9-09-09 The Rest of the Story

And now, the rest of the story...

There were probably three passes of line left on the reel so I had to do something. I reeled down and really started leaning on the fish with all the rod and line could take. I gained about three feet. I did it again, gained three more feet. The fish rose and surfaced. It was nearly at the rubble break wall that harbored the south end of Milwaukee. I yelled to Alex and pointed to the swirl, almost too far to see at this point. He thought it was funny and made some type of comment about who hooked who here.

It wallowed on the surface out there, probably ready to be netted but now it was 200+ yards off shore. I tried to gain line but the fish just seemed to plane to the north as I pulled. It wasn’t really fighting anymore, just using it weight to resist. The more I pulled the farther north it went. After five or so minutes of this it started to run again. I think she had been resting and was getting a second wind now.

I hadn’t really gained much line and was still was dangerously close to being spooled. If she was going to head north I had a chance to follow her. I called to Alex that I was going to chase her. He waved and said to take the net, but I grabbed a gaff that I had in the back pack instead. I knew I had to travel about 100 yards of rock and rubble till I could get to the beach and carrying a big net was out of the question. I asked Alex to watch my gear and bike. He waved and kept casting.

Like a mountain goat I hopped from rock to rock moving north with the fish. I had to keep up a steady pace since I had no line to give. Luckily I knew this hundred yard random pile of rubble as well as the sidewalk in my back yard.

I made it to the beach under the bluff and now I could travel along the water’s edge. For those of you that know this area, I was now about 100 yards north of where I hooked the fish and due east of the Cousins Center. It was a relief to move along the beach. In fact I was able to jog north and gain quite a bit of line. I was feeling pretty good at this point.

I had ridden the bike path above the bluff in this area a million times, never really going to the edge and looking down. My travel was interrupted by some type of storm water out-flow structure that I had never noticed before. Now what, I thought to myself. It was a huge pipe shrouded in more rubble. There was little flow coming out of it, but going through the water wasn’t an option. Previous flows had cut a deep trench in the beach that was too wide to hop over and too deep to walk through. While I surveyed the situation, the fish continued to take line. Slow and steady, but it wasn’t stopping.

I had no choice but to climb this thing too. There were more rocks and rubble and a bunch of thick soupy mud on top. Even from the top of the pipe I couldn’t see the fish. It was still too far off shore. I glanced at my watch. I didn’t know exactly what time I hooked the fish, but knowing when I left the house and how long it took me to get there I knew I had been hooked up for about 40 minutes at this point.

I continued to follow the fish north. No obstructions now. I looked up on the bluff and I knew I was east of St. Mary’s High School. I could see the Texas Ave pumping station. The boats moored to the north of the pumping station were all out by this time of the year, but now I started to worry about all the mooring rigging that was left in the water all winter.

Still moving north I was now at the far north end of the pumping station apron. I was almost an hour and easily a mile from where I started. I kept following the bike path north but now I was beginning to think that this was crazy. I also started to wonder if Alex was staying with my gear and how I was going to carry this fish back a mile if I did land it. Alex was always kind of a “fish for an hour” guy and I was figuring he probably wanted to leave by now. I’m sure he never guessed I’d be gone this long.

By now I am about two blocks north of Texas Ave. and no closer to landing this fish than I was an hour ago. The fish starts running east again and I swear it senses the gap in the break wall right there because it is running straight towards it. Enough is enough. Someone is going to win right now.

I tighten up the drag and grab the rod between the handle and first guide to get more leverage. I pull and the fish never budges. The drag loads up and then lets out a scream. I tighten it a couple more clicks and pull again. I felt a few head shakes and then nothing. She had won. I was soaked with sweat under my winter coat, tired and disgusted. I figured the line had broken but as I reeled in the 200 yards of line I had out I felt something on the end of it. As it approached, I could see my Tadpolly. I reeled it up and took a look at it. It was fairly new at the start and now it looked like you gave it to a dog to chew on. It had scratches and tooth gouges everywhere. The front hook was smashed flat. The rear hook was gone. All that was left was a mangled twisted split ring that held the rear hook. That’s what finally failed.

I was a long walk back to the power plant and Alex was still there casting his Krocodile spoon. He raised his hands out gesturing, where’s the fish. I didn’t even know where to start the story so I just showed him the lure. I gathered up my stuff and headed home.

The "big one" eluded me the rest of that year but it made me want it even more next year. I spent the winter feeling jinxed and rehashing the battle in my mind over and over. Could I have done something different? Heavier tackle? A bigger reel? A more powerful rod? No, probably not. This was just one of those supertankers that wasn’t going to be landed by some kid standing on shore.

I really loved Lake Michigan shore fishing up till that point. After that it became an obsession. Thirty five years later I still can’t get enough.

“Why shore fishing” is a topic that I’d like to get into next. It has nothing to do with boats, I have two of them. It’s about one-on-one and the challenge that I have recounted in this story.
I don’t know how big that fish was. I trust Alex’s guess at 30 pounds or more was pretty close. Fortunately, I did have the opportunity to land three or four legitimate 30’s since then so that day in November 1976 didn’t haunt me forever. It made me want it more. Thinking back, maybe I’m glad I didn’t land that fish that day.

For now, tight lines and smooth drags...

Marc