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Author: Ironscale1

Emergence

Emergence

Light rain starts to dimple the surface of the lake as the last remnants of sunlight fade through a veil of clouds on the western horizon. It’s April in the Midwest. A warm southern breeze has brought with it both favorable fishing conditions, and the hope that spring is finally here to stay. A building chorus of spring peeper frogs begins to sound off from the wooded hillside behind your chosen catfish camp. First one lone “peep”, then another, then soon an avalanche of sound is pouring down from the darkened hill.

This is a moment you’ve been waiting for since the frosty temperatures of mid November closed out the season prior. During the winter that followed, gear was broken down and cleaned, tackle was inventoried and replaced, and a battle plan for the coming season slowly took shape. Earlier this same week a healthy livewell full of large suckers was acquired from a milk run of local spots. A known early season favorite of giant flathead catfish, and a delicacy that can only be used during cooler water periods due to the sucker’s intolerance to heat. About an hour before dusk the most choice of these specimens was carefully baited on each rod and kayaked one by one out to pre-planned drop locations surrounding your camp. After the last bait is put into place, a realization sets in. All of the winter planning is over, the preparation is done, and the first chilly kayak ride of the year is complete. The first “wait” of the new season is underway. 

Early season flathead fishing can be either boom or bust, able to make one feel like both a hero and a hapless idiot all within the same week. An hour has passed now in the dark without a bump since the armada of squirming suckers was deployed, and you begin to question both your battle plan for this evening and your timing. Years of carefully taken notes and observations have led you to start your season here, or so you thought. But have you chosen your location correctly? Did you pick the right night? Indecision wages war with confidence while waiting on that first bite of the year. 

The mental clammer and din of the peeping frogs suddenly falls away, and another sound takes the foreground. The slow, steady clicking of a reel starts the season anew. 

Garzilla: Part 2

Garzilla: Part 2

It felt like I’d just fallen asleep when our alarms sounded on the morning of day two. We packed up snacks and clothes for the day, grabbed the bag of fully charged Go Pro camera batteries, and applied more tape to the numerous cuts and scrapes we had all over our hands. Handling as many gar as we landed on day one does not come without some close encounters of the toothy kind. 

We met Cody in the dark again, this time at another ramp farther down the lake system. With bigger fish in mind today, we were all prepared to accept fewer bites for a chance at some true giants.  Again, Cody expertly navigated acres and acres of what looked like a submerged forest on the graph. This reservoir portion of the Trinity system is expansive, and in the dim morning light we could barely see the horizon we’d left when we reached our first stop. Carp and buffalo gently dimpled the glassy surface of the lake as we cut and casted our first baits. Another Texas sunrise painted the sky. 

We eventually got a run at this first location after an extended wait, and ended up boating a fish in the mid 40-inch range. After a quick release, we pulled our lines and motored to a second spot in hopes of finding a better size class of fish. A giant, startling swirl welcomed us to the little cove, confirming our hopes.

While deploying baits I expertly backlashed one of the big Penn conventional reels trying to put too much distance on a big hunk of cut carp.  Zach and I both worked on the reel for awhile, and as we came close to relieving the tangle the rod was suddenly being pulled out of our hands. With no way to pay line out to the fish and no other choice, Zach swung hard on the fish and missed. Never having enough time to let the fish engulf the bait, opportunity number 2 for the day had passed. We fished the spot out for another hour or so uneventfully, then decided to make a run across the lake. 

After about a 30 minute cruise, we pulled into the mouth of a large bay that seemed to be teeming with life. There were gar breaching all around us, swirling and throwing water as they went. We were as quiet as we could be as we anchored the boat and casted fresh baits. Just like yesterday, clickers began humming before we could even get all of the rods out. The fish in this area seemed to run with a bait in their teeth forever initially. Though we caught a few, others just ran on and on only to be completely missed when we either got low on line or grew too antsy and set the hook. For fish as large and aggressive as these were, it amazed me how delicately they could hold a piece of bait while they cruised around looking for a good place to stop and finish it off. Fish came in waves again, and in some cases we’d have four running at a time only to miss them all. We could see the fish rolling around us and knew there were some big ones in the mix, but just couldn’t seem to connect. 

