The statement has been made that we know more about the galaxy than we do our earth’s oceans. Though that statement may or may not be true it does bring up some interesting points.
Water of any depth shrouds in mystery what lies or lives there. The Challenger Deep in the Mariana Trench is 36,070 feet deep under crushing pressures so intense it escapes our ability to truly comprehend them. Yet, in this lightless world life exists, some of it huge, and mankind can only guess what unknown creatures flourish there. The fact is we simply don’t know.
Even the lakes and streams in our areas are shrouded in mystery for fishermen. In fact, it’s the mystery of fishing that often makes it so intriguing. It’s hard for a trout fisherman to approach a great looking, deep hole in even the smallest streams without wondering just what lurks there out of sight in the swirling depths or beneath the tangled brush pile. Brown trout especially are shy and the bigger, smarter ones are especially difficult to catch. Rainbow trout, though foolish when small, can become just as shy, and survive in heavily fished streams with impunity. Lakes are vast and deeper and who knows for instance how humungous the biggest muskellunge or pike is in the Kinzua Reservoir? I’m sure their length and girth would take our breath away if we could see these finned patriarchs or even more exciting catch one.
It’s frustrating to fish a good stretch of trout water without a hit. In the past I used to, in my arrogance, think there were few fish in the stream. However, over the years I’ve been humbled when a fly hatch begins and the stream I believed barren suddenly filled with rising trout, 50 or more in a quarter mile once on the Genesee River. Now, when I fail to catch fish I know there’s something I’m doing wrong or the trout simply aren’t feeding. Usually I’m missing something.
Every now and then though, circumstances combine and you see or hook a fish you’ve dreamed about. Landing these leviathans is difficult and the old saying, the big ones get away, is only too true in so many cases. Not only do the larger fish have harder mouths, more weight and frightening power, their very size causes many angler’s brains to turn into scrambled eggs, forget everything they’ve learned about fighting fish and simply panic.
An angler wants that huge fish so badly only one thought comes to mind, blocking all other common sense and reason. Get it in! Get it in the net, haul it on the beach or lift it over the bank! Of course this has disastrous results, the line snaps or the hooks pull out or straighten. Big fish can turn your knees to jelly, your brain to mush and make your hands tremble.
The rain drops came, February showers hard enough to melt snow and raise the creeks. One of those small weather windows where things warm up briefly and if you’re quick you can get a day or two in fishing.
I awoke at 6 a.m. and despite being determined to fish the night before, the bed was exceedingly comfortable and warm. Did I really want to get up, dress, drive some distance and fish with the temperature in the low 30’s on the off chance the streams had risen enough to bring fish upstream? It took awhile for me to finally decide to do so, as you can’t catch anything lying in bed.
When I arrived at the pull off there were no signs of other fishermen in the snow. I walked about 200 yards to the stream and then to the biggest, deepest hole. If there were fish anywhere, it’d be here.
I started with a spinner, then switched to a small minnow bait. My hands were freezing already. A long cast angling downstream and a hit! I snapped the UL up and gasped when a huge white belly thrashed violently, doubling my rod over. What in the world?
A wide silver and red side flashed, a giant rainbow. The fish was incredibly powerful and for over 10 minutes I could only hold on, lightening the drag and dreading those violent quick dashes that could effortlessly snap the four pound line.
Next, the fish angled upstream until it drew abreast of me. I could see her clearly, she was huge. A powerful dash upstream toward a sunken tree. I raised the rod high and pulled upward. Surprisingly she stopped, bulldogged deep and moved downstream again. After 20 minutes I was a nervous wreck, but she was tired, finally. Then the torture of working her to the net. Lead her in, she flops and thrashes, runs back out. Ten times this happened, my heart in my mouth each time, but things held, I never tried to stop her. Finally, I led her into the net, the rim cracks from her weight, she flops out and I desperately trap her against the bank with net and boots, hooking a finger under a gill and toss her out onto the snow at last.
I simply stare, exhausted and unbelieving, what a rainbow! Was this a dream? No, it was real, there would be no waking up in disappointment. I was deliriously happy, unbelieving at her size. What a priceless gift from above, thank you, thank you!
