Snatching victory from the bowfin of defeat

Submitted by Mike B on Sun, 07/19/2015 - 21:05

I was sitting at the edge of the dock contemplating what could've been, what should've been, all the lost opportunities and stupid mistakes I had made that had denied me my lifer bowfin, when suddenly the line from my rod shot out a fifth time.

Was this really going to happen? Was this redemption or yet another turtle or Ontario fartknocker pike, another pulled hook and fish lost within my grasp?
The rod bent sharply as the line screamed out toward a wall of weeds. It was time to make a move. I picked up the rod and struck back about as hard as I would dare on my light Shimano travel rod. The head of a giant cobra burst instantly from the surface of the water as the three-foot long prehistoric beast catapulted upwards.The quick strike hook combo held as the fish thrashed topwater yet again but then dove into the impenetrable forest of weeds below.

"Oh my God! Where is it?" I screamed as the sickening realization came over me that I could no longer differentiate between the pull of fish and the heavy mat of plant life.

I gingerly tugged at the line, not at all sure whether a bowfin would emerge or just a gigantic clump of fishless weeds to confirm my defeat. By and by, the throbbing pulse of hateful resistance told me there was more than just weeds at the end of my line. I carefully pulled the creature toward me and then it was free and angrily chomping at the surface once more.

No net, and inappropriately equipped to handle such a devilish fish, the most precarious part of the battle was yet to come. How on Earth am I going to land this thing? I wondered. Twice the previous night I had managed to pull bowfin from their weedy redoubt, including a monster that rivaled in size the northern pike I've caught up north but they were lost at my feet as I struggled to bring them somewhere where I could safely land them. This time though the fish was far enough out that I was able to angle it around an awkward arm on the dock and steer it toward the most friendly looking shoreline available -- a muddy bank abutting a manicured lawn. I jumped in with the fish as soon as it hit shore and tackled it up the bank as the bowfin tried to slither back into the water.

By now, the commotion had attracted family who had gathered with me for a week-long stay in cottage country on this sheltered bay of Lake Ontario. My wife came running with the camera.

"I did it!" I shouted, holding the fine specimen aloft, a fish no one else among my clan knew existed until a couple days before when I finally figured out what the hell it was that kept splashing around the dock.
It was 8 a.m. In another three hours our stay would be over and we would be on our way home, having quite literally snatched victory from those bowfinian jaws of defeat.

I wasn't expecting I would be writing a report about this trip. This wasn't really supposed to be a lifer expedition. This was a family vacation, going to the beach, water slides, horseshoe contests, and maybe a little fishing when the little ones were asleep.
Fishing this summer until now has been a total write-off. My home in the Northwest Territories is yet again gripped by drought and forest fires and fish have been hard to find. I boated 80 miles round trip May 31 to catch one lake trout, so I had no reason to anticipate a fishing odyssey for the ages during my two-week family trip to Ontario that bagged eight lifelisters, some of them notoriously difficult and which had previously brought me to despair. My last cottage trip two years ago where I did much more fishing netted me exactly one new species, a rather modest golden shiner.

My run of success began on the fifth day of our trip. It was my one day that week dedicated to fishing. My dad had originally arranged for us to go to some lake on a military base near his house, presumably for the usual bass and panfish. Those plans were scrapped, however, when we learned the military planned to do live weapons testing that day. Fortunately, there was a plan B. Ken, some of you whom I sure know who I'm talking about, had offered to lead me for a day of lifelister hunting with his friend Matt. My old man was game so off we went for a three and a half hour drive from his home of Meaford, Ont., down near the Niagara region at the border with New York state in search of the elusive grass pickerel -- a very rare fish in Canada.

The rain began to pour within an hour of arrival, and only beat harder after parking and walking to our location. Dodging poison ivy and pitfalls dug by muskrats we made our way to a skinny, brown stream strewn with deadfall. The rain was crashing down around us and I was worried about how my old man would hold up standing on the shore of this sodden swamp.

A few casts rose a flash of movement or two from the depths of the stream but numerous obstacles proved frustrating as spinners got snagged on low-hanging branches and were lost. Retying in this damp stream-side jungle took up valuable time. We were all soaked and anxious to get the pickerel so we could get the hell out of there. I retied another spinner but the tentative bites from before had vaporized to nothing. Another snagged and lost lure caused me to cry out in frustration. Ken said he had never been skunked at this location before but this was beginning to look like a day for firsts. Retying yet another leader took even longer with my fingers wet to the bone. This time I attached a small jighead with a white rubber curly tail, knowing how often rubber swim baits save the day when the pike won't co-operate up north. A few casts in the direction of a weeping willow across the shore produced a bite halfway through my retrieve. I yanked the fish toward me, not believing it was a pickerel until the telltale duckbill of a pike and a tear drop under the eye confirmed this very special lifelister was at hand.

