November Fishing Story Contest

[niagarangler89]

Best story (voted by you) wins a prize from Saugeen Rods & Fly Tying!

You're going to have to bring your A-game to the table if you want a chance at winning this month's contest because we already have two top-notch stories!

The deadline to submit an entry will be when voting begins on November 27th.

Looking forward to some more great stories! Everyone really seems to be stepping it up and it's awesome!

[niagarangler89]

Well, armed with his 18" spiderman fishing rod and a container of minnows, my little guy decided it was time for him to come fishing with daddy. Just turned 3 a week ago.

Hook on a lively shiner and he hits the bail release. About 30 seconds later the rod is bouncing and he's cranking. Up comes his first ever fish.

After jumping around in excitement and diving back into the minnow pail, we get his line back in the water. This time, the rod really pumps. Epic battle on the 18" rod, had to hold the rear strap on his life jacket so he didn't go for a ride. Cranked him all the way in, and daddy lipped him.

He wasn't a happy camper when it was time to leave, he said he wanted to catch more fish.

-kevin

[niagarangler89]

One More

The Steelheader's Refrain

By this time, during colder years, the rivers would long have been abandoned—no longer would the banks be lined with the feverish activity that marks the fall-run angling spectacle. By this time, the seemingly fallow rivers would be inaccessible and favourite pools frozen and anglers would already have made their seasonal pilgrimage to the sweeping white deserts of hard water. As this year however nears its' end, and much to the delight of hardened, passionate steelheaders, there is still much open water to explore; you think, "one last outing—one more." On an extended season such as the one we have been enjoying however, one knows how protean the conditions can be. With the steelheader’s devil-may-care attitude you set out with anticipation in search of that one last headshake by angry steel, despite the trepidation of what the elements and conditions might bring.

As always (exacerbated by age unfortunately), the alarm chimes too early. I stumble through the dark, fumble with my base-layers, a cacophonous dropping of keys, step on the dog, and kick over a stack of books at the bedside—with a quiet curse under my breath this melee is, of course, at frustrating odds with the planned-for stealth which would otherwise have carried me unnoticed out of the house and into the thick atmosphere of early morning.

It's colder (predictably) than the 5 degrees C the weather reports promised as I throw the remaining kit into the back of the car. There is the nagging

feeling something is missing as I scan the gear but have to make haste for the obligatory detour to Tims. Then onto the highway, accompanied by Chet Baker, for the meditative pilgrimage to the first pool of the day that has stood out in such stark relief during the dreams of my fitful sleep. I arrive while it’s still dark; a bitter cold blast gives me pause to consider whether this steelhead obsession is pathological (I look longingly back at the seductive warmth of my heated car seats). I slide quickly into my waders and cold-weather gear, and that nagging feeling I felt leaving several hours before, suddenly, and with terribly lucidity attains a denouement as I stare at the (empty) space where my 6-weight 11 1/2 foot switch-rod was supposed to be. With grammatical irony—in order to marshal some levity I say, "well, there it is…gone…." I groan, though fortunately, under the vests, wading jackets and dross of previous outings, find the new fly equipment I bought my son some weeks before.

Thankful for this turn of fate I made my way down to the packed-snow, ice-covered banks. I note that the water is off-colour to the extent that I can expect a tough day of mining chrome. A local tells me that the river had been frozen over—only the day before, with the slight rise in temperature, had the ice cleared. This report didn’t fill me with much hope as it suggested the fish would likely have been pushed back to the lake. “You're here,” I say, “so make of it what you can.”

My every step breaks through the thinning layer of ice over the pack snow and sink mid-thigh making for a challenging slog. It gave me pause to consider that even bush whacking with a 10-foot rod to the pool was perhaps the lesser of two evils. I push on, wade across a section, big step up to a snow shelf and catch my boot under the ice…I fall foreword and needing to save camera and fishing gear, break the fall with my left hand. I didn’t make much of the pain until some moments’ later look down to see a profusion of blood running down my hand. So much for the warmth I had conserved as I plunge my hands into the frigid waters.

Onward, I finally make my way to the first pool—the water is up, and deeply stained so I opt for a bright Estaz to elicit some interest while the water slowly clears. After some hours and a plethora of patterns, tactics and presentations the breakfast hour chimes and finally the graphite telegraphs some good hard taps. The air and water temperatures have risen a little and I am thinking that I may have located that elusive fish. This is cold weather, late-season fishing—I target slower and deeper water, tail outs and structure where fish can better maintain their body temperature and conserve energy.

