Every fisherman remembers his or her biggest fish.
Everybody remembers their oddest fish.
Fortunately for me, as I grow older and the wiring of my memory circuits wears thin, I have the advantage of one fish being both. My largest freshwater catch is also the weirdest of my life.
It happened one bright sunny day, about 10 years ago, on the mighty Mississippi River, a few hundred yards down from the mouth of Chotard Lake. Sidney Montgomery and I were on one of our many river odysseys.
Our boat was loaded with gear, and we needed it all. Our goal was to run jugs for catfish, while targeting other species as our jug spread worked its way down current. We were having fun.
In the middle of the day, we pulled up to an old revetment that formed a point on the east side of the channel. The rocks were known to attract schools of white and striped bass, as well as catfish. There was good current so we had to drop anchor in about 10 feet of water.
I rigged up a tail-spinner, which people in these parts usually refer to as a wing-ding. It is simply a fish-shaped slab of lead with a small round spinner attached to its rear. The line is threaded through the lead, top to bottom, and tied to a treble hook. The idea is to cast it up the current and work it down, bouncing it off the rocks on contact to keep from hanging up.
White bass, our target species, were knocking the fool out of it and I had put about a dozen in our quickly filling fish box. Montgomery was steadily catching them, too, but all that ended when…
… Bam! I struck back, setting the hook on what I figured was just another 1- or 2- pound white bass. Instead, there was great pressure.
“Looks like you hung that hot lure of yours in the rocks,” laughed Montgomery. “Hope you got another.”
I was resigned that my lure was indeed hung in the rocks and the pressure of the river current was providing an illusion of a fish shaking.
Then with a sudden surge that didn’t relent, line started peeling off my reel.
“Uh, Sid, ever know rocks to run?” I said.
Sid looked over and realized I was in a pickle. Line was coming off the spool very quickly and because it was just 12-pound mono, I couldn’t really tighten the drag. My pole was bent in a 7-foot arc. Whatever it was on the other end of my line was big and was headed south toward New Orleans — in a hurry. My reel was emptying quickly.
Montgomery used the trolling motor to get slack on the anchor line and quickly pulled it loose and then hauled it in. Current started carrying the boat and I was able to start gaining line just before I ran out of time.
“I’ll use the big motor to run it down,” Montgomery said, cranking the 200 Mercury to life. We quickly caught up to the fish, which had moved from the 10-foot shallows where I had hooked up to 75 feet of water. “I’m guessing a big catfish or gar, or maybe a big striper,” Montgomery said.
For about 10 minutes, we sat on top of the fish, which seemed perfectly happy holding deep. With medium bass tackle and the 12-pound line, I had to be content just holding pressure.
Over the next hour, the fish would make three runs, two downriver with the current and one upriver in between. All three times I was able to keep contact thanks to the 200 Merc.
Did I mention it was hot?
Montgomery poured a couple of bottles of water over my head during the battle, and I was able to make it through that hour. The fish was staying cool, too, I guess, hunkered down deep in the river. Its actions had us bewildered. We had no idea what would act this way.
Well into the battle, I noticed the angle of the line changing.
“Look, it’s coming up, it’s coming up,” I hollered.
Finally, about 40 yards down river, the fish broke the surface.
“What the…” was all I could manage.
“Heck if I know,” said Montgomery. “Did you see that? Weird!”
The only thing we saw was a flat object with rounded edges. It emerged from the water, shook back and forth a couple of times, and then went back under. Then, as whatever it was rolled, we saw a flash of a big white belly.
At 40 yards, we had no idea of what we had seen.
The fish went deep again but I was able to gain line. It was coming back under the boat, but, this time, when it passed us, I kept pressure and it stopped. By pulling up and winding down, I was able to start easing the beast up, as you would a tuna. It was rising right beside the boat.
Then it was on the surface a few feet away.
“Are you kidding me?” I said. “A paddlefish? How in the heck…”
Paddlefish are plankton eaters, not something that would normally take a lure. The bill, or paddle, includes sensors that detect food, and the large mouth is then opened and acts as a vacuum to take in microscopic organisms.
This fish was hooked perfectly dead center of its paddle, about a half inch down from the tip. Snagged it, I guess, with one of the treble hooks buried deep in the hard material.
“That is the biggest paddlefish I’ve ever seen,” said Montgomery, “by about a foot. We got to get a picture of it, measure it and let it go quickly. I don’t have a clue as to how we can manage it, but we got to try.”
We had no net, but neither of us even owned one half big enough to contain it.
We had ropes, but we didn’t want to harm the fish.
“I’m gonna bulldog it,” Montgomery said. “That’s all we got.”
What happened next remains the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in a boat. So much so that I dropped the rod, grabbed my camera and started clicking away.
With his ever present corncob pipe still in his mouth, Montgomery laid down on the back deck, along the portside of his Triton. I was on the front deck keeping the line tight and the fish against the boat as best I could.
Montgomery, all 150 pounds of him on a 6-foot frame, rolled on his side, wrapped his arms around the fish’s body and rolled back over, with a mighty grunt, pulling the big fish in with him.
Montgomery’s pipe was still puffing smoke the whole time.
In the accompanying photo, you can see Montgomery rolling over, his pipe in his mouth, with one hand around the paddle and the other inside a gill flap. The lead lure is on the deck of the boat below the fish’s head.
The fish was over 5 3/4 feet long, with an estimated weight of 60 to 70 pounds. I’m 6 feet, 1 inch tall and when I held it up to where its paddle was level with my head, the fish’s tail was just inches from the boat deck.
A monster.
Which, I hope now 10 years later, is still alive, swimming and making baby paddlefish.
Heck, I’m still laughing at the photo.
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