The best fish I can remember all share one thing in common — I never saw them.
They couldn’t be mastered, they just got lucky, or maybe I erred (Yup, me; it happens), but one way or another, the battle ended with fish swimming away, and me laughing and saluting them.
I like that about myself … I can laugh, salute and wish them well. This has served me well on many such occasions.
While most strikes begin with a tap-tap-tap on the rod tip, or perhaps a briefly screaming reel clicker, strikes from the best fish of all seem to start with a sudden deep bend of the rod and a steady powerful pull.
I love feeling the staccato beat of the tail as the fish surges away.
Instinct causes me to spread my stance, double-check my drag setting, and apply some muscle, recognizing that this is going to take a while.
That’s perfectly all right. There are very few things I’d rather be doing. This even beats making a large deposit at the bank (another rare occurrence).
The great part about winter is the time — while maintaining gear and preparing rigs for the coming season — available to reminisce about the adventures of the past season and the most memorable fish.
After all, fishing is all about the stories.
I’ll always remember the look on the face of a particularly entertaining passenger, a butcher from Wisconsin who regaled me with tales of his vast fishing experiences and prowess for hours on end. This guy could talk until my ear drums bled.
Seemingly on queue, right in the middle of a long story, his rod bent deeply, nearly pulling him off his feet. He managed to get into a fighting stance in time to prevent himself from being yanked overboard.
He then stared, slack-jawed in total astonishment at his reel while 150 yards of heavy monofilament line paid quickly out against a tight drag.
The butcher looked up to the bridge and said to me, “Forget everything I said. I guess I don’t know nothin’! What do I do?”
“Bend that rod and make him work for it” was my first advice as it had been on many occasions when people needed to learn quickly how to fight a very large fish.
Sometimes I just say, “Bend the rod and turn the handle.”
I credit the butcher with a truly valiant effort, but it was too late. That fish was a long way off and had managed to wrap the line around an underwater obstruction.
The result was a frayed end on some well-stretched mono line.
“Well, no worries.” I told him. “Let’s just re-rig, and then you can go hook another one.” That feller just kept shaking his head, for hours.
When my charter passengers lose big fish, I console them with these sage words, “The best thing about the one that gets away is it can be any kind and any size you want. I’m just here to back up your story!”
I can’t wait for the season to begin.