It would be my only fish from this stream. Ken quickly caught two more and I briefly had another one on the line but the one fish would have to be good enough for me. We were wet and it was time to leave.

Those might be tears of joy on my face but it's probably just rain

Fifteen minutes later we were at another Niagara tributary where the plan was to make a quick try for rudd before driving further north and to the west for northern sunfish.

Ken didn't seriously expect us to catch any rudd, owing to their fickleness and only occasional presence. But soon pods of good-sized fish were sighted swimming to and from the foot bridge we were standing on. Matt dropped a worm and quickly hooked and landed a small rudd, which dramatically increased our confidence. True to form, the rest of the cruising rudd, especially the larger ones, didn't show the slightest interest for the worms we showed them. We caught plenty of sunfish, including some of mysterious lineage. There was a fleeting hope that these were some wayward redears that had made their way over from Lake Erie owing to their prominent snouts but an ichthyologist friend of Ken's threw cold water on that theory, surmising that these fish were in fact some form of pumpkinseed hybrid.

Mystery sunfish more than likely just a pumkinseed X

Eventually, a few rudd began to show some keenness for the worms, and I was able to pull up a small one.

With that mission complete, we hightailed it to our next location two and a half hours away for northern sunfish near London, Ont. The first stream we tried was flooded and milky but the second was clear and showed instant signs of life. I threw out a worm under a float and immediately hooked a minnow I haven't encountered before. The striped shiner wasn't much but I'll gladly add it to the list.

The real target were the northern sunfish undulating at the edge of the current. The neon blue edges of their fins gave them away. Matt hooked up first but then I followed up with a spectacular bull male in full mating dress.

This fish deserved the face

After a few more fish and 14 hours on the road with two more to go before home it was time to leave. My dad didn't do a whole lot of fishing but he was very impressed with the lifelister chase.

"I wish I thought of it when I was younger," he remarked before heading home.

In any event, Ken seems to be a source of controversy on this site on which I won't dwell. All I can say having met him a couple times now is that he is very generous and intensely passionate about fish and fishing, and I am very grateful he led me to some very hard to find fish in Canada.

Two days later my wife, daughter and I were off to spend some time with her family at a cottage in the Bay of Quinte area of Lake Ontario. My brother-in-law Corey was excited to do some fishing and we were pleased to learn the cottage came with a battered but serviceable 14-foot Lund. All we needed was to rent a motor. The obvious target in this shallow, weedy stretch of water was largemouth bass.

Roughfish member Eli recommended I should toss out some cut bait for bowfin but I admittedly did not take his advice that seriously at first. My hope was to catch a longnose gar with him later on this trip but I hadn't really considered bowfin. I assumed they were relatively rare in these parts and hard to find.

I initially didn't put a lot of effort into fishing, worried that my obsession would overshadow our family get together. I caught a few bass, took my daughter fishing for panfish and got a lifer I missed the last time we were here, the brown bullhead, which I quickly learned are easily caught if a worm is cast to the bottom after sunset.

After a few days at the cottage everybody was wondering what the heck was splashing around so much at the end of the dock. Some creature was lurking in the lily pads nearby, splashing loudly as it breached. I surmised, not knowing one way or another, that they were carp, or maybe some bass. It was not until Wednesday night that we learned for sure when several of us watched a fish rise to suck air at the surface five feet from the dock. There was no doubt in my mind what it was after discerning the unmistakable eyespot near the fish's tail.

"It's a bowfin!" I excitedly exclaimed.

"A what?" said someone else.

Read any fishing guide for Bay of Quinte and it will make no mention of bowfin but there was no doubt in my mind now that this bay is full of them. I was kicking myself for not realizing that sooner. The next day we set out in the afternoon with renewed purpose. I researched the best I could on methods to catch bowfin but still felt utterly clueless.Corey caugfht a decently sized channel cat.

In a bay across from our cabin I cast a rubber frog toward the reeds, hoping not to catch another stupid bass. I caught a silly little pike and then my other brother-in-law Jez shouted he had a fish on. I recognized it instantly as a white bass, a fish I had caught previously in Manitoba but had no pictures.

I decided to give up the frog for a while and tied on a spinner. Soon the bottom of our boat was a flopping mess of silver-sided fish. I wanted to pursue bowfin but the other guys were happy that we had some meat for the dinner table. I ended up filleting the fish later, finding it easy to clean and like everyone else, was happy with the way they tasted. I can't figure out for the life of me why there are so poorly regarded with no limit on them.

Later on, in a very bowfinny looking little bay I was casting the frog again when something struck. Yes, a bowfin! I thought. Uh no, try one pound dink fartknocker pike. Jez was still casting the spinner, catching more weeds than anything else, when suddenly he had a fish on. My jaw dropped as it neared.

