Angler Paul Nelson hauled in a fat spring walleye. Photo by Noel Vick.

To truly realize the nuances of rivers one must also understand natural lakes. Such training is essential to appreciate the uniqueness of running water pulling on your line like a drawn bow; how walleyes face upstream and treat current breaks like structure; how anchoring can be the equivalent of covering water when fish are on the move.

River buffs recognize the relationship between running water and walleyes. But an experienced lake fisherman — well, put him on a river and the sensory organs light up. He notices and reacts to things that are taken for granted by river regulars.

Enter exhibit A, Tom Neustrom. The busier-than-heck guide earns a living pounding out natural lakes, and he’s a whiz at it. Neustrom feels equally as comfortable on a river. Why? The veteran walleye fisherman pays attention to detail and is a quick study. When in Rome, Neustrom becomes a Roman.

He runs rivers from time to time, building plans around the post-spawn period when walleyes are allegedly dormant. Locals who battled boats and slammed fish during the pre-spawn heydays are likely out chasing turkeys. So, Neustrom takes the opportunity to activate post-spawn walleyes in privacy.

River holes are his thing.

“Walleyes hole up for a simple reason,” said Neustrom with conviction that only comes from experience. “They’re recovering from the spawn and need to get out of the current.”

The term “hole” is certainly up for interpretation, too, but in this case, Neustrom is matter of fact. “It’s a dip in the main channel. Things might be running at 10 to 12 feet and suddenly it plunges to 16 or 25 feet. That’s a hole.”

Said holes occur throughout the span of a river, but it’s those nearest known spawning areas that fill up first. If you’re not certain where walleyes repopulate, a manmade dam is a prime point of orientation. Instinctively, walleyes forge upstream in advance of the spawn. Dams force them to call it quits. Fish make ends meet with what’s available. And when the baby-making is complete, they drift downstream, ducking into nearby oases — Neustrom’s holes.

“Walleyes suck into the holes,” he said. “There’s less current, but when they do decide it’s time to eat, all they need to do is rise to the upper lip.” That’s a fine place to begin, but before dropping the anchor, let’s qualify the hole.

Neustrom’s keystone spots materialize along fast-running outside bends. “Water runs quicker along an outside curve. And you can bet it’s deeper there, scooped out.”

Those washouts are a safe harbor for recovering walleyes and the larger the hole the more fish it likely houses — pretty typical stuff. But size isn’t all that Neustrom seeks. He requires definition as well, “Better holes have a definitive upper lip, a quick break, not a gradual slide.”

Neustrom calls the opposite a divot. They have smooth, tapering edges and aren’t nearly as attractive to walleyes.

“Resting or not, walleyes want to be near structure, an edge,” he said.

From Superman’s perspective — X-ray vision included — a hole has a teardrop shape. The head — upstream flank — opens, maybe widens some and slims down into the tail, where eventually the river-channel reconstitutes.

Business is conducted on the front, especially the break between the bottom of the hole and front lip. “Walleyes use the front, not the back,” explained Neustrom. “The front corners are the best.”

Neustrom plies back and forth athwart the head, crosscurrent, finding those spots where the stiff upper lip starts bending backward. That’s a key contact point.

Mostly, the leading edge washes across a firm bottom, generally gravel. The hardpan continues down the ramp and to the base of the hole. Somewhere along the line, though, dictated by decelerating current, gunk settles and the river floor softens. And according to Neustrom, walleyes don’t hover over mud.