Losing big fish

[Al Agnew]

It doesn't bother me as much as it used to when I lose a big fish.  Sometimes just hooking a big one makes my day.  Getting a good look at it is special.

But darn it, sometimes I'd really like to actually hold the thing in my hands.

I started fishing in Montana in 1996.  Mary and I had visited the state previously, to go to Yellowstone Park to photograph wildlife, but back then I could have counted on the fingers of one hand the number of times I'd been fly fishing, and I'd never fished for trout in Montana.  I'd met a guy a few months before who was big into fly fishing, and for whatever reason, he invited me to go with him and another guy to fish the Yellowstone River.  Our guide for the trip turned out to be a great guy as well.  Fast forward all these years since then, and Tom my fly fishing buddy on that trip, and Tom the guide on that trip, are two of my best friends in the world.  So it was extra special for us to get together today for a trip on the Yellowstone.

The river has been much higher than normal for this time of year.  It usually flows about 1600 cfs until the snow melt starts sometime around the first of May.  But lots of melting low snow in the watershed have raised it this year, and it has been steadily flowing 3500 to 4000 cfs ever since we got out here last week.  It's murky, visibility about 18 inches, but fishable.  Yesterday was a warm day and the Mother's Day caddis flies are beginning to appear, along with sporadic and sparse hatches of baetis and March brown mayflies.  The hatches on the Yellowstone always begin far downstream and work their way upstream.  So when we were deciding where to float today, the consensus was to float downstream of Livingston.  So we met at the Montana Cup coffee house, and toddled across the street to the Beanery for breakfast, and called in a shuttle from the Pig Farm to Springdale.  It was a cool, cloudy, somewhat windy morning, and we were in no hurry to get on the river.

We put in, and Montana Tom, the former guide, offered to row the raft.  Missouri Tom took the front of the boat to nymph fish, knowing that I'd want to throw big streamers and I prefer doing so from the rear of the boat.  Three old friends, all completely understanding each others' fishing preferences and tendencies.  It wouldn't matter what the fishing would be like...20 plus years of fishing together and the chance to do so again was the important thing.

But Montana Tom said as we slid the raft out into the current, "You guys need to be on your A game right off, because the next few hundred yards are going to be good water."  So Missouri Tom and I immediately came to full alert, ready to fish to the best of our ability.  Missouri Tom scored first with a nice cut-bow, about 15 inches, on the nymph.  He'd just released it when a 17 inch cutthroat took my streamer.  A few casts later, the twin of that fish was added to my tally.  Missouri Tom caught a rainbow.  And then we were out of the good water and the fishing slowed.  Oh, we kept catching fish now and then.  We stopped at a "riffle corner", a spot where there was a nice eddy alongside a fast riffle that would hold fish, and after the three of us fished it thoroughly, I offered to take a turn at the oars.  Montana Tom caught a couple nice rainbows on nymphs, but the fishing was pretty slow.

The day progressed, full of the kind of banter and conversation that goes on between good friends.  The sun came out for a while and it got warm.  Then the clouds thickened and the wind picked up a bit and it got cool.  Montana Tom took over the rowing duties again.  I had switched to fishing nymphs, but caught nothing.  So I switched back to a streamer.  The river was really moving at that flow, and streamer fishing consisted of Tom keeping the raft within about 20 feet of the banks, while I cast right up against the bank, concentrating especially on tiny eddies between rocks or below little shoals.  I got a couple of good strikes but missed.  Then I made a cast between two beach ball size rocks in just a foot of water, and a big, brassy side flashed as a brown trout rolled over the streamer.  I had the fish on for a while, long enough to know it was a very good fish, but never got a good enough look at it to know whether it was a 20 incher or considerably bigger.  And then it came loose.

Streamer fishing, even at its best, is not a numbers game on the Yellowstone, but I love it because when the conditions are right it's your best chance at big fish.  So while Missouri Tom continued fishing nymphs, I kept throwing the big, rabbit hair streamer, what our friend and guide Sam Potter calls "meat and potatoes".  I got several strikes that failed to hook up, and finally boated an 18 inch brown.

Then we stopped at another riffle corner, and suddenly fish began to rise.  The March browns had been showing up occasionally throughout the day, but now they had become a bit more consistent...maybe a couple floating by every few minutes, and it was enough to get some fish interested in them.  The Yellowstone March brown is a rather large mayfly, maybe a size 12, dark in color.  These were just now emerging, popping to the surface, and the wind was drying their wings quickly, so they'd only float a few feet  before taking to the air.  The trout were trying to snatch them before they took off.  There were at least a dozen fish rising in that eddy, and Missouri Tom got every one of them to take his imitation, though he failed to hook half of them.  They were rainbows and cutbows, 12-15 inches.  Montana Tom and I spotted rises for him instead of fishing ourselves.