After a brief lull in the action, two reels at the bow of the boat started clicking almost simultaneously. Zach and I each picked one up, and waited in anticipation while line steadily disappeared from our spools. My fish veered hard left toward another set line, so Cody picked up the third rod to clear it out of the way. Out of nowhere the rod he picked up bent over in his hands, and he immediately reacted by setting the hook. The rod bent into the handle as he traded me for the rod I was holding, with my fish still taking line on its initial run. As soon as I felt the weight of the fish he’d hooked, I knew it was in a class above anything we’d dealt with on this trip so far. Both of the other gar eventually dropped their respective baits without being hooked, and Zach and Cody worked to clear their lines away from the thrashing leviathan I was fighting. The fish took line at will, and after several jumps decided to launch at and under the boat. I had to drop to my knees on the deck to keep balanced, and bent the big saltwater blank into a full “C” shape as the fish continued peeling line to the other side of the boat. Cody’s lasso came out again as we knew there was no way to grab this fish by hand. The fish continued to display its power, taking line as I did my best to chase it around the boat in several full rotations. It came to the starboard side of the boat violently, making it nearly impossible to slip the lasso over its gaping jaws while it thrashed and punished the hull. But after several tense attempts, the loop was cinched and the fish was ours. 

We all grunted hoisting this one into the boat. I couldn’t believe the proportions of the thing, with girth well larger than my thigh running nearly the entire length of its 70+ inch frame. The fish’s tail was the size of a tennis racket at least, with a whole head full of teeth pushing close to an inch in length. I was shaking from the excitement of the fight and had to sit down to gather myself before we started taking any pictures. We were able to get the fish into my lap briefly,  but she was hard to control and her weight actually hurt my thighs even lying still. I opted to jump into the lake to get some better photos with the fish, and to protect it from potentially harming itself thrashing around in the boat. I had my doubts about not only entering the water with a predator of this caliber, but dozens of its friends swimming unseen all around us. But once in a lifetime opportunities are just that, once in a lifetime. In I went. The lasso came off and I did my best to hold the big fish as far out of the water as I could. It felt like lifting a section of telephone pole covered in metal plates. The fish was surprisingly placid in the water, though, and didn’t thrash or try to exact revenge on my nearby face. After a few good hero shots were taken, I patted the fish on the head thanking her for opportunity. The big torpedo slid right out of my arms and off into the green water as if she was never really there. I stood in the lake still shaking. We’d just done what we traveled all this way to do.

 

The day did not end there, though. We still had half of the day left, and as any fisherman knows you never leave a good bite. Knowing more fish of this caliber were lurking close to the boat, we baited back up and got the rods out. As I got dressed again I started to notice big welts across my chest and arms. Cody mentioned that along with having highly abrasive scales, gar slime can be irritating to human skin for a little while after contact. Battle scars accepted, we anticipated the next bite. We didn’t wait long before another reel sounded the alarm. Zach picked up the rod and slipped the clicker off as line melted from the spool. Assuming this was another giant, Cody suggested we reel in the other rods and follow the fish to give it more time to do its thing. Rods in, we slowly motored along behind the fish as it cruised the bay. The fish finally came to a stop in about 3 feet of water, and we waited as I tried to catch a glimpse of its size near the bottom. After a few seconds the fish started to move off again, and Zach engaged the reel and set the hook. The rod bent hard, then went completely slack. Assuming we’d missed the fish, Zach started reeling line back onto the spool. It was then that we noticed his float streak past the boat at warp speed, passing the bow at what seemed like 20 miles an hour. I could barely get the words “he’s still there!” out of my mouth before the line came tight and the rod bent in half, buckling Zach’s knees. The fish smoked off 40 yards of line in a quick burst, then turned on a dime and came right back at us. Zach did all he could to keep up, and as it sped past the boat again, a sickening “POP” sent the hook flying back toward him. We’d seen enough of the fish to know it was similar in size to the last one we’d landed, and knew there was nothing else we could have done to change what happened. Fishing for something this size does not come without its unique challenges, and sometimes the fish just simply win. 

We anchored where we had stopped this time, and sent baits back out all around the boat. About an hour passed, and though we had several more runs during this time we weren’t able to connect with another fish. Morale was slowly fading as the Texas sun grew high in the sky.  All fell quiet. 

