Phil Utigard

I know stories here are supposed to be about the writer’s cherished objects.  Spoiler alert: I don’t have that object.  I wish I did, but I don’t.  Bear with me while I explain...

My dad and his Norwegian brothers were great outdoorsmen who grew up in a small town in southeastern Minnesota.  The Utigard brothers (and a wild bunch including me and a gaggle of cousins) annually camped and fished on Lake Pepin at the convergence of the Mississippi and the Saint Croix Rivers.  We always stayed and fished at Gordy’s Camp Lacupolis.  My family were dedicated “meat fishermen.”  Everything regardless of size or species went in the bucket or gunnysacks. No catch and release allowed! 

The memories were wonderful, except….To this day, I know that if we start reminiscing, eventually I will be in the crosshairs for events that occurred over 60 years ago.

The day started fantastic.  My dad, Uncle Lynn, my cousin David, and I had all limited out, and my dad had caught a massive walleye--the “largest one he had ever caught.”  We triumphantly motored back to camp, anticipating the envy that our stringers would generate.  I was especially excited since I was allowed to run the boat.

We unloaded the rods, cushions, bait buckets, etc.  Then my Uncle Lynn, pulled the old 4-stroke Johnson, stepped towards the dock and immediately did the full splits and disappeared under water with 200 pounds of motor.  Nothing but his floating fishing cap remained.  I guess I had forgotten to tie up the stern line.

All may have been forgotten by now, but when we pulled my uncle and motor out of the water and things were settling down, my dad asked:  “Where are the fish?”  Slowly, slowly, I felt a fresh wave of panic as I realized that I had forgotten to bring in the stringers before giving her full throttle for the ride home.  Somewhere in Lake Pepin lie 3 stringers of walleyes, my dad’s biggest ever fish, and my dignity.