PIKEWISE: A NORTHERN PIKE STORY
It was a situation to which I’m sure you can relate. Just when the anticipation of an upcoming adventure reaches a crescendo, ol’ mother nature steps in and mocks ye little plans. In this case, a cantankerous nor’easter had blown buckets down on western New England that week, quite literally raining on our parade. In this case, it was our much anticipated fall Pike trip on a river in southern Massachusetts – 2 nights and 3 days of fishing, canoeing and camping in classic New England fall foliage. A few of us had been there a handful of times before and the experiences left only hunger for more. Stories of 40” pike in this relatively small river left us giddy with excitement as we waited for summer doldrums to give way to cooler temps and, that’s right, pike fishing baby.
As our date approached, we helplessly watched the weather report as torrential rain washed away our excitement and water levels on the river bypassed what we would have generally considered to be the “way too high, we’re better off in a bar” point. With our canoe & camp gear packed before heading to work on Friday, we debated within our 4-man chat group as we pretended to work diligently on things work-related. Do we go for broke in search of the giant pike of our dreams, all the while embracing the very real risk of floating fish-less chocolate milk at 8000cfs? Or do we graciously accept defeat? A couple factors made this decision particularly difficult. The first – none of us have a ton of experience on this river – at least not enough to know what pike fishing is like at flows of this level. Could high flows push pike and prey into back channels and flood lands creating a productive “fish in a barrel” situation? Probably not but, maybe? As I’m sure you know, until you can speak from experience cultivated by repeated trials and error, you never really know how a river will fish in certain conditions. All we could do is replace actual experience with conjecture and our best educated guessing – a very unsatisfying exercise to undertake at our office desks, within a 4-person chat group. And the second factor, not to be understated, was that none of us strong-willed diplomats could seem to agree on a plan B.
After a full work day of repeatedly pressing the “refresh” button on the USGS flow data website, we had finally come to a bittersweet plan. Eric and I, having an easier commute to the river, decided we’d wait out the weather one more day, sacrificing the overnight camp experience in order to let things on the water settle down now that the precip had passed. Greg & Kevin, lured by the possibility of steelhead on the ends of their lines, decided they were going to make the most of a full weekend and promptly booked it to the far reaches of northern NY to fish the Salmon river.
It was a crisp fog-laden October dawn as Eric & I met up just outside a sleepy town in southwestern Massachusetts. After a quick shuttle-drop at the take-out we loaded up and clambered in the USS EB&T, an Old Town 16 foot two-seater steady enough for a man in the bow to stand and cast with minimal but sufficient confidence. With that, it was the official start of my first pike fishing-on-the-fly trip.
I was piqued and eager to try my hand at the sport after hearing previous stories and seeing pics of this humbling prehistoric beast that prowls, immense as it is stealthy, the calm backwaters and marshlands in this serpentine river. It barely moves, waiting for the exact moment, to explode like a submerged grenade in one swift discharge of kinetic energy released upon it’s poor unsuspecting victim. After situating ourselves, Eric began my Pike 101 Tutorial. When I first got a look at the flies, images of shark and marlin tackle came to mind. The good news about these hefty things is that the weight of the fly alone is enough to render a simple water-loaded “flop cast” as quite effective most of the time. This is good news when you’re looking at a full 8 hour day of casting something equivalent to a wet gym sock tied to a metal leader. Click here to learn how to tie pike leaders.
As we made our way down the meandering flow, there wasn’t much action to report. The effort became real in trying to reassure ourselves that the day was early yet. Gradually, we found that as the river began to widen, stagnant pockets became more prevalent and eventually our luck turned. You see, pike like dead water. Not slow, dead. It’s where they’re allowed to sit stockpiling energy, waiting to unleash their lethal explosion upon the unlucky, wounded or naive that happens by. On a relatively narrow river like this, casting into the pockets made by downed trees/boulders and into the still water of bigger eddies and marshy banks will produce. Eric got the first action about 2 hours into our trip. As we’d come to find, the moment never fails to provide a next-level jolt of adrenaline to set the pace for the ensuing fight. In this case, a well placed cast upstream to the mouth of a small feeder stream resulted in a subsurface explosion, the likes of which I’ve never experienced while trout fishing. Eric began the play as I began the furious back paddling against heavy current. We were cruising along with the immense current at a good clip and this fish had plenty of fight. In the case of this bruiser, he wanted to take the fight to some dead fall that was sweeping up large amounts of debris from the water just downstream of the take. As we continued on down around the bend, my efforts could only slow the inevitable as our trajectory pulled the line into the submerged dead fall. Needless to say there was a lot of exasperated sputtering of both words and non-words as I wrestled with the current and Eric with the snag. Eventually, after getting the boat to the bank, I was then able to paddle back up to the tree where Eric’s line was now buried. We mourned as we mentally tallied the score; Pike 1, EB&T 0. As we contemplated cutting the leader off versus reaching into the merk in hopes to wrestle the fly free, there was a wiggle on the end of the line. At first Eric wasn’t sure if it was his imagination. Then more wiggling. Are we still in this game? Rolling up a sleeve, Eric plunged a fist into the merk with renewed vigor hoping to jimmy free the rig with fish still attached. Sure enough, to our astonishment, we were back in the middle of the river free from the dead fall and with a fighting fish on the line. Finally, after a roller coaster battle for the books, we landed our first pike of the trip – a nice solid 32” spiny tooth.
