Emil's plan for me was simple, sit there and hold the rod. That's about it. Not very exciting. Well, there was more to it than just that. To start with Emil had me practice casting. A couple of high flies and a low bullet or two were quickly followed by a general grasp of timing.
We started with a trip around our island, looking for likely spots to throw a lure. There, in a little pocket off a point, I caught my first Canadian pike. Wasn't but a hammer handle but it was mine. Or at least it was 'til my lack of experience had me pass the rod to Emil. He had me watch closely while he grabbed the slippery bugger behind the gills and used his pliers to twist the hook out.
"Needle nose 'em in the water if you can. Most times the hooks'll come out easy since I've crimped all the barbs. Otherwise, grab the fish like you mean it. If you get wimpy, the pike'll know you're chicken and wiggle to get free. You'll end up doing more damage to the fish. Simple as that. Yeah, they're slimy as snails so don't lick your fingers after releasing a northern. Don't pick your nose either or the whole world will smell like a pike's patoot."
"There's a pair of pliers in your box with a length of string attached. Tie the pliers off to the thwart behind you just in case you feel the need to drop them in the lake. Experience tells me pliers don't float."
Emil made his own leaders. Instead of wire he used a short length of strong, plastic fishing line. Said the wire ones scared off the fish, particularly lakers and walleyes. He had me clip a silver spoon onto my leader. About a foot and a half above the lure I attached two twist-on sinkers to help lower the spoon where the trout swam. Good thing my Uncle was with me for I had no idea what the heck I was doing.
I gave the rig a fling out to the lakeside exactly as told and we began slowly trolling back and forth in front of the island. That was it. Sitting, waiting, occasionally pulling on the rod. Nothing happening except for a coupla crazy loons in mid-lake getting all loony as the sun once again slowly, very slowly, angled down.
Emil got the first laker. Also the second. And the last. And while he was reeling them in he was singing a victory tune about fish, dish and delish. Me? I got a few more small pike and one decent one. By decent I mean it was the biggest fish I'd ever caught. Even got a "not bad, sorry it's a pike" from my uncle. Yeah, I was a little disappointed being laker skunked. And the old guy in the back having nothing to do with unhooking my fish.
"You're on your own from now on unless the lure's sticking halfway out the fish's backside. Releasing your own fish is all part of the game. Also part of the reason pike aren't a lot of fun to catch unless they're bigguns."
" Don't know how or why but it takes a while for fish to like a person enough to sacrifice themselves. And they sure don't care to be caught by neophytes. An angler has to prove himself to the fish. So, your job is to keep accidentally hooking them 'til they get to know you. Maybe even grow to love you like they love me. Of course I'm better looking, on a higher scale, fin-nancially secure and generally easier for a fish to fall in love with. Sometimes it's all I can do to keep them out of the boat. It's not easy being so handsome you know. And humble to boot."
No comments:
Post a Comment