Eventually, the indicator hesitates—hangs up a moment longer—I lift the rod tip and am immediately rewarded with the slow throb that is the telltale, lazy head shake of a late-season steelhead in frigid water. A couple of short runs, and some belligerent bulldogging, and an exquisitely painted buck gives into steady pressure sliding gently into shallow water. As devoted steelheaders it’s what we wanted—one more rush before we have to shut it down.

Winter comes and you dream again; dreams populated with the flash of chrome, with steelhead that elude you, break you off, those that offer up their fighting spirit—angry steelhead undressing your reel and pushing your gear to the limit, offering your imagination fodder for the dark months until the countdown begins again...

Thanks for reading everyone...

CC

-chasechrome

[blairwelsh]

2 Great stories so far!

Kevin's has a simple narrative with Million dollar Smile.

Chase's is more shakespearian ( Meloncoly, tradgedy, surreal settings, conquest) ... complex

Havent picked a "winner yet"

So far... we all win

lol

[DaveC]

Im wondering if someone has the ability to top these two stories? When pictures are included it just makes the story come to life. The little kids smile says it all....

And those pics in ChaseChromes story are amazing. The wording is that of a writer. 2 great stories so far.

[ChefMick]

"Not A Fish Tale" this is a true story about guts, glory and attention to details (or my lack there of)!

A few years back, I get word from a friend of mine that Carlile creek is a good spot to fish for pike. So like any decent fisherperon does, I go scope out the creek shortly after a long days work. As im parking my car for this investigative trip I notice that the variety store on the corner sells worms. "Hmmm...worms? really? must be for the kids", I say to myself quietly. Arriving at the creek, armed with a Timmies coffee and a pair of polarized glasses I begin to hike along the banks, watching the current, making mental notes of eddies and back pools and start thinking pike; I start wondering if pike are here, where do they come from...Mountsberg Res'? Binbrook? cant be Lake Ontario. Well my next day off I give it a shot.

Now in my opinion fishing is great no matter what, however I find it much more enjoyable with friends and family. So I start making some calls. After some convincing and maybe a bit of pleeding, the group is set. My wife, her brother and his wife and yours truley. Pack up the gear and some lunch and we all decide to meet at 7 a.m. on a very beautiful Tuesday morning. We arrive at rivers edge 15 minutes later most of the rods already rigged for pike, some with spinners and spoons, mine texas rigged with a white tube. I hear from behind me my wife yell "I'll be back in a bit, going to get some worms". I kind of chuckle a bit and return the comment obligingly.

As of now my brother in-law is over on the far bank already casting, I decide to go on top of the bridge to see how clear the water is, and to my surprise it was very clear, a perfect view of the bottom and all of the structures lying beneath the surface. I know decide to cast my favorite tube against the current letting it fall in the silt and with a few quick jerks start retrieving it up to the surface. This goes on for about 45 min and then I get a hit. First fish of the day ended up being a small but nice pike about 19 inches. Release her back to her haven, give it a few minutes and return to casting only to get snagged and lose my terminal tube and the leader.

Now its time to retie but my gear is with my brother in-law. Walking over the bridge, looking down into the water I see something strange, something large. I ask my Bro' to come and check it out. "dude that log was not there an hour ago", I say. His reply was that I was dreaming, "logs dont just appear out of nowhere". I shake my head and go tie on some new tackle. On the way back to my spot, I notice that the log had moved slightly. What? cant be. Now I'm really freaked out so I start staring incescently at it...and then it moves again! "OMG this is the biggest pike i have ever seen, this thing could have fin wrestled a descent muskie and won fins down. So what did I do? Of course try to catch it. I throw everything in my arsenal, in front of it, behind it, across it, ON IT JUST TO TRY AND PISS IT OFF AT LEAST!! To no avail, it just lies there. My wife comes over so see what all the commotion is and sais "Did you try a worm"?...I reply "ummm Nooooo..".so she tries her shot at the mighty beast, again with no results. I take the worm off of her hook and throw it mere inches away from its head and say " just my luck this think will crush it 'cause its not on a hook". With a gentle flick in the worm goes with a gentle ballet of sinking to the soft silt below...lying lifeless on the bottom of the river it waits, and then a few seconds later it starts wriggling and sure enought the pike nails it...

In my calmest shouting voice I gently scream to my wife " Give my your rod and grab a worm! Please, for the love of Pete, please!