Suddenly, a rod at the back of the boat erupted to life with line steadily screaming out into the calm water. Cody had a feeling this was another large fish, and suggested we follow it with the boat again. I was holding the reel in free-spool, and could barely keep my thumb on the spool without getting burned.  Zach and Cody cranked the other lines in as fast as they could but this fish meant business. The spool on the big Penn grew small in a hurry and starting to panic, I attempted to tell the guys we were low on line. I think I made it to “hey guys, we…” when the fish hit another gear and launched forward like a missile. I clamped my thumb down hard on the spool out of instinct, only to have my thumbnail broken in half as the last of the line on the reel was ripped out of the guides and into the water. “F!#k, he took it all!” I yelled. Cody dropped the boat into gear and headed in the direction the fish had been running. Dragging our remaining baits behind us, we steamed forward. Somehow, he actually managed to catch up to the tail end of the floating braid as it streaked across the water, and I handed Zach the empty rod as I dropped on my belly on the deck to grab it. 

The line felt slack, and we worked as fast as we could with trembling (and bleeding) hands to feed it through each guide and back to the reel. I was attempting to tie the line back onto the spool when Zach shouted “he’s still there!” I looked down to see the line come tight against his hands as the fish caught up to us and started to pull. Zach toughed it out holding the braid around his hands to give me enough slack to tie it back onto the spool. Past episodes of “River Monsters” flashed through my mind, as stories of people being pulled out of boats by hand lines became all too real. Finally I was able to calm my hands enough to finish the knot, and Zach let go of the line.

 

I was barely able to get three cranks on the handle when the angry fish bent the rod around the bow of the boat. Back in action! I did all I could to get some line back as the fish did his best to take it again.  Cody pushed the boat forward to give us a fighting chance, and that paid off in spades. I was able to gain more line and after several violent jumps the fish swung to the side of the boat. Cody snared it immediately, sealing the deal on what I thought was impossible. In total disbelief, we dragged the writhing dinosaur onto the deck. Getting completely spooled by a huge, prehistoric fish was demoralizing. Immediately running down the water skiing line and actually landing the fish was joy and redemption on a new level. Shaking and still bleeding, I muttered it again. “This place is no joke.”

This was another very large fish, estimated to be around 100 pounds. Not quite as large as the last one we’d landed, but more than a handful to say the least. The fish was a spectacular specimen, as vibrantly colored and spotted as it was large. These fish command respect, and holding one of this caliber in your arms is a fine balance of grace and self-preservation. Zach was able to get some really good photos of the fish before we slid him back into the lake. I hadn’t noticed my throbbing thumb until then, and wondered how I’d go about trying to tape part of my thumbnail back on while covered in gar slime. Fishing for species like bass, steelhead, and other highly sought after gamefish definitely has its place in my heart. But there’s nothing quite like the adrenaline rush of pursuing something that has no known maximum size and can hurt you with your own equipment. With the day now drawing to a close, we positioned the boat in one last spot and sent the Hail Mary baits out all around us. 

Our final stop was loaded with fish just like the last. We had a pile of runs, and managed to land a few more average sized gar before our time was up. We even ended the trip on a double header, just like we’d started it the day before. To say that this system is alive and well is an understatement. This section of the Trinity river seems to be thriving. After we’d packed in for the day, Cody went the extra mile and took us to look at a few bank spots we’d been scouting with satellite imagery for the coming evening. Our flight home wasn’t until the next afternoon, so Zach and I committed to spending as much time fishing as we could while we were here. Cody even gave us the last of the bait on his boat as a head start on our new mission. It was time to find and catch an alligator gar on our own. 

Garzilla: Part 1

Garzilla: Part 1

So it began. As the boat slid away from the bank into black, unfamiliar water, thoughts of the previous full day of travel trickled from my mind. After months of planning, a plane ride loaded down with rod tubes and gear, and a long drive south, here we stood above the famed waters of the Trinity river system in south Texas. Dinosaur country.

We arrived at the ramp well before dawn to meet Cody Cryer with Garzilla Alligator Gar Guide Service, our guide for the next two days of fishing. He assured us that we could get a good jump on the day by leaving right away, as long as we weren’t afraid of the dark. We laughed and loaded gear, half wondering how serious he was. After navigating through a labyrinth of standing and submerged timber, Cody pushed the big boat out toward the main lake basin. It’s a weird enough sensation for either Zach or myself to be riding in a boat driven by someone else, let alone on totally foreign water in a new state. But it served as a nice break from the duties and preparation of peak flathead season, and I found myself soaking in the ease of being taken fishing for a change.

