After scrolling up and down for a few seconds under the strain of the heavy walleye, the display on the digital scale settled in at 13.44 pounds. During a fishing career in which I’ve been blessed with thousands of walleyes, it was by far the largest.

The scene was the lower Allegheny River, late last week, during a mild, windless day that makes one wish for more of the same, as we now sit on the doorstep of another winter season. Especially if you’re an angler, and one that has little interest in fishing through holes drilled in the ice.

My partner for the day was Sid Brown. For well over 20 years we’ve shared the boat many times, and walleyes have often been the target. Like all anglers, we’ve had days when the fishing was easy, and ones when it was slow. But they’ve all been good days. I’ve always felt that you usually learn more during a tough day than an easy one. I think we both relish the challenge of figuring out what we could have done differently to change a modest outcome, eager to put such thoughts to the test the next time.

The area we were fishing was a deep eddy below the mouth of a small tributary. As is common on the Allegheny, a rock bar exists at the creek mouth, formed from decades of aggregate being washed out into the main river during high water events. The rock bar acts as a wing dam of sorts, directing the river’s flow away from the bank, resulting in a slack water pool below the structure. Now, when the water’s a scant couple degrees above freezing — liquid ice some call it — fish of all species gather up to escape the stronger current of the main flow.

As we’d idled over the top of the rock bar and drifted down into the 20-plus-foot deep hole, impressive marks showed up on the boat’s sonar unit. No doubt there were plenty of fish down there, though we couldn’t say for sure what they all were. Based on previous experience in the spot, some undoubtedly were walleyes. But channel cats, crappies, rough fish (carp, suckers, drum), crappies, baitfish, were likely part of the mix, too.

Regular readers of this column know well that blade baits are a favorite of mine when the water gets cold. Sid’s even more of a blade bait fanatic, always tweaking things to make them even more productive. As such, we both had rods rigged with blades, along with ones set up with a jig-and-minnow.

For the unfamiliar, blade baits are compact metal baits, ones that have a tight vibration during the upswing. It’s common to fish them vertically, i.e. right under the boat, when fishing deep water in the fall.

The first drift through the pool produced a small walleye for Sid. Working a blade, I set into a heavy fish, but felt it was a foul hooked fish, judging by the lack of any hit, and the odd way the fish fought. Eventually a 20-inch carp, which was indeed snagged, was netted and released.

During the next drift, I again hooked into a heavy fish. And though thoughts of another snagged carp occupied the back of my mind, I felt this was different.

“This one hit it,” I reported to Sid, as the fish started to realize it was hooked, and responded with bulldogged runs to the bottom. Little by little I worked it toward the surface as its runs weakened. The line-to-leader knot appeared at the surface, indicating the fish was only a couple feet under the surface. Then a huge walleye appeared in the relatively clear water.

Leading the fish into the net, it teetered on the rim, the hoop opening barely large enough to accommodate it. Sid did a great netting job, followed by those treasured adrenaline-fueled moments after the taking an exceptional fish, times that make up for all the cold fingers that happen when winter fishing.

Jeff Knapp is an outdoors columnist for the Butler Eagle.