Two-hander bow

(Above: Big bow cow caught and released. This fish looked to have some previous scarring on the side of its face. My guess is that this fish may have used its strength to escape from another angler.)

Out on the lake and I am throwing heavy metal in long distance search cast mode. This is one of my favorite methods when faced with a lot of water both horizontal and vertical. Keeping the retrieve just fast enough for the lure to stay afloat a heavy tug hits the line. The rod doubles over as if I had hooked the back end of a runaway truck and the drag sings out that sweet melody of a fish run.

Truth be told I often lose that one big fish of the day to simple mistakes. One inch of slack or a weak hookset results in horror and dismay. Bringing the fish closer to the boat I expect tragedy at any moment. Mere inches away from my hand the fish runs back to the bottom spinning my reel spool once again. The surge of energy pulled nearly a hundred feet of line and all I could do was hang on while being patient.

Once the surge slows I cup the reel softly with my left hand and do my best to turn the fish’s head back towards me. The fish turns and then runs straight at me. The fish is fast and I can barely keep up with it. Slack starts to form in the line. The old familiar feeling of dread starts to circle me like a flock of vultures waiting for a beast to die.

“Smart fish.” I mutter through clenched teeth reeling frantically.

Lift the rod and the fish is pointed right at me less than a foot under the surface and three feet away from the boat. At this point I think I have the fish on the ropes. One good crank and tug and this fish will be landed. Wrong. All the smaller trout caught this year had lulled me into a false sense of confidence. I had completely misjudged the power of this hefty trout. It turned again and surged downward out of sight. The drag sang out another chorus and the curses rolled under my breath. Back and forth this battle went on. By this time I was convinced that the fish would spit the hook and haunt me in my sleep for years to come.

About the sixth or seventh time the fish zigged when it should have zagged and turned right into my hand. Don was there to grab some great footage. Release the fish and I had to sit there for a few moments trembling in pure jubilation. Just like sun shines on a dog’s butt every so often, this Mattsabasser does catch a big fish once in a while. I never claim to be the best or even a good source for information most of the time. Truth be told I simply love to fish and beastie fin slappers like this are one of life’s sweetest rewards…for me at least.

My name is Matt and I’m a fishaholic.