By Nick Simonson
Dragging my jig over the subtle pull of the shifting river bottom, I felt a dead weight sensation and lifted the rod tip to see the slight bend confirm what my cold and glove-covered hands could barely detect.
I completed the raise with all due haste and the point of the hook on my parrot-colored jig found its place in the upper jaw of the walleye at the other end. Soon the splashing, flipping golden-sided fish made its way to the net under the gray early-afternoon skies like the one a few minutes before it, and I knew my buddy Kevin and I were on a good set of fish. It was a solid trade to wipe the cold water of the Missouri River from my hands to drop the 16-incher into the livewell before blowing a breath through them, drying them off on my pantleg and rebaiting.