The still waters glimmered slate gray in color as dawn slowly drained the darkness from the sky. It was just cool enough that a light jacket was necessary, its warmth comforting as white mists swirled above the lake, the early morning chill invigorating. A few crows cawed in the distance and the female osprey chirped from her nest warning us she was keeping a sharp eye on our activities.
Two great blue herons emerged from the swirling mists, intending to land at the creek mouth. With a shriek of indignation, the osprey leaped into the air and quickly gained altitude diving on the closest heron.
Herons, with their long, dangling legs, gangly neck and thin body are not built for aerobatics. It’s all they can do to leap up and get airborne, their heavy wide wings designed to slowly, rather ponderously, keep them in the air. They seldom fly high or far, instead just hopping from one fishing spot to another.
The osprey buzzed the lead heron, sharp talons extended, and the ungainly bird was absolutely terrified, banking sharply, wings helter-skelter, actually falling 10 feet before it could regain its balance, flapping its wings frantically and just managing to stay in the air. The osprey soared up and dove on the second heron who fortunately was further from the nest. This heron turned 180 degrees before the osprey drew near and dove sharply to pick up some air speed and get away from the aggressive osprey.
Convinced the second heron posed no threat, she redirected her attention to the first heron and made three more passes at the poor bird who, in avoiding attack, had lost what altitude it had and was barely above the water’s surface. The osprey seemed satisfied, circled once and flew back to the nest, her high-pitched calls letting the herons know dire things awaited if they returned.
I’d never dreamed ospreys defended their nests so aggressively. This aerial dogfight took place so quickly Scott Neely, digging in his tackle box, had disappointedly missed most of the action.
I almost felt sorry for the herons, but I’m sure mother osprey knew best. Herons will eat anything they can catch. It’s amazing what type of entertainment Mother Nature can unexpectedly provide and this morning was no exception.
Smiling, I drew in a deep breath of the crisp air, then snapped on a crank bait and positioned the canoe. The wind was perfect, blowing us parallel to the shoreline. What would the day bring?
My spinning reel was spooled with a 20 pound Gamma Torque braided fishing line. Braided line doesn’t stretch and since I’d switched to braid years ago the number of fish landed increased dramatically. No stretch allows you to drive those hooks home. Many times’ hard-striking fish actually hook themselves.
Braided lines are very thin for their strength and cast easily. Braid has another advantage as well: when fish run, the drag releases instantly, an important factor. Monofilament on the other hand stretches when a fish dashes off and you feel the line tension building higher and higher until the drag finally slips. This phenomenon, I believe, may cause weakened lines to break or allow the hook to tear free.
As my crank bait neared the canoe, a sharp rap snapped my rod tip down. I set the hook and immediately felt a solid weight. The fish swam quickly toward the canoe, staying deep, stubbornly bulldogging back and forth. Next, she made a quick dash away before reversing direction, running back at me and shooting under the canoe forcing me to stick my rod tip deep in the water to prevent it from striking the gunnel.
Working the fish gradually back up it came into sight, then suddenly shot off again. It was a big pike. Not surprising considering how it was fighting. The next time the pike swept past the canoe was concerning. My line was across its jaws. To make things more interesting, Scott, reaching for the net, informed me my second rod’s lure was tangled in the meshes. Finally, he was able to straighten the mess out and net the pike.
The only reason the pike hadn’t cut me off with its razor-sharp teeth was the fact my leader was fluorocarbon. Since smallmouth bass can be line shy, I’d tied on a six feet section of 10-pound Gamma fluorocarbon line. The fluorocarbon was frayed and roughed up, but held. There was no doubt in my mind that a regular monofilament line couldn’t have stood up to those sharp teeth. Thankfully, I trimmed off the damaged line and retied it.
Later, I landed a high jumping muskellunge which gave me quite a tussle. Again, my leader was damaged but held, fluorocarbon is tough stuff.
Fluorocarbon line has other advantages over mono. It’s invisible under water, stronger, casts easily, allows excellent lure action and as demonstrated, is highly abrasion resistant. Over the years fluorocarbon has saved me many lures in waters frequented by toothy pike, pickerel and muskies.
Now, that’s not to say regular monofilament doesn’t have its place. Since fluorocarbon is stiffer than mono, I prefer softer four or six-pound Stren for trout or small stream smallmouth bass. Many walleye fishermen prefer monofilament because its stretch assists in landing lightly hooked fish.
Remember, the only connection between you and your fish is your line. Choose wisely.
