: Fish stories
Is it spring yet?
How about a contest to see who can tell the best fish story? Here are the rules:
- It must be true
We will put up a poll for the winner and the prize will be a Cortland fly line of your choice up to $60 in value.
11-29-2001, 07:05 PM
Aren't "best" and true" in the same fish story kinda difficult?
I mean, I have some great stories, as well as some true ones, but........ :D
oh- maybe that's why there's a prize
11-29-2001, 10:40 PM
No I'm not going to tell you the story of wading knee deep below Elk creek, triping over a rock and going face first flat and hooking a fish at the same time I'm head down in the water.
And I will 'disavow' any knowledge of the above .... especially to Joan who would prefer I didn't go in above my toes in debth.
11-30-2001, 07:51 AM
I caught a northern pike bare handed once.
It swam between me (wading) and a rock.
I grabbed around his tail and pulled it out of the water before it knew what happened.
My brothers started teasing me about wasting all that money on an Orvis rod. :rolleyes:
It measured 36 inches long before I returned it to the river.
I don't have any true stories ;)
11-30-2001, 12:59 PM
I just can't believe no body came up with anything yet! Well here goes:
This is a true story about a shark fishing escapade down in Exuma at the Peace and Plenty hotel.
Karen Hyde (wife of Bob) had a small deep saltwater pond dug outside the restaurant and over time various species of reef fish took up residence. There was also the occasional visit from some fairly large lemon sharks which she started feeding every evening. After a while, they would turn up like clockwork about 8:00 p.m. and the restaurant guests would all file out to watch Karen hand feeding some very large sharks. Now, my friend Normal Wells (avid fisherman from the UK) was determined to catch a shark on fly so early one evening he got some fish guts from the hotel chef and chummed the water on the outside of the pond. The sharks duly turned up and fairly soon Norman had hooked up to a 100lb+ lemon shark on a big deceiver. After about 15 minutes of almost being pulled in twice and breaking his rod, the hook mercifully came free and that was that - until 8:00 pm;-
Karen made the announcement that shark feeding was about to commence and 30 or so restaurant patrons duly filed out. Well you guessed it, the sharks didn't show up. In fact, they didn't show up for the next three nights by which time Karen was getting embarrassed and a bit suspicious. Someone blabbed about Normans activities and Karen got very miffed. Fortunately husband Bob thought the whole thing was hilarious which was great because she got so mad with him she forgot about getting mad with us:D
The epilogue to this story is that the sharks eventually did return and they can be see to this day,every evening at 8:00 pm being hand fed by Karen "The Shark Lady" Hyde.
11-30-2001, 09:03 PM
A Story Of fishinf
This is not a story of catching trophy size fish or monumental battles but of my introduction to the legnths that an avid fly fisher will go in the persuit of his quarry.
This story has two main charters My Father and myself
[ aged 5Yrs ] going off on a short fishing morning. We were to be back by early afternoon????
We arrived at the designated spot , a country bridge over the Saugeen river in south cental Ontario. I was equiped with an old metal fishing rod which my Father had attached the obligatory fly for my particpatin in this fisherey from the bridge . The first half hour went by with father doing his wading thing on either side of the bridge. The catch was exceptable as I remember but not up to the expetations of the father.
He announced to me that he was going to go down the river but would return in not more than 1/2 hour and we would be within shouting distance of each other during this time. This plan worked for a short time buit soon there was no response to my hellows. I continued to fish and mess about from the bridge as all good sons should and not disturb the fishing odessey of his mentor.
I stood my ground for about an hour and a half but then became rather distrubed about being left for this legnth of time so decided "I am going home."
It was probably a mile walk to the nearest farm at which I asked if someone could drive me back to my Grand Fathers to face lord only knows what . The man of the house new where I wnted to go but had NO PHONE so agreed to drive me to town.
Upon arriving at the destination and discovering it was now 3 in the afternoon a rescue mission was mounted to return to the bridge in the country, the site of the abadoment of this young child. I also realized that all s#&t was about to come down on Father if he was not on the bottom of the river
On our arrival at the site Father was emerging from the water with creel full of fish to be greated by some of the strongest language my tender ears had ever heard. He also could not believe what the time was.