It was still completely dark when we motored into our first fishing spot of the day. Cody slid the Power Poles down to lock the boat in place, and began to explain the theory behind the spot he’d chosen. I could hear some distant surface disturbance in different areas around the boat, and Cody nodded as if to answer my unspoken question. They were here.

We started tying up the prototype rods Zach had brought down to test as Cody went over rigging, bait, and hook-set procedure. We spoke in hushed tones in our best attempt to stay undetected in the remaining half hour of darkness. When the rods were ready to go, I leaned back and sat on the gunwale of the boat, my back toward the massive expanse of the lake. As if on cue, the black water erupted below me as a crushing thud pounded the side of the boat right below where I sat. Like a grenade went off, water splashed all three of us as an 8 foot wide swirl rocked the boat then dissipated back into nothing. Cody laughed out loud and just said “that was a good one.” We laughed out loud too, while I wondered if I remembered a clean change of shorts.  “This place is no joke” was the only thought on my mind.

We casted baits out in an even spread all around the boat, setting clickers and baitrunners into free-spool. Before we could even get all of the rods out, one of Cody’s bait-runners sounded the alarm of a steady run. Zach jumped up to grab the rod, and Cody reminded him of the wait time before setting the hook. Gar will run quite a ways before attempting to inhale a bait they’ve grabbed, so it’s crucial to wait for a pause in their first run before setting the hook. While we waited excitedly, another clicker buzzed loudly in the dark. I picked up this rod and slid the clicker off, waiting for the pause. Both fish seemed to stop at the same time, and when they started moving again we let them have it. Doubled up to start the trip! As the morning light grew we could see our fish thrashing the surface violently trying to shake the big treble hooks. Neither were giants, but a new species for both Zach and myself. Cody grabbed both fish and showed us how to best avoid getting slashed by their wicked mouth full of teeth. We posed for a quick picture, then sent the gar on their way. Success.

It wasn’t long before another set of runs shook us from our celebrating. We hadn’t even re-casted the first two rods when the second two took off. Zach and I followed procedure and soon another two angry gar made it to the boat. We released the fish and worked to get all four rods back out when a fifth rod buzzed violently. This was as wide open as it gets in apex predator fishing, and we couldn’t be happier. Cody mentioned that his boat record was 18 gar landed in a full day. The way things were going we all wondered how long that would last.

Rain started pelting the boat, and Cody slid the bimini top into place while Zach and I jumped into our rain gear. Fishing in the pouring rain was nothing new, and the fishing was so good we hardly noticed. There were occasional lulls in the action, but when a bait was taken it usually wasn’t the only one. On more than one occasion we had four rods clicking at a time. Most of these fish were around the same size, about 45 inches long. Big fish by many standards, but young for an alligator gar. We discussed the options available to give us our best shot at a true giant and decided that staying in actively feeding fish for the first day of the trip was a wise move. The rain finally slowed, but the bites kept coming.

At about 2:30 PM I picked up a steadily clicking reel and slid the clicker off as we’d done all day. This fish seemed to cruise a bit faster than the others, and it grew hard to wait for the telltale pause of a gar finally enjoying its meal. Then it came. When the fish began to move off again, I engaged the light saltwater Penn and hammered the rod back. Drag slipped hard on the hook set, and the heavy blank bent deep toward the handle. We all just looked at each other as water erupted about 70 yards from the boat. This was a good one. The fish bolted left and jumped again, peeling drag in the air. These fish are incredibly fast, and suddenly I found myself struggling to gain line fast enough to stay tight on it. The fish jumped a third time closer to the boat, and Cody grabbed a lasso from a storage box in the bow. The silver missile made a run at the boat, causing me to drop a knee on the gunwale to support the rod as the top half bent into the water and line peeled from the spool. When we got him turned around, the fish made several violent, thrashing jumps against the side of the boat before we were able to get the rope around it. Cody yanked the tail end of the lasso and cinched the fish tight behind the pec fins. We had him.

