Red Licorice
by Teeg S. (Fish Recycler) - May 23, 2007
I had one of those long nights last night, where you have a cup of coffee later than you should and then sit down to catch up on a little work, and then it's 4 a.m. and the birds are singing.
I got the inclination that I might just go ahead and go fishing, but prudence said I'd better crawl into bed for a couple hours, or I'd regret it. Then this passion for fishing won out over prudence, and honestly, I really wasn't tired anyway.
So I kissed my wife (who, in her mumbly sleep-voice, intimated something about a lack of judgment on my part) and popped back up and got dressed.
I threw the tube, the waders, the fins, a PFD, the fly rod strung with a sinking line - and one big, scary red and white bunny fly - into the back of the truck, and pointed south before 5 a.m.
I got to this wonderful little Loess Hills lake and got set up quickly in the dark. I affixed my headlamp and peered into the water, which was gin clear. Drinking water, bathtub, gin, gin clear. I sank into my tube and kicked across the lake to a stumpy flat.
The first thing I noticed in the dark was that I was casting way, way too much fly for my 6 weight rod, and that I should have either brought my 8 weight, or I should down-size my fly. I did neither, but cast in wide loops, in hopes that I wouldn't over-strain the rod.
I cast around in the darkness for a while, enjoying the stars and the surreal feeling of totally abandoning a night of sleep. I heard night sounds and highway sounds and lake sounds. I cast up near shore, and felt the thump-thump, the sound you feel in your hands and arms that is electric.
I set the hook, and in the night light I saw an explosion of white water up near shore, and my rod doubled. Sure that I'd hooked a good bass, I stripped quickly to gain line when I could, and let line go, reel screaming, when the fish ran. It leapt clear of the water out at the end of my line again, and then again, and by the third jump it was close enough to my tube that I saw it's size and I was terrified that I might have on a state record bass, out there in my float tube in the night without a camera.
I reached up and turned on my head lamp, and saw this fish flashing down under the clear water, and then as I got it close, realized what I had. Not a bass, but a catfish - a big, bulldog of a catfish.
I managed to get it up near my tube, where I marveled at it. Once it rolled on its side, and the red and white bunny strip fly laid across it's mouth, making a kind of red licorice smile. It looked as if it had swallowed a cantaloupe, and it was scarily long, as long as my tube was wide. It thrashed and shoved against my tube and banged my legs, and I was sure that it could sink me or spear me, so I grabbed the tippet and swung it 'round with haste, reaching for the fly, and with a head shake, it was gone, parting my leader with it's red licorice smile still on it's lips.
Somewhere at the bottom of a gin-clear Loess Hills lake this morning there will be a red and white barbless bunny strip fly of 6" or so.
I soaked in the moment, and selected another fly. I made a short cast with it and then with a kick, one of my fins came loose of my foot! Knowing from painful experience that those things don't float, I put the light on it and saw it drift mercifully toward the surface! With a feeble kick with my one good peddler, I got a hand on the fin, thanked the Lord, and threw it up on my stripping skirt. I was about 20 yards from shore and it took me half that many minutes to kick over with my one fin, to get the lost one back on. As I stood there, two beavers did that cannonball thing just out in front of me there, warning one another of my presence. I decided that the warning may as well be for me, too. Just as day's light started to illuminate the horizon, I strung up my rod and kicked back across to my truck.
I drove home in a day pregnant with possibility.
This article was first published by Recycled Fish at Recycled Fish Online. Recycled Fish is the non-profit organization of anglers as stewards of the resource. Visit them at www.RecycledFish.org.
Article and photos used with permission.
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