This little eposode put me off fishing for a while with father especially short trips untill the time came when I could make the full trip on the rivers or Lakes.
Just A Fishing Story
12-01-2001, 08:03 PM
One rainy afternoon I was nymphing a short run on a small river in New Hampshire. One fish that I hooked seemed to be fighting sort of weird, like it didn't have a lot of leverage. I knew that the fish was sizeable because I saw the flash of its belly during the initial run. When the fish (a rainbow) was brought to hand, I saw that my nymph was not lodged in the jaw, but was through the eye of another fly that was already in the fish's jaw. The reason that the fish couldn't get good leverage during the fight was that this connection behaved somewhat like that of a tube fly (a hinged effect).
So I let the rainbow go, a bit wiser and a couple of flies lighter. And I was alone, so I have no witnesses to this rare event. I could fish another 100 years and never have this happen again, so it's etched pretty clearly in my memory.
Keep 'em coming! We're already in poll territory but I just KNOW there are more out there to vote on...
there has to be, afterall we are fishermen are we not?! :D
12-02-2001, 08:43 PM
Fishing today on the Upper Rogue. While I was fishing for Coho's today , a group of guy's throwing bait for summer's stumbled onto a hunny hole above me . Hoping they were going to leave it alone for myself ? They started hooking fish cast after cast , it was starting to get funny watching these guy's doing this .After they got tired of hooking ,they started to walk down to me . Not sure what really happend next , I look up and there drift boat is going down river by itself , said you guy's might want to turn around . So 3 guy's swimming in the river not even coming close to it . I made a couple of cast's and got it , Landed the boat a hundred or so yard's down river . I would have kept it but sadly it was Willie boat . Fish-head :D
Story #1 (although I am not counted in the contest):
Daughter's Revenge (A true story)
One Friday afternoon on a steelhead river in southwest Washington I was pleased to see a favorite spot wide open except for one angler and his daughter, sitting on a rock and trying hard to pretend she was having a good time with Daddy. I walked up and said hello to both, and proceeded to string the line throught the guides. He didn't seem happy to have me arrive, so I made sure to grant him all the courtesy that I could and stay well up current. His daughter seemed to be a fine young gal, keeping busy braiding grass stalks and sitting with her chin resting in her hands with her elbows on her knees whenever she ran out of ways to entertain herself.
Dad was hardcore. His intense gaze never left the water and it seemed there was no room for a smile or small talk with his faithful audience. In fact as time went on there was a cuss here and an order there, it was not a happy sight to see the treatment she was getting from her pop. I started to feel a bit sorry for her and just as my mind started to wander the rod just about got ripped fom my hands and I was onto a bright summer run steelhead, hot as a pistol and tearing up the pool. That's not all it tore, the man was burning mad. His already bad mood turned to a darker one and things really started getting bad for the poor girl.
Hearing a sudden shriek of excitement, I looked down river to see that dad had hooked up. The rod was bent deep into the blank and it looked like a very solid fish. The girl was finding some joy in the moment, but that was short-lived as dad started yelling orders to get the camera and follow him down the cobble. She obliged, and faithfully tried to walk the loose stones with camera on one eye, trying and failing to capture the moment despite the angry yelling of the man each time the fish would leap in a spectacular fashion from the water. Each time she missed a shot he would become more nasty, and she was trembling with anxiety trying to deal with the pressure. It's not easy for a child to walk with an eye in the viewfinder, beach sandals, and a yelling father on a rocky shoreline.
Things were going from bad to worse, I almost turned my head when I heard "splooosh". Dad had stepped onto a clay bank and slid into the water such that only his hat could be seen floating! Just then the majestic 17 pound summer run buck came out in a manner that would rival any tarpon, and I heard a >click<.
She got the shot! A floating hat, arm and rod coming out of the water, a monster summer run in the air, and dad barely visible in the water! I nearly laughed out loud at the justice being served as the fish escaped during the man's desperate manuever back onto the shore. The girl was now too shocked to do anything but want to help dad, but she appeared to afraid to offer. He huffed out of the water, reeled up, and hauled his daughter up the trail back to the car. My last glimpse of the girl was of her being yanked down the trail, but with a giddy smirk and not seeming to mind the treatment as she fast-stepped to keep up.