It took both Zach and I to drag this one into the boat, a thick brute of a gar pushing close to 6 feet long. Cody took a few quick measurements and estimated the fish close 80 pounds, making it easily my biggest freshwater fish to date. These fish are intimidating in close proximity, and can even cut you with their scales when thrashing around. Their skin is prehistoric armor, so well woven together that even bow fishermen have a hard time penetrating it with arrows. We managed to get the fish into my lap for a few quick pictures, then slid him back into the muddy water he came from. It was only the first day of the trip and we’d already gotten a taste of what big gator gar are all about. High fives all around, and bait back into the water.

The rest of the day flew past, and we ended up going on to break the boat record with 21 total gar landed. A lot of fish are missed on the hook-set in this game, simply because of the way gar hold and eat their prey. All said and done we had close to 50 runs before 3:00 PM, and everyone was thoroughly exhausted. We left Cody at the ramp, and headed back to town to find some Texas barbecue and Gatorade. Excited with our early success, we hit the sheets to get some rest before day two. We had our numbers in, so the plan for the second day was to locate a true giant. The thought alone made it hard to sleep.

Church

Church

Flathead catfish lake sunrise

 

Dawn. A red glow builds over the black horizon, as thin wisps of fog rise out of the water toward a rapidly changing sky. The crisp morning air brings a scent of autumn to your nose, wafting tones of fallen leaves and coming change. For those of us that spend our lives immersed in a love for the outdoors, this is a time of silent worship. Sacred in every meaning of the word.

 

Moments like this are of great importance to me, and become ever more important as time goes on. Though I’m not by any means unique in this regard, there also exists a large number of “sportsmen” that ply the same arenas looking for something else. In listening to a recent Joe Rogan Experience podcast with guest Morgan Fallon, Joe eloquently described a major shortfall of the popular culture surrounding outdoor sports. He put it as “a lack of reverence for the outdoors,” and I feel it cannot be described more accurately. In a world of social media advertisement, sponsorships, pro-staff endorsements, and giant tournaments, it’s often plain to see that respect and admiration for the pursuit and target species is lost in attempts at personal gain. This unfortunate divide between sport and sportsman is one my generation is particularly guilty of enforcing, and one I feel the responsibility to define and withdraw from.

 

Now don’t get me wrong, when I’m fishing I am most definitely on a mission. Planning, preparation, and hard work go into every trip, and a successful outcome is very important to me and many others I run with. But what then is done with this success? Rogan goes on in that podcast to discuss popular hunting television shows and makes some good points. Most hunting (and fishing) media these days is geared toward selling a product. Bow and broadhead brands, camo patterns, hot new soft plastics or a new line of fishing rods that “made this all possible” while the harvested game or fish is a secondary thought. Respect for the animal is diminished through an attempt to sell and boost reputation, when without the animal itself none of that exists.

 

As fall begins to tighten its grip on the last fading days of an Indian summer, many of us will push into high gear preparing for archery season, steelhead season, and some of the best remaining fishing of the year for warm water species. I think it’s time we all took a minute to stop and think about what we value most in these pursuits, and where our motives lie. To pay homage to the traditions that passed them down to us, and to remember that without honor, humility, and respect for these resources, we would soon have nothing to pursue.

 

The outdoors are a sanctuary for those of us who feel most at peace here. A church for those who feel closer to their origin of creation when fully baptized in it. We would be very wise to spend more time listening to what the land has to tell us, and less time trying to sell bibles.
flathead catfish lake sunrise dock
The Devil’s in the Details

The Devil’s in the Details

g3 sportsman 200 sunrise catfish

The word Epiphany is most literally defined as “an experience of sudden and striking realization.” A “Eureka!” moment, where pieces of a puzzle fall together for the first time before your eyes. In some cases it’s the discovery of a new variable, unknown before that point in time. In others, it’s simply looking over the same variables with a new lens and discovering a new meaning in them, hidden all along. What I experienced this season was more of the latter.

The practice of reservoir flathead fishing is a complex game of cat and mouse. Except in this game it’s not a mouse you seek, but a cunning predator at the very apex of its food chain. It’s my belief that these warriors should not only be treated with great respect, but that the pursuit of such an animal be treated that way also.

