fishmonger
10-09-99, 09:27 PM
Here is my best fish tale, from when I was a little older than Phlyster, in 1982.
I grew up in a suburb of Milwaukee, and lived half a block from Lake Michigan. The shoreline was beautiful near us, lined with fairly steep, wooded bluffs about 150 feet high. My friends and I spent many, many hours there, fishing and (generally) staying out of trouble. We were spin fishermen, and caught most of our fish casting Little Cleos, Krocidiles, Weber Champs, and other larger sized spoons. We caught our fair share of fish: Coho Salmon, 4-7 lbs; the occasional Brownie, usually when the Lake was rough and muddy; and a lot of Rainbows. My best Rainbow was a 13 pound female caught on a spawn sack, but that is another story. http://www.georgia-outdoors.com/ubbngto/smile.gif
We hardly ever caught a Chinook, or King Salmon, from shore, as they are primarily a deeper water fish, and rarely venture close enought to shore for exposure to our lures. I had never landed one, although had been broken off by one once, and spooled on another occassion. You have never seen 250 yards of 8lb mono disappear so quickly.
Anyway, I moved to California after high school to escape the miserable winters that cheddarheads must endure. I came home to visit for a week a couple of years later, in the summer, of coarse, to see the folks and old buddies. As with Georgia, August is not the prime month for fishing on the Lake, but just for a little nostalgia, I figured I would go down to the Lake for a couple of hours of casting. Since all my good fishing equipment went with me to Cal, I borrowed my Dad's old Garcia 300, with old nasty line, on his old South Bend rod, found a blue and silver Little Cleo in his tackle box, along with a stringer (ever the optimist!), then grabbed a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and jumped on Mom's 3 speed junker for a quick spin to my old haunt.
After casting for an hour at a few of my old, favorite seawall spots, I ended up at the pier at Big Bay Park. Pier is somewhat of a misnomer, it is really just a small breakwater that juts about 75 feet out into the Lake from shore. It starts out about 3 feet above water level, and slopes down to about a foot under at the end. Where its wet it is about 100 times as slippery as a Hooch rock, so smart fishers stay on the dry concrete. There was an old guy there already, and he said that we probobly wouldn't catch anything, since the water was too warm, and the sun too high. I had to agree, but just being able to cast, and soak in the beauty of the Lake was enough for me. After about 30 minutes of casting it was time to go, so I gave myself the old "just one more cast", and on about the tenth "last cast", boy did my luck change.
The second my lure hit the water, some Nessie grabbed my lure, and it was heading for Michigan! It finally stopped after a 100 yard run, and I was able to turn that thing. That was when I got my first glimpse of this fish, just the tail, mind you, but what a tail. Even from over a hundred yards away, there was no doubt about it-a big, square Chinook tail. Well, this fish was just getting started. It ran up-shore, it charged back at me, and it ran down-shore. There was a couple of lovebirds picnicing down the shore from me, and they were pointing and wondering what all the comotion was about. The old timer next to me was flabbergasted, he just kept telling me to take it easy and, what is that fish doing here right now... After half an hour of tug-of-war, I had that fish so tired that she could hardly swim anymore. I led her, like a old dog on a leash, over to the beach, waded in to my knees, stuck my hand under her chin, and slipped a few fingers into a gill, and, whallah, she was mine. I hooted with a war cry that would have made Sitting Bull proud!
I put her on the stringer, twisted it around a stick to make it easier to carry, and headed home. When I got on the bike, I put the end of the stick into my side, just above the belt, and her tail still dragged on the pavement. Cars were honking as I rode home.
Turns out she was full of spawn, and weighed 28 pounds, by far my best fish ever from Lake Michigan. My friends were TOTALLY jealous and pissed! It had been a crappy season of fishing that year on the Lake, and here comes California boy on vacation and lands the Chinook lunker of all time (in our experience, anyway). Of coarse I have the requisite picture up on the wall near my fly tying bench. My Dad still can't believe it.
Phew, thanks for being there for me...
Fishmonger
PS: It figures that Owl handles the Fish Tales section...yuk, yuk
[This message has been edited by fishmonger (edited 10-09-1999).]
