A Tale of Two Fish
By: Dave Zeug
In the Upper Great Lakes states, the end of summer marks the beginning of the fall spawning run of German brown trout and salmon. Lake Superior, the biggest and deepest of them all, is a good example of how early the transition from lake to stream fish takes place.
A couple of recent experiences on one of the big lake’s tributaries reminded me of what a friend once said. “If you live long enough, you’ll see everything twice.” After more years of fishing than I care to admit, I experienced a couple of firsts lately involving twice hooked fish. And I doubt I’ll ever see either one a second time.
Brown trout, with their notoriously shy reputation, are the first of the migratory fish to move upstream into the tributaries. Fresh out of the lake, they tend to be more aggressive than after a few weeks in the river, but I didn’t realize just how aggressive they could be until a hot day at the end of July.
I’d just gotten into the river, when I saw another angler drifting night crawlers through the bottom of a long run. We exchanged pleasantries and compared notes. Our reports were similar; fishing had been slow. I moved past him and began working upstream, keeping my offering in the strike zone.
German brown trout are the first species to come into the Lake Superior tributaries in the fall
At the top of the run a fish clobbered my spinner hard. That seems to be the rule when they come out of the relatively sterile Lake Superior environment. If something flashes, their instinct is to eat it. After cavorting around the run for a few minutes, the fish – a big brown I suspected - took me back downstream toward the other angler. I told him I wished I’d brought my landing net, a tool I didn’t think I’d need earlier. He volunteered both his net and his services. I took him up on his offer and worked back across the river to where he waited with his net.
Big trout on the hook on the Brule River.
I could see the fish wasn’t hooked well as it thrashed around in the knee-deep water. One treble hook was barely stuck near his hooked jaw. As I was working the fish toward the waiting net, I noticed how small the net was. When the landing net slipped under the fish, the spinner popped out, and, for what seemed like an eternity, the fish teetered on the net’s rim before dropping head first into the basket. Even then, half the fish still hung over the side.
As I lifted the fish from the net, the other angler blurted out that a few minutes before I arrived a big brown had broken his line. Of course, he wouldn’t mention it earlier – a common trait among our kind when protecting a choice location. I knew my spinner had come out at the last second, so when I saw the #4 short-shanked red hook stuck in the corner of the brown’s mouth, I knew where it had come from. Using my forceps, I pulled it out and handed it to him, asking if it looked familiar. The shocked look on his face told me the answer.
Earlier in the day I never would have believed a big, mature normally reclusive brown would hit two different baits minutes apart, but obviously under the right conditions – like fresh out of the biggest lake in the world – they will.
Brown trout close up.
A month later, on a dazzling late summer afternoon, I was streamside again. As happens during a rainy summer, the lawn badly needed mowing, but before tackling the job I wandered down to check the condition the river. As usual, I brought my spinning rod along for the short walk. Old habits die hard I guess. Although colored, the water appeared fishable, and I knew the rain might have moved some fish into the river system.
From my experience, I knew there was no reason to fish this pool hard at this time of the year. A couple casts will usually tell you if there’s a fish around. Hits come early or not at all. This one came early.
When the fish rolled, I saw it was a big king salmon. After a couple head shakes, the fish took off before I realized my drag was set way too tight. The breaking line sounded more like a .22-rifle report than anything else. The whole episode began and ended in seconds. Dejected, I hiked back to the lawnmower lurking in the woodshed.
A young friend with his first king salmon.
After getting that chore done, I realized I still had time to fish. Suiting up with waders this time, I headed out to work some traditionally good water. A couple hours later I’d drawn a blank and ended up where I started, right back in front of the cabin.
The stick bait I was twitching through the run hadn’t produced, so I launched one last cast across the river before calling it a day. At the end of the retrieve I saw I had snagged a length of monofilament line. I wanted to get it out of the pool, so I grabbed it and began pulling it in hand over hand with no thought of what might be on the other end. I just assumed that someone had snagged up and broken off a bunch of line and didn’t have enough sense to get as much of it as possible out of the river.
You can probably see where this is going already, but at the time, 5 hours after I’d broken off on the king, it never crossed my mind I might know who left the line dangling in the current. Turns out I know him real well.
I pulled the line in hand over hand and then felt unexpected resistance, followed by the line tearing through my hands. I was thankful I didn’t have a finger wrapped around it, because I’m kind of fond of all 10 of my digits.
Finally, the light went on in my head. This was the fish I’d briefly tangled all those hours before. Fortunately when he stopped at the head of the run, I still had about 3 feet of line left in my hand. Tossing my rod on shore, I quickly removed the stick bait attached to the swivel and, with admittedly shaky hands, tied the remnant of the line I held onto it. Then I picked up the rod, slowly reeled in the slack line until I felt resistance, and set the hook on the king for the second time today.
Late summer king salmon caught on Brule River
This time I was prepared. The drag was set accordingly. The fight was a spirited one, but eventually he laid in the bottom of my net with the original spinner still lodged in the corner of his mouth.
It’s been quite a beginning of the fall for a guy who admits he hasn’t even come close to seeing everything even once yet, but I hope in the months to come I’ll experience a few more firsts in our outdoor world.
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