A Tale Of Three Fishes

[reevesr1]

As I posted recently, I am reading "The Longest Silence" by Thomas McGuane. In a chapter entitled "Henry's Fork" he describes in exquisite detail fighting, and loosing a big rainbow. Here is the description of the start of the fight:

"When the fish eased out into the current to the slack water, it rolled once and I saw that it was an enormous rainbow. At first it fought, as large trout sometimes do, like an annoyed dog, shaking it's head in the current and planing off at a leisurely angle to turn and shake once again. I had enough sense of the fish's size to resist making him mad. Then, with one sand filled boil, he turned and ran downstream."

 

A couple of equally descriptive paragraphs of the fight follow. The trout takes him to the end of the spool and stops with a couple of wraps left. The author feels a moment of elation, like the universe had aligned. Unfortunately his joy is short lived as the fish makes a final move an straightens the hook. He also mentions how much bend was still in the rod when the fish came off from all the line in the water. Here is the end of the description:

"The more line I reeled in, the less bow there was in my rod, and finally, with nothing to commemorate the fish except the whispering river around my knees, my rod nothing but a straight, dead stick. But there was a terrific evangelical silence."

 

This got me thinking of big fish I have lost, big fish I have landed and which ones are more vivid in my memory, and maybe more importantly, why. To do this, I need to talk about three fish.

 

The first was hooked while fishing with my friend troutlover, swinging a big dry in the darkness of late summer. The fight is now even more memorable to me because of how closely it mirrored the fight Mr. McGuane described above. After the strike, I was instantly aware of the size of the fish. He was unmovable by my puny 5 wt. For the first several minutes he just moved around the run right in front of us shaking his head and making several big boils. Since it was night, I had no visual evidence of his size other than my inability to make him do anything I wanted him to. But after these several minutes, I thought he must be wearing down. Unfortunately, the trout had other ideas. He just decided to leave. Not quickly, but no matter how much pressure I applied, he just ignored it and kept running across the river and it seemed like upstream. I was getting very deep into my backing, and I was getting very concerned. Then he stopped. I had a short moment of elation and thought "time to come back". I pulled back and started to reel. The fish must have sensed my hubris and took off again. And this time, I knew it was going to be over shortly. I say to troutlover "I'm in trouble here" or something to that effect. He says "put the boots to him." But I already was. Several seconds later I'm at the end of my backing and feel the fly break off. Like Thomas, I now have a significant bow in my rod just from the weight of the line. But there was no evangelical silence as troutlover and I are saying various versions of "holy *hit, that was awesome." I have no idea how big this fish was. In my mind, he's (or more probably she) is a big over 30" brown. But that's the beauty of not catching the fish. I'll never know. And I'm not sure I want to.

 

The second fish was from a trip to a small creek earlier that year. I was with my son who was upstream of me, around a corner and out of sight. I was having trouble keeping my nymph string free of moss from the bottom. Dry fly fishing was very slow that morning and I was making a weak attempt at nymphing. My lead nymph was a small weighted SJW and I decided it was the source of my problems, so I switched it for a chenille one. I tossed it into the fast, shallow run and hit the bottom again. But I dutifully set the hook and was immediately rewarded with a shockingly big pullback. I thought it had to be a bull, but it didn't make sense with how shallow the water was. As the fish crossed to the opposite side of the creek it rolled, and I was amazed to see the biggest rainbow I had ever (and still have ever) had on the line. A long fight ensued. But the fight was rather unremarkable because the fish had nowhere to go. The stream was small and wherever she went, I had no trouble following. So other than it's length, there is nothing to tell of the fight other than the fish did anything she wanted to until she tired out. I landed her, measured her against my rod, and let her go after several minutes spent reviving. She is memorable due to her size (26.5") and location (Frenchman's creek), but I didn't get any special feeling of accomplishment over the fight itself. Doesn't diminish the fish, but it does diminish the memory of it a bit.

 

The third was hooked in the surf of Louisiana about 30 minutes before nightfall. I was fishing with a traditional bait casting rod and reel (my old reliable Shimano Chronarch and custom made spiral rod) with a live finfish for bait (don't judge!). I had hooked and caught a couple of trash fish and was starting to wonder if my idea of late evening fishing in the surf with live bait was the slam dunk I thought it would be. I was on the first day of my what became an annual trip to Louisiana, and the fishing had been great. I tried to get a couple of the guys to come out with me on the late evening excursion, but they were already in to the beers, cigars, and appetizers and told me we would be here for 3 more days and to relax. Screw that, there were fish to be caught.

 

Anyway, like the two fish above, I knew the fish was big the instant I hooked it. Unlike a trout, the big fish spent no time shaking it's head or doing anything leisurely. It just ran. And ran. And ran. My Chronarch holds just over 100 yds of 12lb test, and I got very near the end before I really cranked down on the drag. I was at the point of turn the fish or loose it. And turn it did. As I'm getting line back I was really thinking about what I was hooked in to. Could be a small shark as I knew these waters were infested with them. Or a jack crevelle. But the fish didn't seem fast enough. It could be a redfish, but if it was it was a huge one. I got the fish most of the way back in remembering to loosen the drag as I got line back, but it turned and took off again. In a replay of it's first run, I turned the big fish after I cranked down on the drag near the end of the spool.