Flathead catfish double
Endless combinations of seasonal behavior patterns and varying environmental conditions can make the prospect maddening. There is a theme to it all, though, known to those who care to look hard enough. At least a basic framework known to modern science from which to draw distinction. Following this model has been the basis of my (and our) fishing career(s) for the most part, working to obtain field observations and data to support what we’ve read.
Flathead catfish quad
Over the years many of these general patterns have proven themselves to be reliable. From the very first thaws of the spring through summer and into the first deep freezes of late fall, our quarry loosely follows rules set by their internal biological clocks. Learning to time these cues set by Mother Nature and fish them effectively is the bread and butter of this game, and always has been.
flathead catfish double
For years now I’ve committed myself to the study of these patterns, learning along with my friends the “wheres” and “whens” that produce fish for us regularly. Each new season was an opportunity to build on our knowledge of these, and perfect our timing as much as schedules and life would allow. Think of this as using a microscope to inspect something closely, and each year acquiring the ability to zoom in a bit farther and see a bit more of what makes the monster tick. Attention of this kind is necessary in any attempt at betterment, and one can’t escape the reality than in order to truly master something, he (or she) can never stop learning.
flathead catfish big night
What fell before me this season, however, was not the ability to zoom in ever farther than we had in seasons past. Though some of that has come along as well, it is no new revelation. What struck me one day suddenly, was that while looking intently through the microscope and zooming more and more, I’d missed a bigger picture that could only be seen with the naked eye. Like a painting made of one million dots, an image that could never be seen by inspecting each dot too closely.
The big picture contains many moving parts, with most yet unexplored. But just as we had in the beginning, we’ll begin to test and prove these parts into existence through trial and error. The parts of this picture that have been explored thus far have yielded new levels of success that before would not have seemed tangible. Rather than being intimidated by the nuance that we’ve only just scratched the surface, I look forward to the challenge of understanding this new field of view.
 The lesson here is simple. A change of perspective can be the difference between observing distant planets in the night sky, and observing a grain of sand with a microscope. And a change of perspective can re-write history.
50.7 pound flathead catfish

 

Who Says You Need Pants

Who Says You Need Pants

It was time. The planning had been done, bait had been gathered, and we were off to the lake to put sonar on the few spots we’d chosen for this weekend’s hunt for giant flathead.

Joe V and I traveled together to the lake and met Alpha (my Dad), who’d driven separately with his boat. Launching the boats we made a quick stop at a known panfish location for some insurance baits, and began scanning the areas we picked. It was mid June now, and we knew that fish would be feeding in preparation for the coming spawn. Conditions were fair and stable, conducive to activity. After thoroughly exploring these few new areas we decided on one that offered everything we like to see in a June flathead spot. We pulled both boats up to the bank next to one another, and began to prepare rods and bait for deployment. The sun was sinking low on the horizon as the light of day slowly crept out of our little corner of the world.

I hopped in the kayak and began to systematically transport baits to locations we had marked on the sonar earlier that day. Joe V and Dad directed me and managed reels until all of our rods were set with clickers on. Satisfied with the set, I climbed back into the Lowjaw and cracked open a sandwich. True to form, it didn’t take more than a couple minutes before one of Dad’s rods signaled the slow run of a flathead catfish. It was his first trip out with us this season, and it came as no surprise that he would waste no time doing damage. With a grunt and a heavy hook set, we were tied to a good flathead within the first few minutes of the night.

I crept from my boat over to his as he fought the fish. Big head-shakes and several powerful runs confirmed our question of whether or not this spot was home to grown fish. After several minutes, the fish planed toward the boat and I scooped and scored. The big male flathead weighed in at 44 pounds and small change, and rewarded us with bite rash and tail slaps any chance he got. Pumped up, we quickly re-rigged and dropped another bait in the same place.

Within the next two hours, dad would get two more bites, missing one and the other producing a nice fish at just over 30 pounds. Two adult fish in a whole night of fishing is more than we can normally ever ask for, so to have two within the first few hours was a great start.

The rest of the night produced two more fish of 5 and 15 pounds, but the two highlights of our trip made it all worth while. A new spot proven.

The following week I returned to the same location with Brittan for another night of fishing. With great bait again and great conditions, we were very hopeful for what the night would bring. We set baits in the same fashion as the last trip, and the wait began.

Almost immediately after setting baits, I had a telltale flathead run. But just as I was about to drive the hook home, I felt the fish eject the Bait and leave it behind. The baitfish was still lively and undamaged, telling us that it had been totally inhaled by a sizable fish. This is never the desired outcome, but it told us that fish were in a willing mood and we may have a chance at another.