In the same fashion, I gently hook the worm only once and repeat my previous steps landing it in the pikes vision.

The now prescious bait starts its decent to the river bed and lands stretched out like a juicy morsel of goodness.

3....2....1...the worm starts its enticing dance.

3....2....the pike sees it and sucks it into its mighty gape!

3....2....2 and a half....SET THE HOOK! SMASH GOT IT!!!!!!!!

3....snap....lost it!!!

In all the years of fishing, my heart has never wanted to jump out of my chest like it did in those few precious moments. That pike was a wall mounter and I may never again see a more beautiful and big specimen again, but when I do.....

I most certainly will check to see if the rod I'm using has a leader on the end of its line!!!!!!

[blairwelsh]

Great Story ChefMick!

Very well written and told.

I have caught many Pike with worms. (Smart Wife! lol)

World's Greatess Bait! Cant go wrong.

Good luck with the contest... still all winners if you ask me.

[DaveC]

Great story Chef....

[Seanook]

^{Some years back, A bunch of buddies and I decided to head to Algonquin for some camping and fishing. I believe it must've been May 24 weekend as there was still ice in spots on the water. There were six of us and three canoes. A few of us left late and when we arrived we were greeted not by the smiling faces of excited buddies but the sight of our Friends staring out at the lake with a look of bewilderment, confusion and a touch of horror upon their faces. As we turned our attention to the direction of their gaze and our eyes adjusted, a peculiar scene was definately unfolding about 15 metres from shore. There, on the thin ice, with one rope tied to him and another in hand, was our buddy Bryce. He was kneeling down on all fours gagging and trying to keep his sweater over his mouth and nose with his shoulder while trying to tie the rope in his hand to what appeared to be a stump sicking out of the ice.}

^{"What the hell is he doing" One of us new arrivals asked one of the original gawkers.}

^{"You don't wanna know". Was the unanimous reply.}

^{((((((((("HEY, BRYCE. ARE YOU NUTS?.....THE ICE IS TOO THIN")))))))))}

^{Bryce gagged again and waived us off. He continued wrapping the rope around the protrusion in the ice.}

^{"Dude. He's insane" .......That's a Moose!"}

^{"A WHAT?"}

^{"A moose dumbass"}

^{It was a Moose!......How he spotted it and why he was trying to retrieve it were still a mytery but we were dumbfounded. Squinting a little I could now make out the shape of the ass end of a Moose that must have fallen face first through the ice.}

^{A yell from Bryce's direction came echoing " Help me haul 'er in boys".}

^{"He's a madman. What the hell is he gonna do with it?."}

^{"He wants the rack"}

^{"Oh man. I ain't explaining that one to the MNR"}

^{"It was dead when he found it"}

^{"Still.......Not smart"}

^{((((((("WELL........IS ANYONE GONNA HELP?")))))))))}

^{After unanimously deciding He was on his own and relaying that message as discreetly as we could yell it, Bryce came sloshing back to shore and promptly tied the rope to his car.}

^{We tried.......Oh Lord did we try, to get him to abandon this excercise in bush taxidermy. He was not hearing a word, He hopped in his Civic, angled it just so, aaaand.........slowly creeped forward. The line became taught and our heads swiveled back and forth between the Civic and the Moose. For a moment it seemed as though the line would snap or the tires would spin. He gave it a little extra gas and all of a sudden the Moose seemed to break free!}

^{Well Break free it did. as soon as Bryce thought it was loose he picked up the speed and took off, Dragging the Carcass right up on shore and to onto the gravel........Half of a Moose anyway.}

^{It was hideous!. It reeked!}

^{Bryce was beside himself. Visibly dissapointed, he walked right up to it and began to inspect his catch.}

^{"Well. Who's got the saw" He chirped.}

^{"For what?"}

^{"A hoove"}

^{"You're an idiot"}

^{To make the rest of the story short Bryce didn't get his Moose Hoove and about two hours of argument ensued. We were forced to help him move the carcass away from our camp.......And then decide to move camps all together.}

^{The smell of dead Moose was in the air everywhere we went for the rest of that trip. Bryce decided that just giving his mitts a wash in the lake while he was the canoe was sufficient enough. He never quite got the stink out of that Civic either.}

[niagarangler89]

There are four excellent stories this month. Choosing a winner will be no easy task. Best of luck to all contributors, and thanks again for posting your memories.

**Contest is now locked for the month**

Voting begins today.