As I pulled on the oars and asked Mark Stange the best trolling speed for brown trout, a nearby sandhill crane butted in with a loud bugle that silenced me in mid-sentence.

Stange smiled, possibly because the crane's comments were more interesting than anything I had asked since we pushed away from shore in Sunday's pre-dawn darkness. Once the crane reached its cruising altitude and fell silent, Stange answered me.

"You're going too fast," he said. "You want to go just fast enough to turn the cowbells."

I looked behind where Stange was pointing the fishing rod and saw flashes of gold and silver in the water. The string of four large spinner blades on the "cowbells" rig rippled the surface in dawn's gray light. Holding the oars out of the water to let the boat glide to a crawl, I watched until the spinners slipped beneath the surface and threatened to stall. Then I dipped the oars just enough to edge us forward.

I couldn't see it, but our bait was a 3-inch minnow a foot behind the cowbells. The idea is that the four spinners imitate schooling minnows, and the bait looks like a straggler that's easy pickings for hungry trout.

"That's good," Stange said as I continued taking baby-steps with the oars. "When I started row-trolling, I'd catch maybe one trout by the time everyone else got their five-fish limits. I finally asked an old-timer what I was doing wrong. He said: 'The same thing you always do wrong. You're going too fast.' Once I listened, I caught more fish."

Stange, who lives in rural Waupaca, is one of the few trout fishermen who prefers row-trolling to other methods. Most who fish central Wisconsin's ponds and small lakes choose to cast flies, spinners or bobbers with a worm or minnow.

Stange prefers row-trolling because it's relaxing, the scenery keeps changing, and the bait seldom leaves the water. Plus, unlike motor-trolling, it's legal anywhere you can paddle a canoe or row a boat.

Although the Department of Natural Resources stocks many midstate waters each spring with hatchery-raised trout, a few ponds and lakes connected to streams also hold naturally reproducing trout. In fact, some stay cool enough most summers to carry hatchery trout to the next year. Such waters occasionally produce browns or rainbows exceeding 5 pounds. Stange has caught fish in that class, but they're rare.

I met Stange through a mutual friend who described him as one of the region's most serious row-trollers. He laughs at the description.

"You should have seen me when a friend and I first tried row-trolling about 15 years ago," he said. "We put out Yellow Bird planers, a small downrigger and all the junk you can imagine. And we rowed too fast. Everyone was pointing at us and snickering."

Stange and I shared notes on family and friends we both knew, and listened as turkeys gobbled from nearby oaks and geese honked from distant shores. Twice he asked if I wanted to switch places so I could grab the rod if a trout hit, but I assured him I liked rowing.

Shortly after he asked the second time, line peeled from the reel by his right foot and the rod bounced wildly. Stange picked up the rod and began playing the fish. At first the trout didn't fight like it cared, but then it shot out of the water like a torpedo, revealing its size and strength.

Minutes later I netted the fish and scrambled for my camera. Stange intended to release the trout -- which we figured was about a 5-pound, 25-incher - so I worked fast. With little fanfare, Stange then leaned forward and slid the big brown back into the cold lake. Its release was far more quiet than its entry into the boat.

My digital camera said it was 6:38 a.m. The day's best sights, sounds and fish-feeding times were likely passed, but we continued rowing and trolling.

The difference now was that we pulled the oars with more contentment than anticipation. Funny how one fish can reshape an angler's disposition.