 

This time as I'm bringing it back in (and again remembering to loosen the drag) I am becoming very aware of the fact it is getting dark and these waters have lots of sharks. In fact, I had lost a nice trout to a shark earlier that day. So I back up to the shore, and feel more comfortable. The fish, however is still not cooperating much and makes another big run. After about another 20 minutes or so of this it has become pitch dark and the fish is finally showing signs of throwing in the towel. Which was great news as I was getting exhausted. But a new problem had reared its head. On the Gulf coast, there are sandbars. The fish was just outside the first bar. Once across the bar it is only about another 10 yds to the shore, and me. But the tide was going out and the sandbar was now only about 1 foot deep and the fish was too big to get across easily. Normally, I would just walk out there, but I had shark on the brain (either ones free swimming or the possibility that the fish I am fighting is a shark). No way I was venturing out into the water. I spent several minutes trying to pull the fish across with no success and I started to seriously consider breaking the fish off. Finally, I hear a decent sized wave coming in and as the wave breaks across the bar, I pull as hard as I think I can and the big fish comes across the bar. A couple of minutes later I am looking at the biggest redfish I had ever seen caught on rod and reel. I will never remember how small the #4 hook looked in it's gaping maw of a mouth. I removed the hook, measured the beast against my rod, and spent several minutes reviving it. But I knew that it would not be able to cross the bar, so I screwed up my courage, waded out past the bar and let her go. To this day, I can't remember how long she was. I say 48", but my buddy swears I told him 52" when I got back to the barge. Doesn't matter really, I remember the fight. And the fact that she was HUGE.

 

I remember reading in a book called "American Gods" that the secret of Las Vegas is that people don't go there to win, they go there to loose. I can't remember why he thought that, but I think it's certainly true, at least for people who like to tell stories. I think it's because that the loosing stories are usually much better stories. And to me, the same can be true of fishing stories. The stories where big, hard fighting fish are lost are generally more interesting. More speed, more power, gear testing runs, etc. This quite often results in the angler being empty handed, but with a great story. Conversely, a big fish that doesn't fight well and is landed looses some of it's luster. We somehow think less of the fish if if did not fight well. At least I seem to. But, in the end, the most memorable fish are the big fish that fight well, test you to YOUR limits, and is landed in the end. You get both closure and the sense of accomplishment.

 

Anyway, that's how I see it. I would rather loose a big hard fighting fish than land one that doesn't "put on a show." But the pinnacle is landing the one that puts on a show.

 

Hope some of you can share stories of fish gone by, landed or not.

[kelmic]

Great stories, interesting thread too!

 

I'm sure we all have many "one that got away" stories but the one that sticks in my head happened on my first day of flyfishing ever. I knew very little (read next to nothing) about specific techniques other than the basics. Must say I was fair to middlin' with the casting as I had practiced a ton. Any way I went out to this creek I knew off the trunk road. It had a few beaver ponds which I proceeded to thrash the life out of. Fished for hours with nary a bite, nothing, zilch, not even a hint that fish might have been there. Gettin pretty frustrated by this point! SCREW THIS!! I'm done, this fly thing ain't workin out. So I decided to pack up and hit the road. My line (with some kind of nymph on the end by the way) was out about as far as I could cast so I started to reel in as fast as I could (you know where this is goin'), sure enough about 6 feet from the end of my rod a huge something swallowed my nymph, bent my rod almost double and was off the line in about 2 seconds. I stood in dumbfounded shock, slack line in the water. I remember picking up the rod tip and BAM it happened again! With the exact same result I should add, slack line and dumb looking farm kid on the bank. Heart beating like crazy I fished until dark with not a sniff, and drove home.

 

 

 

[Guest Jeremie]

kelmic it was probably a beaver lol

[kelmic]

LOL! somewhat possible, but you know what, didn't matter because from that day on I was addicted.

[Hawgstoppah]

My favorite memory from this year would be swinging a bait rod all day for king salmon in alaska (the guide said that's the only way to get 'em) and then at the last hole of the day telling the guide I don't give a damn wether I get one or not at this point I am going to either go down in flames on the spey rod or die trying... so there I am in the Klutina River... swinging a big red flesh pattern I has tied up just for the occasion, when about 4th swing in the line goes tight at the end of the drift, I lift and feel the unmistakable THUMP, THUMP, THUMP... of HUUuUUUge headshakes... and then the fish slowly starts to move out to deeper water with my guide yelling at me to try to turn it for the shoreline... I managed my best by burying the rod in the water and giving it soft but firm pressure... just enough to turn it but not enough to piss it off and have it tear out line and hit the rapids (as 4 other clients had done just hours earlier at the same spot in the lodge's other boat)... the fish comesup against the shoreline and I work it, still slowly and tenderly, like I am pulling an unwilling dog by a leash... not enough to piss it off but just enough to slowly move it... it sawm up right beside us (water had less than a foot of clarity, so he didn't see us)... when he was in the right spot I slammed my rod straight up and the fish came to the top - this was my first sight of it - holy sh**t - Boom guide had it in the net and I was letting out some whoopin and hollerin people heard miles away...

 

47 inches - 40 pounds of Alaskan King salmon... something that had been on my list of "must do's" foerever... and to get him on the spey, was a fantastic sensation... the TFO deer creek held firm, as did Greg's knots :)

 

 

[hydropsyche]

You guys make me sick.

 

Great stories. I really wish I had one to share......

[reevesr1]

Hydro,

Why don't I believe that?

[Crowsnest]

Good stories Rick.

 

I got a "Lure of Fly-Fishing" 2009 Calendar for Christmas. Of course it has magnificent photos of mountainous streams/lakes and below each photo has some rather inspirational quotes. The November quote is as follows and reminds me of your stories.

 

 

Nov- In every species of fish I've angled for, it is the ones that have got away that thrill me the most, the ones that keep fresh in my memory. Ray Bergman