Man, what I wouldn't do for a print of that photo, the only photo taken of the day I am sure. I looked up at the sky as it started to loose it's light and decided I should gut my (hatchery) fish and get it on ice before pitching my tent. It's one of those moments, looking up at the streaking colors of heaven, that noone could doubt that there are other forces at work in our lives than just sheer coincidence.
I hope the girl and mom got that roll developed and had a great gut laugh at grumpy's expense! :hehe:
12-12-2001, 12:31 AM
Juro, your story is just one more proof that there is a God, he is just, and he has a sense of humor. He has to have a 's of h' or he would have snuff us all a second time.
12-13-2001, 05:48 PM
A little over 11 years ago my brother and I started out on a grand adventure. We were going to drive to Alaska from New York and tour the state with no schedule or plans other than whim. We started the trip with our Dad’s loaded down Tempo, a 14’ Sears rowboat in tow, and our minds filled with visions of breathtaking scenery and hard fighting fish. We crossed the border after about 6 days of driving and slept in the parking lot of a sporting goods store in Tok so we could get our licenses first thing.
Licenses in hand we headed south, took a dirt side road to see where it took us and found a small “kettle” pond. When we stopped to try and fish the pond we discovered that the trailer had rubbed a sizable hole in the boat. After patching the hole with a combination of candle wax, tissue paper, and duct tape (a patch job that holds to this day) we launched the boat and discovered to our great dismay that either there were no fish in the pond or they didn’t like what we had. This did not bode well but things would change in the next couple of days. We spent the night, or should I say long twilight, by the pond and in the morning we hit the road south again and came upon the Gulkana River. People at the State Park said there were Kings and Grayling to be had and we drooled at the prospect of floating the river. Consulting a map we discovered that the river coursed through the middle of nowhere but eventually crossed the highway about 15 miles away.
There was little discussion. A 15 mile hike was a small price to pay to float a salmon river in the heart of Alaska. With the rowboat loaded down we launched to see what the river had to show us and at this point you may have visions of “A River Runs Through It” and you wouldn’t be too far off base.
A couple miles downstream we came upon a sharp left hand bend in the river framed by a large gravel bar on the inside and a high mixed stone and earth cliff on the outside. The Bend formed a deep pool and as we walked the bank we saw large shapes finning into the current and at the end of the pool there was a large swirl. The Kings were here!
We fished the pool hard with fly and spin gear as a bald eagle watched our activity from a dead tree leaning out of the cliff above. I managed one King and we each landed a number of Grayling that eagerly took our drys. We eventually called it quits to set up camp and make dinner with plans to hit the pool again in the morning before moving on downstream.
At about 11pm, with the sun shining and me unable to sleep, I decided I couldn’t wait until morning. I crawled out of the tent, donned my gear, and started casting. It wasn’t long before I had hooked up in the riffle at the end of the pool and I called to Michael a few times until he woke. “What” came the groggy reply. “I’ve got a King on. Do you want to fight him?” I asked. “No, I want to sleep.” Mike said with only mild irritation apparent in his voice.
Your loss, I thought and focused my attention on the battle – I was losing. The fish was perilously close to getting into the rapids and I doubted I could handle that situation effectively.
It seemed to happen in slow motion. The fish pulled steadily and the drag released line so that I think I could hear each individual click until it hit the truly hard water and the balance tipped fully in the fish’s favor. Line flew from my reel at an alarming rate and I started to run down the cobbled beach until I was forced to wade by the overgrown bank. My run had gained me some line but not much and I was now speed wading in water just short of my waders’ limits.
I don’t know how but I managed to stay connected during my run/stumble/wade downstream and it looked like I might actually win this battle. It had been at least a half hour since I had set the hook and I had probably traveled a quarter mile downstream but the fish was in very shallow water and flopping around. I was about a hundred yards upstream and closing fast when the hook finally flipped loose and lodged in the cobbles near the shore. I watched, without the slightest sense of disappointment, as the King worked it’s way into swimable waters and disappeared.