Then it was back into the raft, but now there were fish rising in those little eddies along the rocky banks.  Missouri Tom drifted his imitation through the eddies and got regular takes.  But I stuck to the streamer, hoping for a big one.

There are runs along eroding banks along the Yellowstone that always look as if they could hold big brown trout; deep, fast-moving water, lined with downed trees.  We were drifting along one of those banks, and Montana Tom said that they always look good, but are tough to fish because of the abundant wood and heavy current, and he'd almost never actually caught a fish along them.  He then said that he thought the bank we were fishing was just a bit too fast for this time of year.  And the words were barely out of his mouth before my streamer stopped dead on the second strip, with the somehow live feeling of a fish instead of a snag.  "Or not,", I said as I strip-set the hook.   The raft was moving quickly downstream.  My bit of slack line immediately disappeared.  I felt the fish shake its head, then it drove hard for the middle of the river, and there it held, the drag on my reel screaming.  Montana Tom slowed the raft as best he could.  I pumped the rod, the fish surged the other way, upstream.  Then it turned and came toward me.  I gathered the line, but it was still a good 30 yards out.  It stopped, held once again.  There was simply nothing I could do.  I couldn't move the fish, even to bring it with the current.  It just didn't want to leave that spot.  Tom got the boat into an eddy.  I couldn't get the fish coming my way.  It was like a swimming log.  

Then the hook pulled out.

I never saw the fish,  but on the Yellowstone, a fish that strong is invariably a big brown trout.  How big?  Who knows?  Maybe it's best I didn't see it.  The mystery remains.  The fish lives on in my imagination, and grows in my mind.  And...that's fine with me.  But I sure would have liked to see it.

Right afterwards, dark clouds rolled in, the wind shifted to the north, and the rain began,  The rises stopped, and luckilly we only had a half mile to go anyway.  We loaded the raft in a steady rain, and headed for Livingston.

It had been a good day, but not one that would have lived in our memories forever like some...except for that mystery fish.  I sure would have liked to touch it.

 

 

T

[Mitch f]

I had a big bass at the BBB take me under the dock at LOZ  and just spit out the hook, there was no turning him.

[snagged in outlet 3]

I had two hybrid stripers on the fly rod a couple weeks ago and never could turn them.  Both stayed pinned into the backing then, POOF, gone.  Hook pulled out.

[Brian Jones]

Losing fish bothers me period.  Doesn't matter the size or situation or if I'm fishing a tournament, fun fishing with a partner or fishing by myself.  Once the hook has been set and the fight begins, I want to be the victorious one.  Always get that same knotted stomach feeling when I lose one.  Kinda like each time I miss on a deer or let one get the better of me.

[Seth]

The only fish that I recall giving me a feeling like that was a huge trout I hooked off of the dock at Lazy Valley on Taneycomo years ago. We aren't sure how big it was (probably not as big as my current PB 27" 10# rainbow trout that came from Taneycomo), but it was definitely a big fish. It broke the surface once and looked gigantic! After peeling a bunch of line off, it finally started heading towards me. I thought we were finally going to land this thing! Well due to my lack of skill at fighting fish at the time (I think I was around 10), the fish made a dash under the dock and got me wrapped up on something. If that happened nowadays, I'd just shove the rod down in the water as far as I could. The fishing method and gear was far from glorious as I was fishing an air injected night crawler on a Zebco rod with the double trigger guard handle and a Zebco 33 push button reel with 6# Stren Magnathin, but I still remember that fight like it just happened yesterday instead of around 20 years ago.

I did lose a 4# Gasconade largemouth in my trolling motor last year during a tournament. Aside from that, I really don't recall losing many big fish at all during my fishing career.

[Greasy B]

Losing fish is often... usually the most memorable part of a trip. The experience is so common for me I can hardly recall the biggest, most disappointing of them. But I do have a couple that my brother lost that I'll never forget. The first was a big brown he hooked on the White River. We drifted over the steep drop of just above Crooked Creek when his rod tip jerked into the water. At first I thought no big deal I'll just turn on the trolling motor, hold the boat in place while he deals with the fish. It looked like a good plan until the fish swam over the drop off and started through long gravel flat upstream. Dan did his best to turn the fish but the gavel flat is hundreds of yards long and the fish seemed to panic. This was black in the day when we would bring down our beater 9.9 hp. outboard and rent river jons. The motor was terrible about flooding if you didn't pull, choke and sweet talk it. I must have done something wrong, the thing wouldn't start we had no chance unless we could chase this fish. Two thirds of the backing was out of the reel when it was obvious he'd have to try to turn the fish or risk losing the line. 