After pictures were taken and abundant high fives were given, the fish was freed and our pulse rate gradually normalized. It was now my turn to put principle to practice. Assuming position in the bow, I gradually honed the “flop” cast needed to get the squirrel carcass of a fly to my desired target. As luck would have it, after an hour or so, my first fish was on. Just below the mouth of a tiny feeder stream, a violent thrash of water erupted much like the first. With my best (read: overly zealous) strip set, a fish was on and my fight with a hefty cold blooded & toothy tube of muscle ensued. It was a rush to feel the raw power of the prehistoric beast transmitted from the end of the line. This feature only became more apparent up close as I supported its weight in hand for a quick pic – the intricate pattern of spots and camouflage coloring resulting from millions of years of evolution at work is truly magnificent to see up close. This, in combination with the thrill of the hunt left one hell of a catechol buzz – it was an experience that reminded me of my first experiences catching trout on the fly for the first time years ago.
Thereafter, our luck only continued. As the river gradually widened, Pike holding water became more abundant. In the end we netted 7 healthy river pike as we made our way through vibrant fall foliage that lined one of the most picturesque New England streams there is. It wasn’t the epic canoe camping 40+ inch pike trip we had initially set out for but it was certainly an experience that encompassed many of the things I’ve come to crave and seek most in life; profound natural beauty, the thrill of engaging in a novel yet grounding experience with a good friend and, of course, the chance to interact with one of nature’s most formidable freshwater predator species. Forgive the pun, but I’m hooked.
AUTHOR
PIKEWISE: A NORTHERN PIKE STORY
It was a situation to which I’m sure you can relate. Just when the anticipation of an upcoming adventure reaches a crescendo, ol’ mother nature steps in and mocks ye little plans. In this case, a cantankerous nor’easter had blown buckets down on western New England that week, quite literally raining on our parade. In this case, it was our much anticipated fall Pike trip on a river in southern Massachusetts – 2 nights and 3 days of fishing, canoeing and camping in classic New England fall foliage. A few of us had been there a handful of times before and the experiences left only hunger for more. Stories of 40” pike in this relatively small river left us giddy with excitement as we waited for summer doldrums to give way to cooler temps and, that’s right, pike fishing baby.
As our date approached, we helplessly watched the weather report as torrential rain washed away our excitement and water levels on the river bypassed what we would have generally considered to be the “way too high, we’re better off in a bar” point. With our canoe & camp gear packed before heading to work on Friday, we debated within our 4-man chat group as we pretended to work diligently on things work-related. Do we go for broke in search of the giant pike of our dreams, all the while embracing the very real risk of floating fish-less chocolate milk at 8000cfs? Or do we graciously accept defeat? A couple factors made this decision particularly difficult. The first – none of us have a ton of experience on this river – at least not enough to know what pike fishing is like at flows of this level. Could high flows push pike and prey into back channels and flood lands creating a productive “fish in a barrel” situation? Probably not but, maybe? As I’m sure you know, until you can speak from experience cultivated by repeated trials and error, you never really know how a river will fish in certain conditions. All we could do is replace actual experience with conjecture and our best educated guessing – a very unsatisfying exercise to undertake at our office desks, within a 4-person chat group. And the second factor, not to be understated, was that none of us strong-willed diplomats could seem to agree on a plan B.
After a full work day of repeatedly pressing the “refresh” button on the USGS flow data website, we had finally come to a bittersweet plan. Eric and I, having an easier commute to the river, decided we’d wait out the weather one more day, sacrificing the overnight camp experience in order to let things on the water settle down now that the precip had passed. Greg & Kevin, lured by the possibility of steelhead on the ends of their lines, decided they were going to make the most of a full weekend and promptly booked it to the far reaches of northern NY to fish the Salmon river.
