PHOTO BY PETE MAINA.

Muskies seldom come easy, but your chances for at least "moving" Esox on the Eagle River Chain in Wisconsin's "top knot" are as good or better than anywhere else in our state.

There are only a few over-50-inch beasts cruising these dark flowage waters, with a low- to mid-40-inch fish a real possibility on any given day. The Eagle River Chain is certainly not the place to tangle with a fish that would make Louis Spray roll over in his grave. But if you're in the vacation mode and looking for a brief escape from obnoxious relatives -- or have a young angler seeking insight into the northwoods muskie mystique -- there is a legion of 30- to 40-inch muskies waiting in these mostly shallow 3,600 acres.

Until last summer, my nephew, Darrin Marcure, hadn't strayed far from the family farm and had never been on a road trip of several days' duration with his old Uncle Ted. Until last summer, Darrin had only tangled with a muskie on one occasion. His 40-incher came on a Lindy Tiger Tube on the fourth cast on a private lake. I always keep a Tiger Tube rigged and ready for that one quick shot a muskie can provide after rocking your world with an unexpected appearance, or as a "throwback" bait when a fishing partner has one of these "toothers" at least amused with a figure-8 maneuver.

Darrin's fish was just sunning in the back of a shallow bay in clear water on a late-spring morning. Not exactly a high-percentage scenario for hooking up. We hadn't even planned on going fishing that day, which started in pursuit of Darrin's first wild turkey. His 23-pound tom had a 10-inch beard and was flopping on the forest floor in plenty of time for Darrin to catch the school bus.

Fortunately, I convinced my sister that he would need to take the day off to chase these wily critters, thus hopefully rounding out an education that could never be fully realized in the confines of a classroom. By 10 a.m., the lad had achieved two major benchmarks on the road to manhood. I regret to this day not taking the young Turk to the big city to put another notch or two in his bat with purchase of what certainly would have been a winning lottery ticket. (Continued)

Now fast-forward several years to a sultry summer morning in Wisconsin's northwoods. Mist on the water. Loon talk in the air. Uncle Ted with one eye open and a belly full of prime rib from the Chanticleer Inn the night before.

"Buzzafubba!" screamed my young nephew, ripping his bucktail out of the water with much pointing and wild-eyed gesturing at the weed edge in Eagle Lake. I never saw this fish. No matter. Darrin's limited perception that muskie fishing was really no big deal was immediately and forever put to rest. He had finally seen the elephant and looked it in the eye, giving the old uncle ammunition to allegorically pin the boy's ears back at an appropriate time when this young buck feels like challenging the bull of the woods.