Every once in a while, you set the hook, and something unexpected happens. Instead of the usual slashing modest run of a sunfish, there's this solid, immovable thud of a hook set. Instantly, you know that a very large fish is on the end of your line. On this occasion, I was floating Loy Lake in the jon boat, looking for water deeper than seven or eight feet. I came to realize that there was no "edge" to the weed line-weeds completely filled venerable old Loy Lake, and there was precious little open water. I did find a few seventeen foot deep holes, stashed in my failing memory for summertime jigging. Today, though, I was tossing mop flies in to the unrelenting weeds and slime. After a few hand-sized panfish of uncertain lineage, this dude hit. He bore down in to the weeds, and was reluctant to come out to play. Fortunately, I still had a saltwater fifteen pound leader affixed from my trip to Belize in October. The terminal tackle was up to the task, and the leviathan was wrenched from the weedy depths. I had no net, since I was perch jerking, and finally wrestled the beast to the edge of the boat and was able to hoist him in to the jon with be left arm. Oye. Six, maybe eight or even nine pounds, the old cat was slimy and discolored from his life in the sulphur infused weedbeds of Lady Loy. The fly was down deep in his gullet, so I cut the leader and heaved the old boy back in to the friendly confines of Loy Lake. If ever I am fortunate enough to land a permit on the fly, I can't imagine that the emotion will be any different from this fish. I was shaking, trembling, and totally spent from my encounter with this unexpected combatant. Six weight, thick weeds, no net, (no real camera) and a totally unexpected victory over a sly old Denison denizen convinced me that I was done for the day. I scooted back to the barely serviceable ramp, winched the boat back on to the trailer, and headed back to the homestead on Maurice. (some people call me the Space Cowboy...)
Posts
