Frog Water Pike and Legends

A late spring in the Northland means frog water pike.  This time of year pike will be in the shallow swamp water at the back of shallow, weedy, bays.  Throw in some emergent vegetation and a slow moving river or two meandering into the lake through alders and sedge grass and you have the perfect combination--a springtime pike haven.

Growing up I heard legends of giant spring pike.  My late grandfather, as a boy, went down to a well known creek feeding into the lake to check the spring sucker run.  As the hoards of suckers made their way up the creek and into the flooded swamp and sedge above, something waited at the river mouth to feast on this seasonal spring delicacy.  Something very big.  Giant pike.  My grandfather sighted these beasts swimming around with 2-4 pound suckers crossways in their mouths.  Occasionally a big pike would swim up the creek a short distance in water far too skinny for such a fish.  It didn't take long and my grandfather had one captured.  Proud as a boy could be with such a catch, he put his hand in the fish's gill, draped it over his shoulder, and began walking home to show his parents and siblings.  The tail of the fish drug on the ground.  

On another occasion, a group of my father's childhood friends were in a small wooden boat near one of the major river mouths during this same magical spring period.  One of the teenagers noticed a large dark shape discoloring the water near the boat.  And, it was slowly and deliberately moving toward them.  With all eyes fixed on the shape the local teenagers collectively dropped their jaws as they realized it was a huge pike.  Clenching the gunnels of the boat, they silently watched the fish swim under, observing the head emerging on one side of the boat while the tail was still visible on the other side.  My great aunt has a similar monster pike story... a sighting which also indicated a pike longer than a small wooden rowboat was wide.

It's stories like these that get you thinking.  Yes, we live in a different time where pike like these are rare.  And, the legendary stories always seem to be told by individuals 1-2 generations older.  So, I wondered if pike like this still exist... or, should we grow apathetic and accept those days are over with nothing more to catch than hammer handles?  Armed with a 10 weight fly rod and some big pike flies I sought to find out.  And, a late spring would set the stage nicely.

Top to Bottom:  Enrico Puglisi Minnows, Reynold's Pike Flies, Foam Diver, and a very chewed up red & white deer hair/rabbit strip diver.

We launched the boat on a calm and overcast day with rain in the forecast.  The light wind we had came from the south, which in my experience has always been a good esox wind.  With the boat in the water, the 10wt. threaded up, and the bow pointed in the right direction, we hammered the four stroke and headed for the frog water.  Water temperatures were in the low 50 degree F. range and things looked good.

Once in the bay we slowly came off plane and eased into the back of the bay.  The depth finder read

three feet deep.   The bottom was soft.  Muck.  Occasional broadleaf cabbage stalks.  Emergent vegetation on the shoreline.  We cut the engine and deployed the bow-mount trolling motor into the lake.  Then, under electric power, further eased into frog water.  The depth finder fluctuated between 2-3 feet.  Soon, we were within a good cast of shoreline veggies.  Mallards and goldeneyes swam the shoreline.  Red-winged blackbirds chattered in the marsh.     

I stripped the line off the reel and stretched it.  It lay coiled on the deck.  The stretching procedure takes out any unwanted memory in the cold fly line allowing for rocket casts without tangles.  I flicked the fly into the water and let it soak.  Then, worked three false casts and fired the diver into the shallows.  On the third cast I was hooked up.  After some defiant fighting the fish came boat-side and was carefully landed and released.

First pike of the day.  A tad under 30 inches.

This ritual would repeat itself for the next 1-2 hours.  Roughly ten pike were boated and released.  Of the ten boated, three made it into the 30-inch club.

A skinny 30-incher.

31-incher.

30-incher.

I still hadn't sighted any pike of legendary status.  Yes, there were the 32-36 inch pike that would follow the fly to the rod tip, only to turn and spook back to their lair when the retrieve ran out of room.  And, I can't tell you how frustrating it is to witness that (at least a musky might swing on a figure 8).  But, really, no pike of true legendary status were seen.

The rain started to fall steadily now and the nice south wind we had earlier had switched around to an east wind.  And, it started to blow harder.  The pike bight began to slow down.  Knowing there are a couple of similar bays on the lake we pulled the trolling motor up, fired up the big motor, and charged through the rain to the next spot.  This would be the setting where two of the three previously told stories of monster pike had occurred.

We arrived to the marshy inlet bay.  Again the depth finder read 2-3 feet.  Muck.  Emergent vegetation all around the river mouth.  We started in an inside bend with the intent that the east wind would push us across the back of the bay giving us ample casts in the right spot.  A large Tamarac stood lonely on the swampy shoreline.  I fired my cast toward it.  The large deer hair diver landed softly near the shoreline in front of the Tamarac.  I stripped the fly back.  The deer hair diver with its rabbit strip tail worked like an undulating jerk bait on the sink tip line... an action reminiscent of the old suick jerk bait that might have been cast in this same spot with a steel rod some 70 years ago.  The fly neared the boat on retrieve.  Then, I noticed the water alongside the boat was changing color.  The color was moving.  Moving toward the fly...  My jaw dropped and my knees began to shake.  The pike of lore had shown itself and its nose was just inches from the diver on the other end of my line.  It came as close as it could to nudging the fly without touching it.   Then.... the retrieve ran out of room.  I had stripped in all my line.  The retrieve was over.  The pike turned its massive body.  Its tail spread broadly fanned to make the maneuver away from me.  The fanned tail had to be the size of a dinner plate.  The girth of the fish gave me no doubt it could have eaten one of the previous members of the 30-inch club.  I desperately swung my rod into an L-turn and started a figure eight with the fly.  The fish slowly and unamused sunk to the mucky bottom and slowly disappeared into the stained water as if it were a ghost.

Silence fell upon the boat.  I sat down.  My knees were weak and quivered.  I looked into the dark water.  I looked to the marsh.  I looked back out to the main lake... and at my fly, then back to the Tamarac on shore.  A steady rain fell onto my head.

I recovered and threw some more casts back into the same spot.  Nothing showed.  I continued to drift down the marshy shoreline casting.  Nothing showed.  I reeled in and called it a day.

I left this spot knowing the legendary pike of the Northland still exist.  And, with one follow to the boat-side this magnificent fish of lore had shown itself to a new generation of legend tellers.  
     

Yellow spots on a 30-inch club member.

A future legendary pike in the making?

Back to the marsh!