MINNEAPOLIS — Minnesota has the best fishing of any state, which might or might not be true, depending on how they’re biting.

Alaska, of course, has great fishing, as do Florida and the Western states, with their crystalline rivers and hungry trout dimpling the waters’ surfaces.

But none of these match the fishing in the North Star state as April looms, and, soon thereafter, in May.

Telltale of these coming good times, the other morning in a snowless field I saw a pair of sandhill cranes parading on their spindly legs, happy to be back in the north. Some wood ducks also have returned, as have a smattering of mallards, robins and bluebirds. Additionally, woodcock are flitting in the North Woods, the males preparing to launch themselves 300 feet into the air while chirping, or peenting — an odd but effective strategy to cruise for the opposite sex.

Like no other month, April yields these and other transitions, inspiring in all living things — perhaps people especially — the promise of better days ahead.

Nowhere is this stirring more evident than in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness after ice pulls away from shorelines, then disappears altogether.

Eagles by then are aloft in the region’s tall pines, paired mergansers are pedaling atop lakes and rivers, taking flight, and the occasional black duck is cupping its wings before settling onto Basswood, Crooked, Lac La Croix or a thousand other lakes.

Just then, as open water returns, lake trout rise from their deep winter haunts and can be caught with light tackle, fished shallow.

Already for a month, Mississippi River anglers have pressed against the Red Wing dam, pulling in walleyes with jigs and minnows. In coming days, the catch-and-keep stream trout season will open. And soon the higher angle of light and longer days will trigger the movement of hungry crappies from a lake’s frigid depths to its black-bottom bays.

These are exciting fisheries. But trolling or casting for springtime lake trout in the Boundary Waters is a different kettle of fish. More exciting, I would argue. More precarious, also, given the weather variability and the danger that awaits anyone who tips a canoe.

This year, on March 20, the arrival of the vernal equinox suggested winter’s end. But in April and even in May, snow can pile on a paddler’s tent, and trees toppled during winter might block some portages. Also, dry firewood can be tough to find in this shoulder season, making smoky campfires common.

Yet on the upside, during early ice-out in the BWCAW, there are no bugs. Or people. Or sounds, other than the soft whistle of wind wafting through pine boughs, a salubrious melody more calming than anything Big Pharma has in its bag of tricks.

Some years ago, my friend Willy and I were on Poohbah, a monster lake in the Quetico. This was in May, and the lake trout were snapping. In addition to the usual Rapalas and Shad Raps, our tackle boxes featured Five of Diamonds spoons in different sizes. A Canadian, Len Thompson, developed these lures a half-century ago. Now, knockoffs are everywhere. But for my money, Len’s lures wobble the best, though for ease of release we swapped out the treble hooks for single Mustads.

A long paddle from anywhere, Poohbah was shrouded in steely, low-hanging clouds during the four days we fished it. We camped on an island, and come evening we built a cooking fire in a circle of rocks. To ward off the chill, hipper paddlers would have encased themselves in Gore-Tex and other hi-tech clothing. Old school, we wore wool jackets and imagined ourselves voyageurs.

After gutting and gilling the few lake trout we kept, we stuffed their insides with onions, carrots and cut-up potatoes, along with healthy doses of salt and pepper and, as a bonus, a squeeze of lemon. Then we wrapped the fish in foil and settled them onto coals, baking them on one side, then the other.

Alternatively, we skinned and chunked the trout and simmered the pieces in a dry soup mix, a variation on the community trout boils I grew up with in Upper Michigan.

Alongside these main courses, in a pan tilted toward the fire, we fried bannock that we dressed up with honey and peanut butter. Maybe also we threw down a couple fingers of tanglefoot. I can’t remember. I do remember the haunting echoes of loons that spiced up our mealtimes, adding a five-star touch.

On still another springtime canoe trip, my wife, Jan, was along. Blessing that outing, every day the temperatures rose into the mid-60s and cotton-like cumulus clouds hung in a cobalt sky.

In our canoe’s bow, Jan held to starboard a medium-action rod with 10-pound-test line, while in the stern I propped a similar rig to port. We trolled slowly, our lures trailing maybe 20 feet behind, running 8 or 10 feet below the surface. The fishing was as good as the weather, and the days couldn’t last long enough.

Yet, seasons come and go, and lake trout don’t do this forever, swim in the shallows. Summer arrives, waters warm, and these fish return to their deeper, colder homes, getting on with their lives, as do we.

Still, at this time of year, on April’s doorstep, in my mind’s eye I can see ice pulling away from the shores of lakes everywhere. In the Boundary Waters, yes. But also on Mille Lacs, Leech, Winnie, Upper Red and countless other lakes.

The other morning, a pair of sandhill cranes paraded in a snowless field. Wood ducks and a smattering of mallards, robins and bluebirds also have returned.

Better days are ahead.

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