trapped inside a mouth full of daggers, and one dark eye. “JESUS…”
My startled yell set him off and he was gone deep below the boat. My rod bent completely around under the boat, and the same tension on my reel that I used to drag the kayak upstream was now spooling off line like dental floss in the hands of a savage hygienist. I kept trying to get my rod on the same side as the fish, but no sooner would I get it around the bow than he’d change direction below me and spin the boat again.
“FISH ON, GET THE NET!” I screamed into the fog.
Now completely spooked, the muskie wasn’t at all interested in getting near the surface or my mango kayak. I finally tightened the drag a few more clicks and was able to put some line back on the reel and slowly bring him to the edge of the boat. We had figured out a technique with
the three ‘skies we’d landed yesterday that was much the same as the one Vic and Rhino used to land the shark, with- out beating it upside the head. Landing a muskie in fishing kayaks is a two-per-
son job. The assistant floats up beside the fisher with the net or just a spare set of hands and scoops the fish out of the water. With my fish now at the surface and my helpers paddling like mad, but still hundreds of metres away, I was faced with landing this monster myself. I’d read that muskie teeth aren’t like those of sharks or piranhas, the purpose of which is shearing flesh. Muskie teeth are extremely sharp and numerous but used only for holding on to their slip- pery prey. Knowing this didn’t make me any more enthusiastic about grabbing the leader and dragging the meanest of all freshwater fish onto my lap. I had him to the surface beside the kayak a couple of times. He was easily the length of my legs, which I figured I’d use to pin him to the deck. Grabbing the leader I lifted his flat ugly head out of the water.
Staring into his dark, evil muskie eyes I considered my options. Landing the largest fish out of the Petawawa River, maybe even Ontario, would certainly increase my macho angling status in tackle shops around the world and doing so solo in a fish-
ing kayak would certainly add to the lore. I’d be famous. I’d never have to buy drinks in marina bars; I’d have my own TV show and people would read about me online, like I had read about Vic Van Wie and his world-record thresher shark.
On the other hand, I thought of poor
Dan Droessler and his leg with 60 stitch- es. His muskie hangs in the hospital ER reception area in Dodgeville, Wisconsin, with a sign under it that says, “Man-eat- ing fish.” I realized that being admitted to the hospital with a pissed off muskel- lunge latched to my genitals would also make me famous but do nothing for my angling (or manly) reputation. I gently lowered my muskie back into the water and opened the bail on my reel giving him all the line he wanted. About 30 feet away he hit the surface, shook the hook at me and was gone.
When the guys finally arrived with the net, I was reeling in the last few feet of line and my scarred blue Rapala. They asked what happened.
“Just snagged on a log,” I explained. The End
NICE FISH , IAN. 28 // Early Summer 2005
GOOD FISH , PAUL.
BEAUTY FISH, MARK.
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