swedish swear words, and a healthy dose of self-deprecating humor.”
First hurdle: launching the kayaks. Imagine trying to get a sleek, high-tech, plastic canoe into a river that’s moving with the urgency of a stressed-out commuter. We were on a slightly sloped boat ramp, and the current was not messing around. Dave, ever the showman, tried to make a graceful entry. It involved a lot of flailing, a surprisingly loud yelp, and what I can only describe as a controlled capsizing. He ended up with more river water inside his kayak than outside. His dignity, however, remained miraculously afloat.
My turn. I’m a bit more… deliberate. I eased my kayak in, feeling like a seasoned captain navigating a particularly choppy puddle. The river current, though, is a relentless beast. It immediately started playing tug-of-war with my paddle, trying to steer me towards Canada without a passport. I swear I saw a Canadian goose give me a knowing wink. “Welcome, eh?” it seemed to say.
So there we were, bobbing like brightly colored bath toys on a surprisingly serious river. The sheer scale of it is something. You’re surrounded by massive freighters, their wakes looking like miniature tidal waves threatening to send you on an unplanned snorkeling expedition. And then there’s the other boat traffic. People in speedboats, people in fishing boats the size of small apartments. And then there’s us, two grown men in glorified plastic tubs, armed with fishing rods and a questionable sense of direction. We probably looked like the nautical equivalent of pigeons trying to join a flock of eagles.
But the thing about the Detroit River, and this is where the real magic happens, is that it’s teeming with walleye. These aren’t your average, shy little fish. Detroit River walleye are the rockstars of the underwater world. They’re known for being big, strong, and having a taste for anything shiny and dangly. We were throwing out these lures, these little metal and plastic critters designed to look like the tastiest snacks imaginable. Some looked like tiny fish, others like… well, I’m not entirely sure what some of them looked like. Maybe a depressed gummy bear? Regardless, the walleye apparently have a sophisticated palate, and they seemed to approve.
Dave, of course, hooked up first. He let out a triumphant yell that echoed across the water, startling a family of ducks who promptly did a synchronized dive, looking like a tiny, feathered navy. His rod was bent like a pretzel, and he was grunting and groaning like he was trying to lift a piano with his teeth. And then, out of the murky depths, a glorious, shimmering walleye emerged. It was a beauty, a real whopper. Dave, beaming, held it up for inspection. It was so big, I swear it had its own zip code.
My turn came a little later. I felt that telltale thump-thump-thump on my line, that electrifying jolt that sends shivers down your spine and makes your heart do a frantic drum solo. I started reeling, feeling the resistance, the powerful tugs of a determined fish. This walleye, bless its piscine heart, decided it was going to put on a show. It jumped, it thrashed, it probably contemplated a career in synchronized swimming. And then, like a true diva, it came to the surface, a magnificent, emerald-eyed walleye, looking rather annoyed that I had interrupted its afternoon nap.
We caught a few more, each one a thrilling battle against the current and the sheer power of these fish. The sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, a postcard-perfect backdrop to our aquatic escapade. We were tired, a little damp, and incredibly satisfied. We hadn't just caught fish; we'd experienced something special. We’d wrestled with the river, outsmarted some very hungry predators, and managed to avoid becoming permanent river decorations. That, my friends, is what you call a successful kayak fishing trip for walleye on the Detroit River. And yes, Dave is still talking about the size of his first walleye. I think he’s considering getting it taxidermied and entering it into a “Most Impressive River Dweller” competition. We’ll see how that goes.