The cult of walleye catches me with my guard down

HUDSON, Wis. - I was set to cross into Minnesota when an unmarked car pulled aside my truck and pointed in a manner suggesting I pull over.

I wasn't speeding because the cruise control was set at 55 and I was in a 65 mph zone.

"You're from Illinois, I take it," this character blurted, which was more of a statement than a question.

I shook my head up and down and started to reach for my driver's license and registration. The only problem was this guy was dressed in jeans and a short sleeve shirt. His garb was devoid of a badge and other law enforcement accoutrements, so I was a tad leery of this whole affair.

"I see you have a bunch of fishing rods in your vehicle," he continued, "and I'm sure you're aware you are about to enter the land of the golden walleye, right?"

My cut-rate motor club warned me about similar incidents taking place on the western side of the St. Croix River bridge. I failed to heed the warning.

This guy was either a crackpot or some conservation hobby-cop looking to bust somebody's chops.

"You'll have to pull over to a roadside shrine just inside the Minnesota line and pay your respects," he commanded.

OK, I thought, I'll play his silly game.

So I find this little building sitting back from the freeway and I go inside. Actually, the structure was more like a backyard shed than a building, and when I entered I realized it was a wooden igloo.

"Welcome to the holy temple of Walleyekites," came those words from someone who looked to be more than 100 years old. "My emissary ran your license plate and discovered you have personally shown great disdain for our sacred fish, the much-sought-after golden walleye. You have traveled a long distance to come here, and we know you have spoken harsh words about what we hold dear to our hearts."

I started to rebut his accusation but he held up a shriveled hand to his mouth indicating I was not to speak.

After 10 minutes of complete silence he reached over and fired up a dish of incense and a half-dozen candles. Then I heard low-level voices imitating a Gregorian chant. He went into his tirade about how Minnesotans hold their walleye fishing at a higher level of esteem than the state's political chicanery.

"Down where you're from, your people salivate at the thought of a traditional Lake Michigan perch dinner on a Friday evening," he continued. "In this part of the world we, the Walleyekites, are very careful as to how we receive and respect the goodness of our golden, scrumptious walleyes. We frown on interlopers coming here to catch our fish and then leave the region without paying any tribute. It's bad enough we have others here who net our lakes and leave us mere morsels for our pots and pans."

By this time I convinced myself this bag of bones was a few scales short of a full filet, but I stood there continuing to listen to him babble.

"In order to cross over in to the land of the Walleyekites you must offer some tribute," he added. "Your purchase of two dozen orange jigs is the minimum tax required, and it's cash on the barrelhead."

I laid down the money, grabbed the bag of jigs and quickly exited to my vehicle.

I remember traveling 85 mph in a 70 zone and never saw a state trooper the remainder of the trip to Brainerd.

I was exhausted from stress and the long drive when I pulled in to the parking lot where I was staying. Thank goodness The Lodge at Brainerd Lakes (1-877-OUR-LODGE) was a quiet and very comfortable respite from that freaky, Babylon-like experience further south.

By the way, The Lodge is truly a five-star place to rest one's weary head and body, with a restaurant fit for descendants of Paul Bunyan.

With my duffel bag in hand, I headed for the elevator and then it hit me square in the eye. A huge replica of the walleye world record was displayed in a big shadow box near the elevator. A a father and two young boys were kneeling in front of the display. I overheard the father telling the boys, "Now sons what you see in front of you is what makes us proud Walleyekites, and don't you ever forget it. Fish hard and sin no more."

And off to bed I went.