The other was in southern Illinois. We were having an hoot pulling big bluegill off of deep beds with our spiders. The biggest bass either of us had ever seen took a hooked gill and all heck broke loose. We have this happen fairly often but this dude would let go of the bluegill maybe it was wedged in its mouth or the spider hook got a grip on a piece of jaw bone. After several jumps and nearly netting it a couple of times a stunned and glossy eyed 8" bluegill poped out. Probably would have been the fish of a lifetime. 

[snagged in outlet 3]

I'm one for 12 with tarpon on a fly rod.  Saw them all eat the fly too.

[trythisonemv]

My dads favorite story about smallmouth fishing is one of these stories. Every year we would wade the. Niangua countless times and we would hear dad regale us with the story of this love that lay across the river. This log was not an ordinary log however. It pushed into a deep hole with swift water pass the end and dropping off into the hole. Each time he would wade up to this tree as he knew it to be the spot where fish layed to congregate and feed.  He would catch fish there all day adjust enjoy the river. The one nice summer evening he was fishing said tree with a jig. ..brown and orange or black and yellow whichever he was using and he hooked into a leviathans. It ran into the deep hole then it would run back to the tree.  He realized it was a giant smallie and he got excited.  Then the fish would proceed to jump the log and leaven his jig stuck in the log . this happened every year for many years and dad never got the fish in. I loved that story more than the ones where he landed a big one. Eventually log washed away and tube story seemed to disappear into the archive.  

[ozark trout fisher]

Here is my best "the one that got away" story. 

 I'm on the Uncompahgre River in southwest Colorado, and it's near the end of a long trip out west. The fishing has been okay; I've caught plenty of fish that on the smaller, less known streams in the area would have been worth talking about. But this stretch of tailwater is known for one thing; the presence of a number of absolute pig browns and rainbows. And I'd still not found one. I'd given up on it, was totally fine with the smaller rainbows and cutthroat, when all of a sudden it happened. Indicator goes down, set the hook, and there is just this dull weight on the end. I thought it was the bottom at first but nope. He started swimming downstream, towards about a 3-4 foot tall rock dam. It soon became clear that this was not an ordinary lunker; this guy was in the 8-10 pound range, for a guy like me, the unquestioned fish of a lifetime. I became painfully aware of the diameter of the tippet, and the certainty of what would happen if I let this fish get any further downstream.

I waded out deeper, trying to redirect the fight to calmer waters. The Uncompahgre, while not near as intimidating as some western rivers, is still plenty big, fast, and cold. And if you are not thinking about that while fighting a huge fish you are liable to lose your footing and start filling up your waders. That's what happened. I lose my footing, get drug down to the lip of the rock dam, while my big brown is in the same spot laterally but 3/4 of the way across the river. My feet were braced against one particular boulder on the rock dam, all-too aware of the probably not deadly but definitely super painful consequences of going over, while still really not wanting to lose this fish. I took one deliberate step after another, crossing the river while braced against the lip of the rock dam, moving towards my now mostly stationary fish of a lifetime. I could see him clearly now, a brown, at least 30 inches, and I'm being conservative because this is on of my few "big fish" stories that does not require exaggeration for full effect. 

The brown didn't appear any more interested than I did in going over the dam, and I figured if I could get a little bit closer I could probably close the deal, and figure out how to get to shore later. 

And then it happened. I was getting really close, starting to think about grabbing my net, and bringing him in the last few feet. The line went slack. It hadn't broken, somehow. Hook hadn't even straightened. Just slipped out, the same way it could have if it had been an 8 inch brookie. That somehow added insult to injury. 

Defeated, I managed to limp my way to the opposite shore and pull myself out of the water. 

I look up, and there is an old fishing guide type standing back about 20 feet laughing himself half to death. I ask him how much of that he saw, and he just grinned and said, "Enough". 

[Flysmallie]

Good story OTF.

I've lost big fish all over the place, but I've landed my fair share too. Now days it just cracks me up like that old guide, but it still takes a while for me to get over it. The latest was a big bow on the NFOW. I didn't get it on video but the audio of the event tells the whole, very short, story. The audio is a bit muffled because the GoPro was in it's waterproof case. It's probably a PG-13 for language.