I walked to my hook and released it from the snag and with my back to the river I began trying to work the twists out of my line. I hadn’t been at it very long when I got a funny feeling that I was being watched and I turned around. Halfway across the river and swimming right at me was the other King of Alaska – a Grizzly.
Inside I was close to screaming but I managed to act calm. I simply set my rod down and walked into the woods. At the first large clump of brush I dropped to the ground and backed in as deep as I could. I knew I couldn’t hide from it but there was nothing substantial enough to climb and outrunning it wasn’t an option even if I wasn’t wearing waders.
Once I was situated I peered through the brush and saw the bear had turned around and was swimming back to the far bank. I let it get all the way across and shake the water off before I poked my head out of my little nest. It looked back at me and then started working its way upstream. Every ten feet or so it would look back to me as I made my way to camp until it finally faded away into the brush.
Every day of that trip was a true adventure and Alaska surpassed all our expectations but the double Alaskan King night will live forever as the most amazing adventure of them all.
I don't need the line so I'll take my name out of the running.
12-14-2001, 09:30 AM
My encounter on the stream was not as harrowing as yours, a grizzly coming at me is not something I want to experience in this life time.
Here is mine, I was fly fishing for fall steelhead on the Michigan Pere Marquette river (where else) for a PMFlyfisherman. For those that have not fished the PM it is one of those legend rivers that you just fall in love with. It was the week before Thanksgiving which is also the start of the Michigan deer hunting season (rifle). The PM is in private but mainly state forest land, Manistee National Forest. This is also during the white tail rut so the bucks are really revved up for the mating game. I was fishing
just below the Whirlpool hole, getting out of the run to walk to another pool, and run into a eight point buck who starts lowering his antlers, snorting, pawing the ground etc.. He was all riled up and started to charge me. Well I started yelling at him not sure what I was going to do. He got about 10 yards from me, I got behind a small tree, lucky there were trees close by.
He must of wakened up when he heard me yelling. He realized that I was a human, and that it was gun season. We swear they know after a few days of hearing the rifle shots that this is the two weeks of the year they are being hunted and they can just disappear from sight. He backed off, and took off.
Later that day or the next morning I was back in the same run, a a good one of course. I then was confronted with another bigger buck who was on the other side of the river. This was a real big one. I then realized that this location was the boundary line between the two big bucks territory and they were confronting each other, with me in the middle. The other buck did not charge, I actually went after him to get a better look, but it was a very thick growth area. To show you how smart these white tails aresince he probably thought I was a hunter. To avoid giving me a big shooting target, he went down and lowered his whole body into a crouched positon and was able to go at a fairly quick speed beneath the growth so I could not see anything but his antlers. Probably a ten pointer or better.
That is why he lived to an old age maybe 4-5 years old.
For the record I gave up hunting in 1971 for all species other than fish. Gave everything to my brother. Just could not see me doing it any longer, knowing the result was always a dead animal.
At least in fishing most times you have a choice.
12-14-2001, 12:58 PM
Back in the 60's to early 80's I was a long time member of the Steelhead Trout Club of Washington. (Wonderful group of fellows to have take you under their collective wing). Anyway, one member of the club (his future nick-name will be evident in a moment) on a fishing party to either the Kispiox or Babine had to answer the call of nature.
Les (I'll spare him the last name), of rather stockey proportions, proceeds into the bush back from the river, drops his chest waders and prop's his behind over a small downed tree to use as a toilet seat. Sitting there, minding his own business when each "cheek" gets a cold nose and a huge SNIFF!
Anyway, Les comes screaming out of the woods, chest waders below his knees screaming "TWO BEAR! TWO BEAR!!!.
The nickname stuck forever.
12-14-2001, 01:21 PM
We have proably all done that at one time but for me thank fully
it has been in solitude, sometime very cold, but alone, with no disturbance. I can visualize him running out of the woods now screaming, suppose I would to after that close a call.
Les has given me so much good advice over the years and combined with his involvement in important issues concerning species in the pacific northwest I can hardly look at him with anything less than my utmost respect... all that being said I just had to crack up reading about this one! It's a funny story, glad everyone involved (Les and bears) came out of it unscathed.