The Finnish Line

Stalking Gator Pike And Trophy Trout In The Baltic Sea

The Baltic Sea shimmered brightly as we cruised between the islands due east of Helsinki, Finland in the Eagle deep-V 21-foot outboard. The 90 horsepower Mercury Verado sped past quirky looking ancient wooden fishing boats that have plied these waters for generations. From one of the cockpits, a grizzled blond nordic captain, clearly from a long line of Viking ancestors, waved and gave off a self-assured smirk, signaling it was going to be a very fishy morning.

The scene was surreal as we maneuvered between dozens of the 10,000 plus islands on the north shore of the Baltic. The islands, which the Finns call “Gray-Night,” varied in size from large tabletops to massive imposing granite slabs. Huge granite boulders were strewn everywhere on the island banks ranging in color from rosy pastels to burnt umber, to pitch black. The boulders were stacked like monstrous building blocks resembling a giant’s playground.

Vesa, our skipper from the Fishing Lords outfitter, took the boat off plane around a point of land marked by a metal navigation sign emblazoned with a large red “T.” “What does that stand for?” I asked. Vesa laughed and remarked jokingly, “T is for Taimen, which is Finnish for trout.” This was a primo spot known for large sea trout, which only occur in the Baltic Sea from Denmark in the west to Estonia and Russia in the east.

I peered into the dark brown water, which was clear to eight feet as we slowly and quietly motored along the shore of Sausage Bay. Stained by the tannic acid of the conifers on its banks, the water was bursting with life, primarily Baltic herring. Vesa carefully monitored the water temperature, as the herring were most comfortable in the range of 42 to 53 degrees Fahrenheit. As the herring go, so go the sea trout. The water temperature read 44 degrees and we were in the midst of a herring convention. I licked my lips in anticipation.

Vesa yelled for me to cast my silver spoon close to the boulder-strewn shore at 11 o’clock. He had seen a swirl and a tail. I sailed my spoon the 75 or so feet to the edge, and within a crank and a half, I pulled tight to a silvery whirling dervish. I’m a fan of Barnum & Bailey, but I have never seen such a feverish flying act in their circus. The silver projectile flew out of the water over a dozen times before we were able to subdue it. Once aboard, I could see that the six-pound trout was close in appearance to a Lake Michigan steelhead, with the addition of some lovely X-shaped black markings all along its sides. After a few photos, we returned her to the sienna drink no worse for wear.

Throughout the rest of the morning, we caught a slew of sea trout on our island-hopping journey. It was a lot like sight fishing for bonefish in Belize, only with 40-degree cooler water. Once we dialed in the right water temperatures, we kept our eyes peeled for the slightest swirl, splash, or slap. The gear was optimal for casting three to five-inch herring colored spoons and included medium weight Shakespeare seven-foot Ugly Sticks and 2500 series Shimano spinning reels loaded with eight or 10 lb. test monofilament.

The trick is to hurl the spoon to the edge of the sea and start your retrieve just as it hits the water. If you are a second or so too late, the spoon will become mired in some pretty nasty stuff including last years rotted weeds and some small cast-off crustacean shells. On the retrieve, steady cranking with a pause every three or so seconds is the general rule, with the trout hitting on the pause. After about 20 minutes, I mastered the technique and the trout started to slam my spoon all morning. Although we did not yield catches larger than eight to 10 pounds, they pulled drag like fiends.