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Just the other day, I wondered why some anglers are compelled to behave far differently than other anglers. What possesses a small population of otherwise rational, clear-thinking men and women to defy reasonable conduct in their pursuit of fish?

n my mind, there are two distinct camps of anglers––fair weather anglers that fish at convenient times, and stark raving lunatics (I proudly admit to being a card-carrying member of this particular group) that can read a nebulous report of fantastic fishing elsewhere and forego everything else in life to get to these fish in a big hurry. If that weren’t odd enough, we appear to do so with seemingly little or no thought to the time, inconvenience or cost in getting there. What are the factors that compel some to drive untold distances to far away places to target fish that may or may not cooperate once they’ve arrived?

I am one of many out there that suffers from a debilitating condition that I call “Fish Madness.” This condition has forced me to take day trips as far away as the Cascade River and other points along the North Shore of Lake Superior to chase steelhead, salmon, kamloops trout and lake trout. Before dawn, under a starlit sky and clearly closer to sleeping than wakefulness, I’ve loaded my vehicle full of fishing equipment and hit the road with only a cup of strong coffee, a roadmap and blind hope to guide me.

Some years ago an old buddy, Paul Bury, and I raised a particular musky a number of times over a sunken island on Leech Lake. The big fish would follow our bucktail spinners and jerk baits right to the boat, only to slowly sink from view, as if our eyes had played a trick on us and he hadn’t been there at all. The following weekend, I ran up there alone on a crisp fall day to see if I could finally fool that fish. After only a couple of casts over the underwater hump with an oversized, deep-diving crank bait, there he was again. A shadowy, menacing form that suddenly materialized from the cobalt blue depths. He followed that plug to the side of the boat, where I quickly began to perform a figure 8 with only a scant couple of feet of line off the end of my rod. I ripped the bait sideways. It never made it beyond the first loop in the water when the big musky opened its gaping maw, flicked his powerful tail and inhaled it. I never once regretted spending seven hours in the car for that solitary, knee-knocking experience.

Inspiration and ideas for this weekly column are sometimes hard to come by. You are of course aware of that fact, as evidenced by the occasional “stinker” I throw together and the paper is kind enough to run, out of sheer pity I suppose. Luckily however, every once in a while ideas come to me tied up in a pretty ribbon and they almost write themselves.

This morning, I took a peek at a fly fishing site on the Internet to see how some friends had recently fared on our Minnesota and Wisconsin streams and rivers. Mike Wemlinger, from Hudson, Wis., posted a story and stunning pictures that explain why some die-hard anglers buck conventional wisdom, while at the same time only manage to deepen the mystery and (thankfully) fail to unravel it.

Mike wrote:

“You ever have one of those nights when you just can’t get to sleep? Last night I had one of those nights and I lay there and tossed and turned. While I was thrashing about, I got to thinking, ‘Why not just get up and take a quick trip to the Brule River? Heck, it’s only about two and a half hours if I push it.’ So I finally got out of bed at 4:00 a.m., made a pot of coffee and took a shower. I checked the weather and found that it would be cold, windy and, best of all, rainy day. I filled the thermos and hit the road.”

Does that sound like the thoughts and actions of a rational man? Well, most would argue no. Those that would question this line of thinking are the folks that fish at times when the weather is nice and the time is convenient. You see, Mike also suffers from “Fish Madness,” a malady for which there is no cure. He drove a number of hours to catch a single magnificent fish; a wild and powerful steelhead capable of straightening hooks with ease and reducing grown men and women to tears.

Life is pretty short. Sure, warm beds are nice and comfortable, but some of us are compelled to put ourselves through some hardship and inconvenience to experience magical moments – fleeting opportunities that only come around once. In this case, Mike would’ve denied himself a rare moment on the famed Brule River, engaged in battle with a big fish in a hard current without a soul in sight.

If science and pharmaceutical companies ever developed a cure for this madness, I really have my doubts doctors would write too many prescriptions. What, a drug that prevents us from making last minute, half-baked plans to experience some of the best things life has to offer? Now that sounds like a whole different sort of madness to me, and I’ll have no part of it.

Dan Brown’s weekly outdoor column is brought to you by Frankie’s Bait and Marine, in Chisago City, and St. Croix Outdoors, in St. Croix Falls, Wis.

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