The weather has been so beautiful this March that the whole ecosystem seems upside down. Thinking back over the years, I remember the first week or two of spring gobbler in May rarely, if ever, had budding trees. This year the weather has been so warm we may have leaves on the trees four to six weeks before normal. This is a perfect setup for killing frosts. It concerns me; apple blossoms, oak buds, the whole food chain is at risk, but all we can do is sit back and watch.

I was speaking with a friend yesterday in Florida who told me the turkeys were finished gobbling before their spring hunting season started this year. He hasn’t heard a single bird despite hunting hard. Florida never experienced cold weather this winter and the turkeys started and finished breeding earlier than ever before. I can’t foresee the same thing happening here though, thank goodness.

On a positive side, however, it has been beautiful weather the last two weeks, great to spend time outside and actually be warm. I was a little upset at last Saturday’s snowstorm. Monday, after eating breakfast and observing all the animal activity outside, I decided to run over to Quaker and cast a bit. After all, you never know what might happen and when I found myself pacing, I decided to head over to Quaker Lake.

Soon I was turning into the parking area, the crunch of gravel under the wheels signifying the end of the drive. It’s funny how associations form in your mind over the years. The crunching gravel was such a welcoming sound and a thousand memories of previous fishing trips flashed through my mind.

The lake was calm, a very light breeze ghosting across the surface, rippling the mirror finish reflecting the hills and sunny sky. I snapped on a spoon for greater casting length and fired it out. After 15 or 20 minutes without a hit or follow I began moving up the shoreline hoping to find an interested fish. Glancing up the lake, a disturbance on the surface close to shore caught my attention.

I immediately took off my lure, tied on a number four hook and threaded on a night crawler. Keeping as far back from the water’s edge as possible I kept low and snuck up the shoreline, making a long cast and keeping out of sight. My cast wasn’t accurate at all, but I let it be. After a couple minutes of inaction I reeled in and cast again. This cast was dead on, the crawler splashing down only four feet from shore and exactly where the fish had risen.

Checking the reel to make sure all was clear, I glanced up in time to see the line twitch, then begin moving slowly out, stopping after a short distance. Thinking this might be a smaller fish, I waited patiently for the fish to engulf my nightcrawler. Unexpectedly, the fish rose to the surface and turned, the water humping up in the manner only a large fish can produce. Immediately, an electrical thrill ran through me.

I tightened up and firmly, but carefully set the hook but not too hard. Unfortunately, in the past, I’ve broken off on large trout. Heavy fish don’t move toward you like smaller fish do at the hook set. If they turn quickly in the opposite direction, snap goes your line.

Immediately, the brute power and weight of this fish flowed into the rod; at the same instant the red and silver flash of an oversized rainbow flashed in the clear water. The battle was on.

For five long minutes the oversized fish ran back and forth, coming in only to dash back out in lightning runs. I was a nervous wreck, the little UL bent like a pretzel, the drag protesting. When I thought the fish was finally tired, I lowered the net but this invigorated the big rainbow and another five minutes went by with a nice jump thrown in. It seemed incredible that this fish was still strong enough to keep battling after all this time, but at last I slipped the net over its head, toward that distant tail and tried to lift. The fish gave a convulsive flop, twisted the net in my hand and splashed back in the lake.

My heart stopped beating, but the fish was still on. Another minute passed before I could once again lead the rainbow toward my now very small looking net. This time I drove the net as hard as I could over the head and as far back as possible, keeping the momentum going, lifting the fish up and toward shore in the same sweeping motion. This time it worked, the trout thrashing wildly, finally collapsing into the green meshes.

I had her at last.

Pulling out the tape, this wonderful fish measured 27-inches long and weighed seven pounds. What a beauty; bright, silver sides and brilliant red stripes.

The lowering sky was overcast and gray, the woods gloomy, wet and dripping, the hills drab and lifeless, but the sun shone in my heart.

What a special fish. March was indeed beautiful in more ways than one.