There's No Place Like It... part 5

Esox Lucius

My brother once spoke of a mythical fish he named 'Lucius.'  This is one he 'almost' caught; he espied it after his lure, from a distance at sunset, mouth as big as a volleyball.  Like a Yeti or the Easter Bunny, Lucius was spoken of in whispered tones almost always beginning with, "There I was..."  All fisherman have a Lucius, I suspect, whether he swims in the waters under the boat or the torrents of the imagination.  Lucius is the one that got away, the one you almost caught and most almost certainly never will:  In other words, the biggest fish you'll ever see that will cause a change of pants if you ever snag it. 

Esox Lucius is the taxonomic term for the northern pike.  Thus, for my brother and his mythical representations of piscetology (study of fish), Lucius is his dream fish.  The northern pike, otherwise known in some fishing circles as the American pike, common pike, Great Lakes pike, grass pike, snot rocket (because it's an extremely slimy fish), slough shark, snake, slimer, slough snake, gators (due to a head similar in shape to that of an alligator), jack, jackfish, Sharptooth McGraw, Mr. Toothy, is one of the most voracious predators in the cold waters of North America  and Europe.  When we travel to Canada, these are the very fish that we seek, and, thankfully, they aren't really that hard to find.

Esox - from the Celtic word for "Great Fish" and Lucius from, well, I don't really know because Wikipedia didn't give me that information, is a fish of dreams.  Northern pike generally grow to a size between four and twenty pounds (2 and 9 kilograms) and a length between 20 and 44 inches (40 cm and 116 cm).  These fresh water sharks (my terminology) are known for their predatory hunting methods.  They lie in ambush, amidst the weeds, only their tail and gill fins moving gently in the water, until something swims along.  Then, with their tail bent, they unleash a fury of movement explodes (normally) at the surface.  Grabbing their prey sideways with their large back teeth, they flip the fish (or lure) so that it enters the throat headfirst.  Northern pike are not really picky about what they eat (kind of like teenagers).  They've been known to ingest frogs, mice, small ducks, of course small fish, but there are even reports of finding pike which have choked from attempting to swallow another fish of the same size. 

We don't normally hang our feet in the water.

Thus it feels like every time we float out onto the water, there could be an opportunity of a Captain Ahab hooking into Moby Dick.  (I thought about reading the story once.  Just once.)

One bright, sunshiny (not to be confused with a previous use of the word 'sunshine' in another fishing story a couple of years ago), a Wednesday, to be exact, Vikki (my triplet sister) and I went to the boat house to rent a boat for a few days.  It never works to have too many people in the boat; for the most part, people get their lines tangled, the fishing area is too small for those in the middle of the boat, or worse yet, someone, by an errant cast, will get a treble hook through their scalp.  So, we rented a little fourteen foot aluminum craft with twenty horse motor.  Because the motor is disproportionately small to the magnitude of the lake, we knew that we would have to leave half an hour before my brother and Matt in order for us to have any good fishing at all.  Matt and Ryan both had bass boats with growling 100 plus horse power outboard motors.  They can jet across the lake at forty miles per hour, arrive at the fishing holes in minutes whereas Vikki and I would have to monotonously putter, motor whining at us (instead of growling), and take forty-five minutes to arrive.

At the dockhouse, we selected our life jackets and fishing net.  At first the dockboy, Steve, wanted to give us a paltry little walleye net.  I shook my head.  "No, no, Steve," I said with chin crooked between the forefinger and thumb of my right hand.  "We're going to need that one," I said as I pointed at a net that looked as if it could ensnare a small elephant.  I could tell that Steve was laughing at me as if he doubted my fishing skills.  I would show him wrong.  Most assuredly, I would make a believer out of the Doubting Stevie.

"Are you sure you don't need a pickax," Steve replied while his face was turned away, "Sometimes those big fish need a whopping before you try and put them in the boat."

My sarcasm detectors raged.

I took the net from Steve and scurried down to the boat to secure our tackle. 

