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No matter how much an angler enjoys "hard water" fishing through the ice on Minnesota's frozen lakes, there comes a time when fishing open water again becomes a call that must be answered.

Some anglers find a way to migrate southward, to fish in the Gulf of Mexico, or one of the well-known impoundments below the Mason-Dixon Line. But that may not be possible for all of us, and we do our best to find an alternative that can fit our time and budget.

One of the less familiar winter fishing options can be found in what has come to be called Minnesota's Bluff Country. It's some of the most mountain-like terrain within our borders, along the Mississippi in Minnesota's Southeast corner, whose best-known towns are Winona and Rochester.

Those who have been to the mountain states of the West are familiar with the transition that goes from prairie, farm and ranch lands, to foothills and then mountains rising up to high elevations. In Bluff Country, just the opposite happens. You may drive north out of a town like St. Charles, and within 10 minutes your vehicle will be angling its nose downward in a fairly rapid descent into the valley of a river, in this case the Whitewater.

As you go down and down, steep mini-mountains rise up on both sides, their forested shoulders interrupted by outcrops of limestone and sandstone. Over the millennia, this relatively soft rock has been cut deeply by running water, by the same principles that carved the Grand Canyon, though on a much smaller scale.

There is open water here not because it's warmer than the rest of Minnesota, but because the water is moving. These valley streams are different in size, temperature and temperament from the Mississippi, which all eventually join. Coming as it does out of these rock formations, the water is colder, and more hospitable to trout than to walleyes, bass, panfish and other species we catch in most of Minnesota's lakes. Thanks to special regulations, this part of the state is open to winter catch-and-release fishing.

What made my adventure to fish winter open water even better, my son was coming home on a college spring break, and we would be able to make this little pilgrimage together. When our youngsters are in grade school, and even high school, we may not realize how few and far between the opportunities for sharing time can become. All too soon, those years become a vanishing scene in life's rear-view mirror, and time together becomes even more precious.[[In-content Ad]]

I picked my son up at the airport, and we headed down Highway 52 toward Rochester. From there we would head east about 20 miles, then north into one of those deep valleys where we could once again don waders and step into open water, and heave lures and flies in the hope of tempting trout.

Unlike lakes, whose depth and clarity usually change very little with precipitation, a stream in this country can rise quickly and become clouded when rain or snowmelt scour silt or sand from stream banks and the faces of cliffs, and funnel them into the only outlet available, the stream channel. Too much water can even make wading these streams dangerous.

Not long before our arrival, several inches of snow had fallen, melting quickly, and raising and clouding the stream we intended to fish. As we crossed one of the simple-but-utilitarian cement slab bridges that span these streams, a thin sheet of water was spilling over its top from the force of the water impounded upstream. We eyed the flow carefully, and concluded that it was shallow enough to ford in our vehicle, a decision not to be made lightly.

High, cloudy, cold trout water is not usually conducive to good fishing, but as my friend and fishing sage John so aptly puts it: "The best time to go fishing is when you can." We would give it our best shot, and see what happened.

As we also sometimes hear about fishing: "You should have been here last week." But, in our case, it might better have been "You should have been here NEXT week." The weather forecasters were promising 50 to 60-degree weather just a couple of days hence, but we spent the day in temperatures hovering in the middle to upper 20's, with an occasional snow shower just to show us how little control over conditions we have.

We worked hard from mid-morning to late afternoon, fishing multiple stretches on two different branches of the river. At the end of the day, when we pulled off our waders and vests, took down our tackle, and soaked in the blessed warmth from our car's heater, we had but four trout - three browns and a rainbow - to show for our efforts. One, however - the rainbow - was of trophy proportions, though it was released, as all winter season trout must be.

We had stuck it out under tough conditions, caught and released what few trout the river begrudgingly gave up, and felt the promise of spring that only open water seems able to provide. I think we'll make it the rest of the way now!

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