It was a crisp fog-laden October dawn as Eric & I met up just outside a sleepy town in southwestern Massachusetts. After a quick shuttle-drop at the take-out we loaded up and clambered in the USS EB&T, an Old Town 16 foot two-seater steady enough for a man in the bow to stand and cast with minimal but sufficient confidence. With that, it was the official start of my first pike fishing-on-the-fly trip.
I was piqued and eager to try my hand at the sport after hearing previous stories and seeing pics of this humbling prehistoric beast that prowls, immense as it is stealthy, the calm backwaters and marshlands in this serpentine river. It barely moves, waiting for the exact moment, to explode like a submerged grenade in one swift discharge of kinetic energy released upon it’s poor unsuspecting victim. After situating ourselves, Eric began my Pike 101 Tutorial. When I first got a look at the flies, images of shark and marlin tackle came to mind. The good news about these hefty things is that the weight of the fly alone is enough to render a simple water-loaded “flop cast” as quite effective most of the time. This is good news when you’re looking at a full 8 hour day of casting something equivalent to a wet gym sock tied to a metal leader. Click here to learn how to tie pike leaders.
As we made our way down the meandering flow, there wasn’t much action to report. The effort became real in trying to reassure ourselves that the day was early yet. Gradually, we found that as the river began to widen, stagnant pockets became more prevalent and eventually our luck turned. You see, pike like dead water. Not slow, dead. It’s where they’re allowed to sit stockpiling energy, waiting to unleash their lethal explosion upon the unlucky, wounded or naive that happens by. On a relatively narrow river like this, casting into the pockets made by downed trees/boulders and into the still water of bigger eddies and marshy banks will produce. Eric got the first action about 2 hours into our trip. As we’d come to find, the moment never fails to provide a next-level jolt of adrenaline to set the pace for the ensuing fight. In this case, a well placed cast upstream to the mouth of a small feeder stream resulted in a subsurface explosion, the likes of which I’ve never experienced while trout fishing. Eric began the play as I began the furious back paddling against heavy current. We were cruising along with the immense current at a good clip and this fish had plenty of fight. In the case of this bruiser, he wanted to take the fight to some dead fall that was sweeping up large amounts of debris from the water just downstream of the take. As we continued on down around the bend, my efforts could only slow the inevitable as our trajectory pulled the line into the submerged dead fall. Needless to say there was a lot of exasperated sputtering of both words and non-words as I wrestled with the current and Eric with the snag. Eventually, after getting the boat to the bank, I was then able to paddle back up to the tree where Eric’s line was now buried. We mourned as we mentally tallied the score; Pike 1, EB&T 0. As we contemplated cutting the leader off versus reaching into the merk in hopes to wrestle the fly free, there was a wiggle on the end of the line. At first Eric wasn’t sure if it was his imagination. Then more wiggling. Are we still in this game? Rolling up a sleeve, Eric plunged a fist into the merk with renewed vigor hoping to jimmy free the rig with fish still attached. Sure enough, to our astonishment, we were back in the middle of the river free from the dead fall and with a fighting fish on the line. Finally, after a roller coaster battle for the books, we landed our first pike of the trip – a nice solid 32” spiny tooth.
After pictures were taken and abundant high fives were given, the fish was freed and our pulse rate gradually normalized. It was now my turn to put principle to practice. Assuming position in the bow, I gradually honed the “flop” cast needed to get the squirrel carcass of a fly to my desired target. As luck would have it, after an hour or so, my first fish was on. Just below the mouth of a tiny feeder stream, a violent thrash of water erupted much like the first. With my best (read: overly zealous) strip set, a fish was on and my fight with a hefty cold blooded & toothy tube of muscle ensued. It was a rush to feel the raw power of the prehistoric beast transmitted from the end of the line. This feature only became more apparent up close as I supported its weight in hand for a quick pic – the intricate pattern of spots and camouflage coloring resulting from millions of years of evolution at work is truly magnificent to see up close. This, in combination with the thrill of the hunt left one hell of a catechol buzz – it was an experience that reminded me of my first experiences catching trout on the fly for the first time years ago.
Thereafter, our luck only continued. As the river gradually widened, Pike holding water became more abundant. In the end we netted 7 healthy river pike as we made our way through vibrant fall foliage that lined one of the most picturesque New England streams there is. It wasn’t the epic canoe camping 40+ inch pike trip we had initially set out for but it was certainly an experience that encompassed many of the things I’ve come to crave and seek most in life; profound natural beauty, the thrill of engaging in a novel yet grounding experience with a good friend and, of course, the chance to interact with one of nature’s most formidable freshwater predator species. Forgive the pun, but I’m hooked.
AUTHOR