Fishing rods:  check (three of them, because if I were to catch Lucius, I'd have to bronze the pole where my brother could see it every day of his life)
Net:  check.  It's mesh was catching on the oars, but no matter.  Lucius would not get away.
Lures:  check.  Northern pike will attack anything even a Suick which is an eight inch piece of wood with three treble hooks in it painted in brilliant colors.  Or, fishing spoons - brightly colored lures of all hues.  Northerns attack these like no other.
Life jackets:  Check.  Not that we wear them.  When you battle fish like I catch, a life jacket gets in the way.  The only reason I might wear a life jacket would be if it was too cold.  I still probably wouldn't wear it because then the rest of the males would think I was weak.
Stringer:  check.  It was likely that Lucius wouldn't fit on a stringer, but just in case we caught any fish that were under fifteen pounds, we could bring those home for the family to eat.  That's what Vikki and I do - we're providers.
Coffee:  check.  We'd be out there a long time, not just fishing, but driving the boat back and forth.

I pulled the cord on the engine and it roared to life.  It took a little bit to find the release lever to lower the motor into the water but fortunately Steve was the only one who saw me struggling.  Staring at me with Esox-like eyes, he shook his head.  Vikki hurried down the small hill, past the horseshoes pit, pushing ducks out of the way - on a mission.

"Are we ready?" she asked spitting some of her blonde hair out of her lips. 

"Yup, push us off.  Get in." 

Vikki attempted to push the boat out, but let's be honest; she weighs about a hundred pounds and I've already gained five in two days.  I had to get out.

"Alright," I said, hopping back in the boat, "Now we are ready."

We exited the small lagoon where the boats are moored and thrust our sturdy craft out into the wide blue of Lac de Mille Lacs.  It was a glorious morning; the sun had risen warm - not hot - but a perfect temperature for a ride on the lake.  It was lucky that I was driving because I was wearing the same clothes I had been wearing for three days.  Is it not a fisherman's good luck charm to actually smell as bad as the fish? 

The beauty of the day helped me to ponder how magnificent the Canadian lakes are.  Sometimes it even seems to me that they are windows into God's soul, that somehow, if you look deep enough into them, you could see the beginning of time, the joy of God's hands in the reflection of the sky, the...

"Don't hit the submerged rock," Vikki said as much to herself as me.  We've had problems with rocks who hide just under the surface making mincemeat of engine props.

"I got this," I said confidently, but in reality, since I hadn't been to Canada for a while, I was a little shaky as to the route I was supposed to take.  I didn't let Vikki know this and as it would take us roughly thirty-six hours (or so it seemed) for our fourteen foot boat with twenty-horse motor to get to the fishing hole, I'd have time to adjust course and pretend that I was sensing where the rocks were.

"Just be careful," Vikki stated pushing her chin lower into her sweatshirt to keep her neck from the wind.

We skimmed the waves, bouncing slightly.  The drone of the motor kept us company as we looked around at the amazing scenery; the dotting of islands, the bald eagles circling above, the loons diving here and there when we approached at our rapid pace.  Then, after almost thirty minutes of boating, our fishing hole arrived.  To start the day off we were going to attempt to catch a different type of fish - small mouth bass.  This was a warm up fish, like when my brother-in-law Warwick tries to catch fish.  He cleans out the minnows before I catch all the big ones.  That's what happens with inexperienced fisherman like Warwick.  I feel bad for him.  Such a big man: such little fishing skills.

We saw the white milk bottle floating above the submerged rock.  Small mouth bass love to hover around rocky areas hiding in the crevices waiting for unsuspecting little fish to wander a long.  The traditional way that we catch these smaller fighting fish is to put an earthworm on a jig and pull it behind the boat. 

So, Vikki and I both strapped a jig onto the end of the line without a steel leader which, in the case of northern pike fishing, is extremely important.  A northern of any size, like a mackerel, can cut through the line with its teeth with the greatest of ease.  I released the jig and worm into the water and smiled at my sister.  She was staring up at the blue sky as if it was the most beautiful thing in the world.  I adjusted my cap that already had stains of fish slime and guts on the underside of the bill.  Then, without warning, the end of my pole leapt.

At first, I thought I had snagged a rock, or a branch, but then, with great amusement, I watched and listened to the line ziiiiiiiiing away from me.  Yes.  A small mouth bass.  But then the unthinkable happened.  The line was pulled down.  Into the depths the jig and its little friend mister worm tracked away from us. 

I swallowed hard.  Small mouth bass don't go to the bottom.  We were in twenty feet of water.  There was only one outcome...

Esox Lucius.

