GOVERNOR'S CUP WALLEYE TOURNAMENT

The First Day Is a Rodeo

By Bill Schneider, 7-12-08

	A few of the 80 boats ready to rock and roll. And, below, the Mighty Warrior leaving the competition behind. Photos by Bill Schneider.

This was the first day of the rest of my fishing tournament life. It was supposed to be yesterday, but Mother Nature stepped in and called a “wind day.”

Today, the wind was slightly less severe, so the good folks in charge of the Governor’s Cup Walleye Tournament decided to go ahead. Now, that the day is over, and I’m back at the historic Fort Peck Hotel writing, it feels like a good decision. But when I was out there on that massive Fort Peck Reservoir “riding the bull” I wasn’t so sure.

On the way to the boat ramp, the national guardsmen volunteering for the tournament stopped us. They checked our live wells to make sure we didn’t have them full of walleyes we caught last week--and check for beer and other alcoholic beverage, which are prohibited in tournament boats.

Then, the ramp, where first-timers like me get a big education. First of all, you never, ever want to be “that guy” at the boat ramp at a fishing tournament. And it’s a two-person deal, so you can’t sit back and let the boss do all the work. One person stays in the boat while the other drives the truck. The national guard is there to do the loading and unloading to make it go faster.

It isn’t easy to launch almost a hundred boats in less than an hour, so everything has to go rapidly and smoothly. You don’t want to be the guy who kills the engine or jackknifes his trailer in front of all the other guys. And it’s all power-loading, so if you can’t power load your boat, learn how to do it before you show up at the ramp at a fishing tournament.

That’s a lot of pressure for a regular guy like me. Mike Newton, my fishing partner, the other half of Team No 40, does the big job by backing up the Mighty Warrior up to the ramp, but then he gets and the boat and I take over--while 50 other manos observe, of course. I have to launch the boat and park the trailer.

Let’s just say it went smoothly enough.

(Incidentally, if you’re going to battle with 79 other teams of walleye addicts, you want a boat named the Warrior, don’t you think? You don’t want to show up with a boat named Princess or Bunny.)

We must go out in the exact order, starting with No. 1, so we have to find the boat 39, Mike finds it, somehow, among the armada of pricey walleye boats idling in the marina bay, amid a haze of anticipation spiced with testosterone. You don’t want to miss your spot because that means you’ll be the last boat out. Tomorrow, the order of departure is reversed, but we’re still in the middle.

After the national anthem, tournament officials on a big barge start giving boats the green flag, and in a minute or two, we’re off. The marina bay is placid, but out on the big lake, it looks like the waves you see at surfing beaches. Winds close to 25 mph are whipping up ocean-like whitecaps, and it’s amazingly rough. Mike hits in hard at first, but even the Mighty Warrior can’t take the punishment, let alone its passengers, as in yours truly, who is hanging on for dear life trying not to get thrown from the boat. Drivers have it better than passengers. Mike has two hands on the while, thankfully, but I only have one grip, so it really is like bull riding. We go airborne, crashing down on the next wave, feeling like we were dropped out of a helicopter, again and again. Everybody finally has to slow down, and this is clearly something tournament anglers hate. They can only fish from 7 am to 3 pm, and they want every minute of it.

I, however, was completely okay with slowing down.

Mike tells me they used to have mass starts, but it got so crazy and dangerous. At a tournament in North Dakota, on a big wave day like today, one boat got so much air, it came down on top of another boat.

Finally, almost an hour later, we get to that little waypoint on Captain Mike’s GPS screen, where he caught the 32-incher last year. And we start fishing.

Things are slow. We catch a couple of fish just over the 14-inch minimum. And I’m thinking about the guys yucking in up down at the saloon that night when they see our score.

About noon, we finally catch a decent fish, about 18 inches, and I’m relieved, especially since a few minutes earlier I’d lost a big fish that could have rocketed us up the standings. An hour later, what do you know, we catch a 25-incher which means six pounds added to our score, and now, I’m at peace, knowing we won’t be in last place.

Then, it’s time to tie down everything in the boat so it won’t fly out, and we’re back to the rodeo, another hour-long, spine-condensing boat ride ahead of us. And nothing but stress waiting for me at the end because Mike lets me off on the dock so I can go get his big Silverado and after get in a long of trucks and trailers. I have to back it into the ramp, and it has to be good, because they’re all watching, and I really don’t want to be “that guy.”

Let’s just say it went smoothly enough.

And then, much to my surprise, I discover that our total weight of 10.27 pounds puts us in an impressive 12th place out of 80 teams. One more fish, and we could’ve been in the “day money” that went to the top eight teams.

And not that far behind the leaders, a Montana team, Leon Garfield of Wolf Point and Darcy Bunnell of Billings, with 18.43 pounds. Second place at the end of the first day went to Todd Riggs and Ken Schmidt of Glasgow with 17.10 pounds. Third place was Bob Klein of Billings and Bob Miers of Glasgow with 15.53 pounds.

Hey, these guys are within reach, right?  I lost two fish today that would have put us in the money, so maybe tomorrow I won’t lose them.

Check back on Monday for my wrap up article to see how I score in my first-ever fishing tournament..

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