With her mind still hooked on the one that got away on opening day, my mom headed back down to the lake Sunday morning. We had walleye on the brain—and in our bellies— after Saturday night, when Dad had claimed the opener’s bragging rights with a beautiful catch.
That spring walleye, with its mild, slightly sweet flavor and buttery flake, had set the bar high. Pike may tide you over, but walleye is the filet mignon of freshwater—and we were all angling for seconds.
The fish must have gotten the Mother’s Day memo. It wasn’t long before Mom asked, sounding both confused and delighted, “Where did my bobber go?” It became the refrain of the day—a sure sign that something was nibbling at the other end.
Sure enough, a walleye had been testing the waters, and when Mom reeled in her first catch of the morning, it was game on. Her bobber would keep “disappearing” in dramatic fashion all morning.
We took a break for brunch and I flipped Norwegian pancakes in the kitchen—thin, golden, and folded gently around wild raspberries (mom’s favorite) from last summer. I rounded out the brunch with bacon, sausage, and eggs, trying to make up for not even getting mom a card! Shame on me!
Once we shooed her away from the dishes after brunch, we overheard her asking Dad, “Can you put another minnow on for me?” Not long after, she had another fish on the line. By the time I’d washed the last pan, the self-proclaimed Walleye Whisperer had landed her second fish of the day.
Dad also managed to reel one in—not to be outdone— but let’s just say Mom kept the spotlight. As for me? The only creature remotely interested in my bait was Dad’s dog, Sammy, who’s developed an obsession with bobbers. Mine— oversized and impossible to miss—held him in a trance. Unfortunately for us both, the bobber barely budged.
In true mom fashion, she even offered me her rod when her bobber slipped under again. “Your turn, honey. Go try it,” she said with a grin and motherly encouragement. I gave it a shot, but whatever fish she’d sweet-talked onto the line wasn’t sticking around for me.
Later, we traded rods for forks and wrapped up the weekend with a proper Mother’s Day cake. When Mom asked me to cut her a small slice, I ignored her request like any good daughter and served her a slab worthy of a champion.
She’d earned every bite— and then some. Hook, line, and sinker.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom—thanks for reeling us all in for such a fun day!