"Vikki..."  She already knew as she was staring at the end of my line.  Just one thing you should know about Vikki; she is netaphobic.  Many years ago she must have missed netting a big fish that someone else had on their line and had become overwhelmed with PTND - Post Traumatic Netting Disorder.  When she put the net in the water, she became very nervous - her hands and arms twitched.  She would giggle and laugh out loud not because she was having fun but that's all her nervous system would allow her to do.   

"I know, Reid," she said.  "I can see where this is going."

"Maybe it won't be that big," I said, and as soon as the words escaped my mouth, Lucius went deeper.

"Just shut up.  Shut up.  Shut up,"  she kept murmuring.

"You know," I said, "I'm only using a jig.  There isn't a leader on it.  You'll have to be very careful."

"I KNOW!" she shouted she picked up the net.  "I JUST DON'T WANT TO SEE IT FIRST!"

I think Esox can speak English, because as she exclaimed the sentence, the fish began to surface.  Like Moby Dick, the monster of the deep came with a background track in my head. 

Dunduh...pause... Dunduh....  (cue the strings from Jaws)  Dunduhdunduhdunduh... and then Lucius broke the surface, all 41.3257 inches of him (I should say her because, according to my favorite Wikipedian source, all fish that size are female), all eighteen pounds of muscle made an appearance.  Vikki's gaze drew to my face, the blood drained from her cheeks and she slowly put the net back in the boat. 

"Not gonna do it," she said.  "You're going to have to net it on your own."

"Come on, Vikki, we can do this.  We'll do this thing together."  It sounded like we were going into the birthing ward at the hospital.  "Just breathe slowly.  I'll do all the work, you just have to catch it in that monstrous net."

"Nope.  I'm going home."  PTND hitting blindly at will.

"Vikki, we can do this."  Lucius made another run tearing yard after yard of line from my reel.  Not great timing but I was having a wonderful time fighting him/her.  Lucius came toward us on the surface and if northern pike had dorsal fins, this one would have sunk the Orca.  Now that he/she was surfaceward, we could see the long rows of yellow spots on his/her sides.  The little jig looked like a dust mote in his/her mouth; one swift swing of his/her head and the line would be severed.

"Help me..."

After about fifteen minutes - it felt like thirty seconds - Lucius began to tire and I dragged him/her to the side of the boat.  His/her eyes gazed up balefully.  Making sure that he was ready to go homeward into the net, I towed him along portside until he/she made no movements.

"Alright, Vikki, now put the net into the water... slowly... and I'll drag the fish into it.  Easy as pie."
With shaking hands, Vikki grabbed the net again.  Reaching over the side she put the net into the water.  The mesh billowed out behind it.  It looked big enough to catch at least a small moose in it.

Then, dunduhdunduh, just as I pulled Lucius closer, dunduhdunduhdunduh, his/her mouth closer to the net...

ziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinggggggggg. 

Oh, sunshine.  I looked at Vikki.  She was almost apoplectic.  "What did you do?" she shouted.  "I thought this was going to be easy!"

"Sorry, sis."  Lucius seemed like he/she was out for a swim in the park.  After a few more minutes of fighting the large snot rocket, I finally began pulling Lucius back in.  Closer and closer, his yellow spots like warning lights, flashing back and forth in the murky water, he came.  I motioned with my eyes for Vikki to put the net back in the water.  I didn't want to say anything just in case Lucius could in fact understand English.  Hopefully, Lucius was French Canadian.  With the utmost care, I guided the nose of the fish into the trembling net.  The bulk of the fish was carefully ensconced in the net while the last inches of his/her tail still stuck out of the mouth of the net. Vikki hefted Lucius with all of her might into the boat where he flopped listlessly and exhausted on the metal floor of the boat.  When he flipped, it sounded as if someone dropped an anchor on the bottom.  I looked at Vikki.  She stared at me.  We whooped and hollered. 

We caught a big fish.  The two of us.  In a small boat with a small motor.  Vikki took a few pictures.  My smile was as big as a monstrous Esox Lucius.    After the photo session, we took the jig out of Lucius' mouth and put her/him into the water.  As if waving his/her thanks to us, the tail moved him/her into the deep to await the next prey that might swim by.  Both Vikki and I sank back into our seats relieved at our good luck.  Some people fish their whole lives and don't see a fish like that.  It was a good day.

We put our lines back into the water and within a few minutes, both Vikki and I had caught another fish.  I fought with mine for about fifteen seconds, a small northern pike again had attached itself on my line.  Then, all of the sudden...

Snap.

My line broke. 

There is a God.