About two hours after dark Brittan’s reel sounded it’s alarm and we sprang into action. Standing by, I heard him slip the reel into gear and set the hook hard. After a brief battle a flathead of about 15 pounds met the net and was quickly released. With the skunk gone, we reset the bait and continued our discussion of who would win in a fight to the death, a grizzly bear or a gorilla (still to be determined).

Over the next few hours we were plagued by a wave of pesky channel cats. Killing big baits and leaving them behind, or fully engulfing them and making a mess of our set of lines meant far too much time in the kayak straightening things out. After more than half-dozen of these attacks I was soaked to the bone and told Brittan that I was done in the kayak for the night after the last bait was set. I dropped the giant goldfish into position, paddled back, and climbed into the boat to change into some dry clothes.

After drying off, I found myself standing on the bow of the boat in nothing but my briefs when the rod I had just set was taken. Without missing a beat Brittan handed me the clicking rod as I ran past in my skivvies. I waited until the fish tightened the line and set the hook hard. The big rainshadow blank corked hard into the lower half, and we both nodded in agreement that this was a good one. The fish fought hard, running back and forth and taking line at will. Doing my best to guide it around structure nearby, it turned into a close quarter slugfest with the fish diving under the boat and trying its best to wrap around my anchor rope and the motor prop. After several attempts at this she was tired, and Brittan pulled off the net job of the year with a dead headlamp on a fish that barely fit to begin with. We high-fived as we hoisted the 50+ pound mammoth into the boat. We were both so pumped that neither of us realized I still wasn’t wearing any pants until after the fish was weighed. 51 pounds of twisted steel and lowjaw appeal, a toad prespawn female.

Just as I was making a joke about putting my pants back on, another of my rods sounded the alarm of a flathead run. Jumping over the 51 still on the deck, I grabbed the other clicking rod and waited until the fish came tight again. I set hard and grunted under the weight of what felt like a similarly sized adversary. Brittan laughed out loud at the sight of me bowed up on the rail of the boat in briefs, fighting the second fish in 5 minutes. After several hard runs this fish came close, and tragically found the nearby structure I was worried about earlier. With a pop, the line went slack and it was gone. We’d take one for two, though, and quickly bridled the 51 for morning photos. I decided I’d better hurry and find my pants before anything else happened.

The rest of the night went on without much to write home about. I believe we managed one more small flathead under ten pounds before the light of day peaked over the horizon. When we had sufficient lighting, our well rested trophy was gently cradled into the boat for some photos. After several shots were taken the hefty girl kicked off into the murky water from which she came. Fish of this caliber are always our target, and I felt a full early season of hard work and planning immediately justified. Trophy flathead fishing is a game of many hours spent, and rewards are often earned beyond their measure. Even when they catch you with your pants down.

Until next time, Ironscale out.

 

