Not exactly kayaking… Part II

Last month I told you this wasn't exactly kayaking, but it was close. All the skills we learn kayak fishing are transferable to the poled skiff, and vice-versa. Point is; it's still shallow water sight fishing. Last month we left off with Radney getting an ice-breaker red on fly after zeroing on the worst bunch of lock-jawed fish I ever saw the day before. Let's see if his luck changes...

Decision time, do you stick it out where you've finally caught a fish or make a dash for the back lake where there was a good concentration of fish the day before? The fog had burned off and the sun was high enough to allow for sight casting. I chose the latter hoping those lockjaw fish from yesterday would be feeding ahead of the front. Running through the maze of lakes and bayous I could clearly see the ominous black line of clouds on the horizon bearing down on us from the north. The skiff settled into the bayou with the two target lakes in sight. I poled us into position for a few blind casts into a depression at the mouth of the lake. Ebo connected and landed our second red of the day. Cool, this might work out after all.

I poled into the lake knowing we only had a short time before the front would blow us out. I love being on the water when there's a big weather change looming. Everything feels so alive. The shorebirds were feeding, bait was moving and there it was. A monster red was waddling along not thirty feet from the skiff. Radney locked onto the fish and put a good cast in the perfect spot to intersect the fish. I could see the fly, I could see the fish and the two were about to meet. I held my breath. Nothing. I told him to cast again, a little closer this time. Radney laid it a foot in front of the fish, still no response.

I couldn't believe the biggest fish I'd ever seen in the marsh wasn't going to eat. Reluctantly I told him to put it on the fish's nose. He's either going to eat or spook. The cast was a touch short, but it got his attention. He paused and turned towards the fly, then swam slowly away. By this time I was having to pole in pursuit as the big red was almost getting out of sight. Radney picked up the line and laid another perfect cast within inches of his snout. The red rose up slightly and swam right over the fly without showing any sign of having eaten it. No! Wait. Yes, the fly was gone and the line was moving away. "He ate it, stick him!"

The hook-set was solid and the monster never flinched. He wasn't even annoyed. The fly rod was bent to the butt and line was steadily peeling off, but the red hadn't sped up a bit. It was perhaps the strangest slow-motion fight I've ever witnessed. For at least a minute the red never really reacted, just kept swimming. He was putting full pressure on him and I was poling like a mad man trying to cut the fish off from the deeper channel. Radney then mentions his biggest red on the fly was around 27 inches and asked if I thought this could be bigger. Oh yeah, by a long shot. "Do you think he's double digit? I've never caught a double digit fish on the fly." All I could do was laugh and tell him this fish was way past that.

With the boat blocking his path the red eventually realized something wasn't quite right and the fight turned into a slugfest of long powerful runs, never fast, but incredibly strong. Every time we'd work him close to the boat he'd simply swish his huge tail a few times and make another run taking all ninety feet of fly line and then some. And during every run I prayed the hook wouldn't straighten, the knot would hold and the line wouldn't part. Somewhere around the end of the fifth or sixth big run I figured our luck was going to run out. The next time he was close enough I left the platform, grabbed the net and scooped.

Usually a fish shrinks when it hits the deck, this one grew. Even though I had clearly seen it from the platform I had still underestimated it. My thirty inch measuring stick was woefully inadequate. I ended up laying the fish on the deck and marking the length for later measurement. My Boga showed just shy of 17 lbs and the tape at the house stretched to 38 inches on the deck mark. Had we pinched the tail for a legal measurement and it would have easily surpassed the 40 inch mark.

Following a quick photo session the beast was given directions to the surf and sent on its way. Radney sat on the front deck and stared at the fish as it swam away like nothing had ever happened. He held his hand out and said, "Look at that, (shaking like crazy), I don't shake like this when I go on stage at the Grand Ole Opry," How cool is that?