Big Fish

This morning I decided to go fishing.

I pulled my little 9 foot kayak on it's home built, lawnmower wheeled cart the short distance to our local lake.

The water was like glass when I stepped into the boat and tried to slide into the put-in spot. Usually I can slip right in, but unfortunately some idiot had rolled some big rocks in the groove I had cut through the water plants and I high centered. After a lot of struggling and cussing I got out and moved the kayak off of the rocks, getting my feet wet in the process.

It took fifteen minutes or so for me to paddle out to my favorite spot. The north wind had come up and was already starting to raise a little chop on the surface, but it wasn't too bad yet. I positioned the boat so the wind would blow me within casting distance of the sweet spot, which is an underground spring that I discovered several years ago.

The trout hang out there because it's the coolest spot in the lake, especially in the summer. I found it one day when I was checking the water temperature with a digital aquarium thermometer. One small area was about 10 degrees colder than the rest of the shallow lake, and not surprisingly it was the same spot where I have been catching fish for years.

While I was retrieving the 3^rd or 4^th cast of my little home made spinner, the lure just stopped dead in the water. Thinking it was hung up in some moss or water plants, I raised the rod tip and pulled harder. It was then that I noticed my line moving through the water. I set the hook, and a gigantic trout came blasting out of the lake right in front of the kayak. I got a good look at it before it snapped my 4 lb test line and it was huge. I've caught quite a few 2 and 3 pound Rainbows out of the lake and this fish was at least twice that size. As I sat there with my mouth hanging open, the fish started a series of acrobatic jumps trying to dislodge my tiny spinner, which was still hanging from it's jaw, like Gregory Peck hanging from the side of Moby Dick.

I retrieved my line, and with my hands shaking way more than usual, tried to tie on a new lure. The giant Rainbow made another jump, coming all the way out of the water and landing with a giant splash which caused me to drop the spinner into the bottom of the boat where I couldn't find it. Finally I just put my rod away and paddled back to the dock.

It was a fast and furious fishing trip.

The Lake

The weather's been so lousy and I've been so lazy, that I've either been in front of the TV or the computer for weeks now.

I had almost forgotten how great it is to drag my kayak over to the lake, the little home made wheels rattling over the roadside gravel, sliding it in through the grass and reeds, and heaving a sigh of relief as I glide out onto the early morning, glassy water.

Usually there are streamers of mist rising from the warm surface and some mornings there's a fog bank sitting over the lake, until the sun rises far enough to burn it off.

My senses welcome a flight of Canadian Geese honking overhead, their wings beating the air, the deep thrum of a large Bullfrog somewhere along the shoreline, the warning cry of a mother Osprey when I near her power line nest and the splash of a feeding Rainbow trout as I stop paddling and let the north wind push me to my favorite fishing spot.

Sometimes I don't even fish, I just sit and relax, watching Kingfishers diving for minnows or Otters poking their heads out of the water and curiously looking at me before submerging (and probably catching more trout than I will.)

When I let the wind carry me into the shallow water at the lakes edge, I can watch schools of minnows and tadpoles, clouds of freshwater shrimp and insects swimming through the moss and water plants, and once in a while a startled turtle will slide off of a log where I interrupted his enjoyment of the morning sun.

When I'm fishing I release most of what I catch, sometimes keeping one for breakfast the next day, or if it's a really big one, taking it home to brag about. My casting skills are deteriorating as the Parkinson's advances, and as far as tying a blood knot with my shaky hands, forget it!

I'm just glad that I can enjoy myself on the lake, whether I'm fishing, or just drifting with the wind, watching and listening.

Noodling

The other day I watched a TV show about "Noodling," which is essentially sticking your hand into a big catfish's mouth and wrestling him out of the water. It brought back the memory of a hot summer day on the Verde River in Cottonwood, Arizona.

Carol was sitting on a half submerged lawn chair in the middle of the river, drinking pop and lazily fishing, while Rick, our youngest son and I were swimming and goofing off downstream. We splashed our way around a bend in the river, when Rick yelled, "Hey dad! A big catfish just swam under the bank over here!"

I dog paddled over, but even though the water was fairly clear I couldn't see anything.
"He's right under there!" Rick said.
We had heard about noodling from some of the old-timers, but I never thought that I'd want to try it.
"See if you can catch him, dad!"

I summoned up some courage and carefully reached down under the bank. My fingers brushed up against the slippery side of a big fish and I immediately yanked them back .
"Yep, he's there all right!" I said shakily.

"I heard that if you tickle their belly, it hypnotizes them, then you can stick your hand in their mouth and just pull them out!"
Rick was trying to make it sound easy, but I didn't see him sticking his hand down any giant fish's mouth. In fact he had backed a safe distance away. I reached down again and tentatively slid my hand under the fish's belly. I was just barely able to keep my mouth above the water while I attempted to do my best fish belly tickle.
"Boy, he is big!" I gurgled.
"Is he hypnotized yet, dad?"
"It's kind of hard to tell, Rick. He sure seems to enjoy being tickled, though."

Tiring of all the foreplay, I took a deep breath, slid my fingers up to his gaping mouth and grabbed his lower lip. The fight was on!

"I don't think I hypnotized him enough!" I yelled, as the big fish started thrashing back and forth. I thought he was going to yank my arm off, and I gladly would have let go, but he had clamped his mouth shut on my hand and it was a toss up as to who was catching who.

"Don't let go of him, dad!" Rick yelled from the bank, where he had found a safer place to watch the fight.
My arm felt like it was about a foot longer than it used to be, and I was sure my hand was missing some fingers. Gathering what was left of my strength, I made a mighty heave and flopped the struggling catfish up onto the bank beside a wide eyed Rick, who quickly jumped back into the river.

If you've ever caught a catfish, you know that they are hard to kill, and this one was no exception. I picked up a rock with my left hand and smashed it down on top of his head, which resulted in squashing my fingers, still in his mouth, even more. Finally he opened his mouth to gasp for water and I yanked my hand free. I laid beside the still flopping fish, rubbing my throbbing arm and counting my fingers.
“Are you OK, dad?”
“Oh yeah, that was easy!” I said, trying to keep the quaver out of my voice, “Let's go show mom!”

As we rounded the bend in the river, I held the big fish behind my back, hiding it from Carol's view. When she saw us she grinned and held up a stringer with several ten inch catfish to show us. When we got closer I showed her the big fish, and Rick proudly yelled, “ Look what dad and I caught!”

Drift Creek 2008