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.