Almost Holiday part 2 4:30 pm

Paul started casting toward shore from the front of the boat. I was in the back by the motor. He had a tiny pink crappie jig with a minnow on it. He got a strike and started to reel it in when the fish began to take off.  This was no crappie. He moved around in the boat trying to control the fish. It ran back and under the boat. Paul kept tension on his pole, but had to maneuver around the motor and Don and me as the fish kept circling back. Don and I shouted encouragement but were helpless. Paul kept moving around the boat avoiding the motor, and us.

Then the fish took off racing away from the boat. Paul shouted “We have to follow the fish”.  He was rapidly running out of line, and he only had small diameter line on his rod and couldn’t turn the fish. He told me to start the motor and follow the fish.

I pulled the starter rope, but had no idea how to steer. A tiller steer moves the back of the boat in the opposite direction in which you move it. The wind tended to pivot the boat around the front of the boat. I didn’t understand this. I turned the tiller the wrong way as Paul lurched forward trying to avoid breaking his line. I killed the motor. I started it again, but struggled to go where he wanted. The wind blew my poncho over my head, I couldn’t see or figure how to steer. Paul was excited but kept his cool, giving directions. He never yelled at me as I struggled to help him.

Eventually we got closer to the fish, but the fish repeatedly changed direction. The battle for this fish took us all around that cove.  The sequence of starting the motor , killing the motor, steering the wrong way, turning the other way when Paul or Don told me I was wrong, fighting the wind, and the poncho over my head had to be a sight to see. There were many people out on their moored boats for the Saturday evening. They we sitting on their decks, grilling, drinking beer and watching the circus on the lake. The wind, fish, Paul managing the fish and me fumbling with the boat had to be entertaining. We kept the show going for over 2 hours.  More and more people came out to watch. Eventually Paul brought the fish to the surface before it dove again

 It was a muskellunge (muskie), the largest fish I had ever seen. Muskies are known as “Toothy critters”.  They have rows of razor sharp teeth. Most muskie fishermen use steel leaders because the sharp teeth can cut any line. They are voracious feeders and attack with sudden fast lunges. They can easily pull a rod from your hand. Muskie fishermen use heavy duty rods and fishing line that can be strong as rope. Paul had an ultralight rod and reel. Paul’s skill in tiring this fish was amazing. He kept his cool and let the fish wear itself out. He never pulled hard, but he also never relaxed the tension. This is extremely difficult to do with a large fish and virtually impossible with an aggressive predator. Paul did it for almost 2 hours. After all our fishing and many days on the water, Paul, that day, demonstrated the greatest skill I have ever seen.

After we saw the fish, we tried to figure out what to do next. We had no net and no way to get the fish in the boat. Crappies and bass are grabbed by the lips. That was out of the question. No one would land a muskie without a huge net or a gaff to save your fingers. We had neither, but we had Don.

As the fish finally tired it floated on its side. Paul carefully brought it alongside the boat. Suddenly Don reached both hands under the fish and flipped into the boat. The snapping jaws were next to my feet. I had no place to go so I put my foot on its side to keep from getting bitten. Sticking out the side of the fish’s tail was that tiny pink jig.  We congratulated Paul. The people watching on their moored boats clapped and cheered.

We were tired and 2 hours late to return the boat. We all wanted Paul to keep the fish as a trophy. Unfortunately we had no way to get it home without it spoiling. The only cooler was full of beer still in Sullivan.

We drove back to the marina. A high school girl was waiting for us. Everyone else had left. We felt guilty and hoped she didn’t have a date. The marina had only small coolers for sale. Paul had the fish on a stringer, but the muskie could easily bite through it if it could move enough.  If we put it in the lake it would eventually be gone.

Paul decided the only solution was to keep the fish at the marina and drive for a cooler. Unfortunately Sullivan was closest town with any open business. Paul would have to go back to the hotel, buy ice (the owners wouldn’t have enough trays), and get back. We needed a place to keep the fish. We thought about the big minnow tank.

We then began to triple team that poor girl. We argued we could keep the fish alive in the minnow tank. She was afraid it would eat the minnows. We argued we would keep its mouth out. She relented and we tied the muskie so its gills were in the water and it mouth was lifted above. Paul left for Sullivan and Don and I waited with her to keep the muskie from eating all the bait.

After about 45 minutes, Paul returned with the cooler and ice. We thanked the girl, hopefully tipped her, and loaded the trophy into the car. We were ready for food and beer.

That night is was too late to go out to dinner. With all of the day’s excitement, we decided to eat snacks and drink. We started with beer, and nuts. We switched to Southern Comfort which went down quite smoothly.

We started watching a movie.  The movie, entitled “Skin Deep” starred John Ritter. I am not sure any of us remember the story, however the glow in the dark condom scene is burned in our collective memories.

Our plan was to return to fishing the next day. Unfortunately Southern Comfort, peanuts, and beer make for a very sick next day. After we got up late, we decided it was too cold, or rainy, or something and decided to eat breakfast and go home.

On the way home, there was a left turn to head northwest to Decatur. We were talking and telling stories. Paul, who has absolutely no sense of direction, was driving and turned right. When we reached Mattoon, some 17 miles south east of Sullivan, we decided perhaps we were lost. It was another sign. None of us can recall a fishing trip together, when we did not get lost. Even with GPS, we still turn the wrong way or miss our stop.

Paul had the muskie mounted, and hung it in his rec room. It didn’t survive an errant pool cue from one of the girls and so no evidence exists of that day.

The story of that week-end would be told many times. Eventually different friends decided to accompany us on our annual trip to Sullivan. We had some good times with others. Some of those stories follow. However, nothing has ever replaced that as the greatest fishing time we ever had.