A little over five years ago I caught a
musky on a fly. I know that because after I penned a summary of the
day's grouse hunt into my journal I started reading back on some of
the past entries. It wasn't the first musky I'd ever caught but it was the
first on a fly, and it took a fly that I'd tied myself. Thanks to
that journal I was able to recall the day and if that sort of thing
seems like it could be important, then you can see the value of a
journal.
Up until then I'd been pretty happy
casting size 4 and 6 poppers to smallmouth bass on a six-weight rod.
The rest of my fly fishing consisted of a lighter rod and the usual
trout flies, or at least my rendition of them with what materials I
could scrounge up: feathers from game birds I'd killed and the neighbors chickens, fur from locally trapped animals. For a long time any deer hair I used came from a
taxidermist friend. It was all natural and I couldn't see paying for
deer hair when I could get it free, and who cared about color? I
still don't know much, but I've learned a lot about deer hair since
then.
Scott caught musky fever first and was
tying big colorful flies he called “big birds.” When you first
see one of those handfuls of material plop on the water you have to
chuckle. But after a while, when floating down a backwoods river
known for big muskies, you scrutinize that same fly and say “Oh boy,
that's gonna get bit!”
We were on that river recently. Fall
time – probably the best time for muskies. You take a day off from
grouse hunting and give the dogs a rest. The shotgun is benched and
the big rod is pulled out again. The ten-weight sink tip line ends
with a 30 pound (or maybe 40) leader, a foot or so of wire and a
heavy duty snap. A fistful of hair and feathers that's tied to a hook
resembling something you'd hang your coat on, only much sharper, is
twisted onto that snap. Put on some waders 'cause you might have to
jump outta' the boat to land a fish. Then you're ready.
The fish was prowling off the left
bank, ready to eat. It might have heard the fly hit the water and
perhaps the vibration caused by the hefty deer hair attracted it.
Maybe it was the way the bucktail kicked as the fly was stripped
through the water and maybe the color had something to do with it. At
any rate the musky turned to it just under the the surface.
By now we all know to point the rod at
the fish and strip-set hard when a musky hits. Sometimes I remember
to do it right and an exciting battle is on. Scotty pulled oars to
get us into mid-river away from submerged cover and obstructions
while I enjoyed the happy pleasure of a rod bending strong fish. A
couple times the musky was close but upon seeing net it took off on
another line stealing run. You don't land a musky all that often and
it easy to get over eager, but when the time was right Scott scooped
the fish and I had another musky in my hands. It wasn't a monster,
but any fish as long as your leg is something to see.
That's about when the rain started and
the temperature dropped. We took turns at the oars and talked through
a number of topics waiting for a strike. A couple of small pike
hooked themselves with their slashing attacks but the exhilaration
was short lived and cold rain had us wishing for another layer of
clothes and thinking about a warm fire and glass of whiskey. Scott
asked how many muskies I'd caught on my best day. It was a year ago
that we floated this very stretch and Scott hooked and landed two
nice fish. One musky makes for a good day, two is really good, and
plenty of trips end with none. I've had action with more than one
before, but I've never landed more than one in a day.
Then it hit! Another musky on! I pulled
him from the bank and fought him long enough for Scott to say I was
going to have a two musky day. Out in the middle of the river Mr.
Musky was up and twisting like a snake on a stick before it cleared
the water and left me holding a limp line. I'm convinced these
muskies clamp down on a big fly and just hold on. You strip hard to
slide the hook into their jaw but sometimes you're just tugging the
fish like playing tug-of-war with a big dog. Just when you're
thinking what a great photo it will make the fish merely opens it's
mouth and pretty much spits the fly out. It's happened to me a lot.
Muskies are mean that way.