[This message has been edited by fishmonger (edited 10-09-1999).]
I grew up in a suburb of Milwaukee, and lived half a block from Lake Michigan. The shoreline was beautiful near us, lined with fairly steep, wooded bluffs about 150 feet high. My friends and I spent many, many hours there, fishing and (generally) staying out of trouble. We were spin fishermen, and caught most of our fish casting Little Cleos, Krocidiles, Weber Champs, and other larger sized spoons. We caught our fair share of fish: Coho Salmon, 4-7 lbs; the occasional Brownie, usually when the Lake was rough and muddy; and a lot of Rainbows. My best Rainbow was a 13 pound female caught on a spawn sack, but that is another story. http://www.georgia-outdoors.com/ubbngto/smile.gif
We hardly ever caught a Chinook, or King Salmon, from shore, as they are primarily a deeper water fish, and rarely venture close enought to shore for exposure to our lures. I had never landed one, although had been broken off by one once, and spooled on another occassion. You have never seen 250 yards of 8lb mono disappear so quickly.
Anyway, I moved to California after high school to escape the miserable winters that cheddarheads must endure. I came home to visit for a week a couple of years later, in the summer, of coarse, to see the folks and old buddies. As with Georgia, August is not the prime month for fishing on the Lake, but just for a little nostalgia, I figured I would go down to the Lake for a couple of hours of casting. Since all my good fishing equipment went with me to Cal, I borrowed my Dad's old Garcia 300, with old nasty line, on his old South Bend rod, found a blue and silver Little Cleo in his tackle box, along with a stringer (ever the optimist!), then grabbed a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and jumped on Mom's 3 speed junker for a quick spin to my old haunt.
After casting for an hour at a few of my old, favorite seawall spots, I ended up at the pier at Big Bay Park. Pier is somewhat of a misnomer, it is really just a small breakwater that juts about 75 feet out into the Lake from shore. It starts out about 3 feet above water level, and slopes down to about a foot under at the end. Where its wet it is about 100 times as slippery as a Hooch rock, so smart fishers stay on the dry concrete. There was an old guy there already, and he said that we probobly wouldn't catch anything, since the water was too warm, and the sun too high. I had to agree, but just being able to cast, and soak in the beauty of the Lake was enough for me. After about 30 minutes of casting it was time to go, so I gave myself the old "just one more cast", and on about the tenth "last cast", boy did my luck change.
The second my lure hit the water, some Nessie grabbed my lure, and it was heading for Michigan! It finally stopped after a 100 yard run, and I was able to turn that thing. That was when I got my first glimpse of this fish, just the tail, mind you, but what a tail. Even from over a hundred yards away, there was no doubt about it-a big, square Chinook tail. Well, this fish was just getting started. It ran up-shore, it charged back at me, and it ran down-shore. There was a couple of lovebirds picnicing down the shore from me, and they were pointing and wondering what all the comotion was about. The old timer next to me was flabbergasted, he just kept telling me to take it easy and, what is that fish doing here right now... After half an hour of tug-of-war, I had that fish so tired that she could hardly swim anymore. I led her, like a old dog on a leash, over to the beach, waded in to my knees, stuck my hand under her chin, and slipped a few fingers into a gill, and, whallah, she was mine. I hooted with a war cry that would have made Sitting Bull proud!
I put her on the stringer, twisted it around a stick to make it easier to carry, and headed home. When I got on the bike, I put the end of the stick into my side, just above the belt, and her tail still dragged on the pavement. Cars were honking as I rode home.
Turns out she was full of spawn, and weighed 28 pounds, by far my best fish ever from Lake Michigan. My friends were TOTALLY jealous and pissed! It had been a crappy season of fishing that year on the Lake, and here comes California boy on vacation and lands the Chinook lunker of all time (in our experience, anyway). Of coarse I have the requisite picture up on the wall near my fly tying bench. My Dad still can't believe it.
Phew, thanks for being there for me...
Fishmonger
PS: It figures that Owl handles the Fish Tales section...yuk, yuk
[This message has been edited by fishmonger (edited 10-09-1999).]
[This message has been edited by fishmonger (edited 10-09-1999).]