"Fuck man, that's a bowfin," I shouted, a beautifully coloured male with an eyespot and brilliant green fins.

Jez, who has a keen mind but is not a particularly consistent fisherman, was intrigued. I was burning with envy and thus tied on a spinner myself. A short while later I felt a small nudge and watched as a baby bowfin of about four inches try to consume my lure.

It was desperation time so I suggested we head back to the dock and try and wrangle some bait to catch bowfin.

Of course, the tiny panfish that had been so common around the dock previously were suddenly scarce. I caught one tiny little guy and fished out the white bass carcasses from the trash to carve off some strips. I skewered a piece through a 2/0 octopus hook, made a three-way rig and tossed it out. I was surprised more than anyone else when less than 10 minutes later line began peel from my reel.

I've hooked some big nasty fish before but even I was surprised by the viciousness of the fight. The fish tore off into the lily pads and then rolled at the surface. It was a damn giant bowfin, I'm guessing more than 40 inches long. Eventually, the fish tired and came to the dock in front of an anticipating crowd, oohing and aahing as the monster approached. But there was no where to land the damn thing and Corey was still reeling in other lines. I got it halfway around the dock when suddenly the bowfin lunged upward and spat the hook.

I collapsed to the dock in shock. Images of previous failures with longnose and Florida gar filled my head. Great, another prehistoric fish with a bony mouth.

I scrambled to put another rig together, stupidly choosing not to improve the design out of desire to get the bait in the water as soon as possible. Again 10 minutes passed, and the line began to peel once more. I struck back, felt the fish for a moment but the line went slack. I reeled in the rig to find the 40 lbs mono of the hook line had been chewed through.

I start over, and cast again only a few feet from the dock. By now the sun had completely set and all was dark. Again a fish began to bite. I waited patiently for it to run before setting the hook. This time a pretty male similar in size to the fish Jez caught came to the dock, and as before I had no great way to land it as no one thought to bring a net. I decided to risk pulling it the foot or so from the surface up to the dock. Bad idea. The hook popped instantly.

Swinging at the fences, in the dark

At this point, I'm a heaving wreck. I don't want to play Balderdash, I don't want a game of Sequence and another piece of cake. I want a damn bowfin. I found myself alone on the dock where I had one more mystery take, a turtle and then a pike. Reluctantly, at around 1 a.m. I retired, cursing this species that was fast becoming a white whale.

My wife recommended I get up early before we had to pack and leave and give it another try. I thought about trying to put the fish out of my head and forgetting about it. I didn't even come here to catch bowfin. Unable to sleep, I did get up early and tied my rig patiently and right and got my bowfin. No one was more happy than my wife who knew how miserable I would've been if I hadn't caught one.

I literally floated back to her mom's place in Ottawa where I had unfinished business with another dinosaur piscian. Four years ago, on one of my first outings with Eli, we tried for longnose gar on the Ottawa River. It was a great day for gar fishing. The sun was high, the water was calm and the fish were easy to spot in the water. I only had a few hours as I was due at a wedding later in the afternoon. Still I hooked five gar ... and lost every single one of them.

Eli and I met Friday late afternoon. Conditions were the exact opposite. Rain poured from the sky and our evening outing was a bust. Saturday morning it had to be but the forecast was only marginally better. We drifted into the spot where the water was a rippled mirror. Nonetheless, Eli spotted a gar quickly. I cast to it with a small minnow under a float which began to instantly dance. But when I tightened nothing was there. An hour passed. We saw a couple fish, some big fish, but because visibility was so poor we were almost on top of them and they spooked. Near the center of the lake I spot something hovering at the surface and cast toward it. The float shot down immediately.

"That's not a gar," Eli announced.

Sure enough, after a few minute tussle a fair sized channel cat appeared. A nice fish but not our target.

Then, almost at the point when desperation began to set in and a couple bad casts that spooked fish, I spotted a gar at three o'clock 15 feet away. This time my cast was perfect. The gar charged, I waited an instant, then tightened and struck home.

Every time I catch a fish like this my appreciation for it rises a 1,000 per cent. It's one thing to dream about a fish but to actually see it and hold it is something else entirely. I will savour this trip for a long time to come.

Longnose gar success at last!

As we were leaving the bay a shadow in the distance caught my eye. I made a bomb of a cast and Eli and I were both surprised to see the float begin to jiggle. An even larger gar to end the trip. I don't have a clue why its tail is missing.

Species List:

Bass, Largemouth
Bass, White
Bowfin, Eyetail
Bullhead, Brown
Catfish, Channel
Gar, Longnose
Pickerel, Grass
Pike, Northern
Rudd
Shiner, Striped
Sunfish, Northern
Sunfish, Pumpkinseed

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Graceclaw

Sun, 07/19/2015 - 23:02

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Snatching victory from the bowfin of defeat

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