Off with a Bang

Off with a Bang

     The start of this flathead season was explosive to say the least. Blessed with ideal conditions on a regular basis, the crew showed up in force early and often with some very nice flathead.
     First blood was drawn on Trey’s birthday trip, May 12th 2018. We arrived at a familiar lake with high hopes and a forecast threatening excessive rain gear usage. After catching some fresh baits to add to what we brought along, we traveled to the spot of choice and anchored the Lowjaw. We expected an early bite, and got baits out at around 6:30 PM. By 6:45 PM I was getting my first flathead run of the season. After bowing the heavy prototype rod on the hook set and a quick but violent tug of war, we hoisted a healthy 31 pound flathead in the sling. After a photo and release I rigged up and casted another bait to the same location.
     Within a half hour, the same rod was taken again, and another fish came to the scales at 30.7 pounds. We took photos and released the fish promptly, and celebrated our victory. Before I could re-deploy the rod a third time, my other rod signaled a deliberate run. I set on that fish, which ended up being a third fish of 30 pounds. Amazed by our first hour of fishing, Trey and I clinked a “cool beverage” (as Robby would say), and got to work getting baits wet again.
     When I casted my second rod back out, it was almost yanked from my hands as I went to set it in the rod holder. I set the hook hard and found myself fighting our fourth fish of the night, a chubby 25 pound flathead. We expected good things here, but this was on another level. Finally after that fish, the lake quieted down as dusk fell across the valley. We excitedly discussed what the rest of the night would bring, and checked our weather radar to stay on top of the approaching rain. But our break would not last long. Within the next hour, one of my baits was taken a 5th time, and a fourth flathead over 30 pounds for the night was weighed and released at 8:45 PM.
     As we released this fish we noticed the weather rolling in. Pulling the rain gear on, we could not have expected the downpour and violent lightening storm that would soon follow. Instantly, lightening spiraled around our position near the bank with cloud-to-ground strikes within the vicinity happening in succession. We were as close to shore as we could get, and rather than risk a run across the middle of the lake we decided the best course of action was to lower the rods and hunker down (aside from occasionally standing on the bow taunting the sky like Lieutenant Dan from Forest Gump). The lightening and thunder passed within the hour, but the rain was unrelenting. It poured for hours straight, and I had to run the bilge pump almost constantly to keep up with water entering the boat. The front drove temperatures down into the 40s as well, making sleeping in a drenched boat nearly impossible. We stuck out the conditions until the following morning without another nudge, but were thankful to have had the amazing luck we did early on. With bloody knuckles and soaked clothes, flathead season 2018 was officially underway.
     Brittan would strike next, following our trip with a solo mission that produced his current personal best flathead of 54.8 pounds. His account of the night and this beast of a fish can be found in the post above titled “Sometimes You Just Need to Fish.”
     Brittan and I would fish another lake the following week, trying a spot neither of us had seen before. Employing some new tactics and fending off channel catfish paid off, and produced this old warrior of a 31 pound flathead and another lost fish that ended up bending a hook before escaping.
     Jake struck the weekend after that, landing this beautiful 50 pound female flathead on a solo mission of his own. The fish was carefully weighed and released after photos, and will no doubt provide us with many more giant adversaries in the future.
     Brittan, Chuck, and myself would follow Jake’s fish on another lake with fish of 18 and 31 pounds ourselves.
     Momentum continued to build from this point on, as lake temperatures rose and the true pre-spawn period began. As I write this, fresh knuckle scrape is healing on both of my hands, and I think back fondly on other giant fish that came and went through June and July.
Full steam ahead. Ironscale, out.
Sometimes You Just Need to Fish

Sometimes You Just Need to Fish

Brittan smashed his personal best flathead this spring with the moose of a fish above. His account of the night and the message it sends are something we all need to read. Sometimes you just need to fish…

“After much discussion with you (Joe) about taking a night away from work to fish solo, I prepped the Pike Attack for its first trip of the year. The point of this trip was to restore the low level of sanity that I try to maintain, nothing more, and nothing less. I had low expectations and really small bait. I didnt care, that night was about the journey and fulfilling my thirst of adventure that I had been starving myself from. I ventured forth to a springtime confidence spot for a night of sitting in the rain and hopefully netting a few flatheads. After putting the boat in the water and netting some small shad, I had 13 small bluegill, 8 shad and 1 goldfish. It rained. Hard. For a good while right after getting set up in my spot for the night… After it finished I settled into the floor of the boat for a nap. About midnight, my bait feeder went off and the fight was on with my first flathead of the season, a small 22lber. After slipping the fish back into the water, waving goodbye, and getting another bait out, I laid back on the deck of the boat and dozed off. 3am came and I woke up to the familiar sound of a reel slowly and steadily alarming the sound of a take. I set the hook into a fish from my knees and battled with what seemed like a sizable fish. It took a little drag right away and swam right to the boat. A good sign of a mature fish. I budged the fish off the bottom and it surfaced, saw my headlamp and went ape-shit. “Giant fish!” I thought. We tussled for another 2-3 minutes on the starboard side of the boat before the fish took off toward the anchor rope. I didn’t get it stopped before swimming under and around the top of the anchor rope, but for some reason, the fish then swam to the surface and I was able to quickly swoop the net under it before it had the chance to fully submerge again (somehow). That was the stroke of luck that I had been looking for, for 3 seasons. The fish tipped the scales at 54.8 pounds. It ate a tiny bluegill that I was reluctant to even use, but sometimes fate doesnt care what you have to offer. That will be a night that lives in my mind forever. Went to fish, didnt have any expectations and set my new Pb.”