Jeff Knapp displays two nice Pymatuning Lake walleyes caught and released during a recent trip. Jeff Knapp/Special to the Eagle

A hard hook set followed by the weight of a heavy fish did much to ease the apprehension that comes with most fishing trips, particularly ones to somewhat distant waters visited just a few times a year.

It’s easy to catch them in your mind’s eye during a two-hour drive north, imaginary images fueled by past success and the caffeinated contents of a now empty bubba-sized travel mug. But history doesn’t always add up to reality, and until that first fish is in the boat, nervous anticipation remains an uninvited companion.

So it was recently during a mid-week trip to Pymatuning Lake in Crawford County. The weight on the end of the line turned out to be a 22-inch walleye, taken from the first stop of the morning. A couple of casts later its twin was in the boat. Some days things quickly fall into place, a blessing that needs to be deeply appreciated as it’s not always the case.

During the 30-plus years I’ve fished Pymatuning for walleyes, the fishery and productive tactics have witnessed many changes. “Back in the day” it was common to catch dozens of walleyes, albeit small ones mostly, by simply wind drifting across the lake dragging a jig tipped with either a minnow, leech or nightcrawler.

As the dynamics of the walleye population shifted to one made up of larger but far fewer fish, trolling crankbaits on leadcore line became the deal. Then I discovered that come summer many walleyes suspend on the big lake and trolling crankbaits that ran 12-14 feet deep over the lower lake basin would produce some big ’eyes.

Along the way there were days when working the edges of submerged grass by slow trolling spinner rigs baited with nightcrawlers took walleyes. But that’s a game where you’re constantly cleaning grass from the rigs and dealing with annoying short-biting yellow perch.

Not my favorite.

More recently my go-to tactic has been targeting specific spots with glide jigs, compact jigging baits represented by Rapala’s Jigging Rap, Acme’s Hyper Rattle and Moonshine’s Shiver Minnow. There are many others, all with somewhat different actions and fall rates that may or may not be what the fish are looking for any day.

Glide jigs are worked in an aggressive manner. The lures, which commonly weigh half an ounce or more, rocket to the bottom at the end of the cast. Sharp sweeping strokes of the rod jump the lure upwards as much as 10 feet, after which it crashes back down.

When the fish are active — low light conditions, early and late in the day, a mild to moderate chop on the water — glide jigs can take big numbers of fish. I’ve had Pymatuning outings that put 40-50 fish in the boat, a mixed bag of walleyes, white bass, crappies, smallmouth bass, channel catfish and an assortment of panfish.

More commonly, though, one doesn’t experience ideal conditions, resulting in fish that are far less cooperative. Still, glide jigs can trigger reactionary strikes from walleyes not in a feeding mood.

While I’m a confirmed fan of braided line, I much prefer nylon monofilament for fishing glide jigs. The stretchy nature of mono helps propel the lure during snappy retrieves and aids in preventing hooked fish from throwing the lure when thrashing on the surface.

I like to target smaller structures, the classic spot-on-a-spot. Places where you expect to fish active fish. Smaller humps, the tips of points, edges of flats that drop sharply into the river channel. Walleyes generally either hit a glide jig on the first or second presented near them. Another 40-50 casts aren’t likely to turn fish that initially refused. Better to move on to the next spot and “fresh fish” if you will.

Late summer to mid fall is my favorite time for fishing glide jigs. And I’ll readily admit there are days when other tactics, including the ones listed earlier, might be better. But there’s something special about firing a 50-foot cast over the crest of a gravel hump, and then feeling the throb of a hefty walleye that pinned the lure to the lake bottom.

Jeff Knapp is an outdoors columnist for the Butler Eagle