The rainbow trout have been hitting hard since the middle of September. I have been taking myself out here and there to stock up a little "freshwater salmon" and to run it through the smoker.
This morning I got a late start, but that's no problem now that the water is cooler. It seems they don't rev up until around 10:30-11:00 a.m. anyway, waiting for the sun to warm the surface of the water one might suppose. I went to a new spot on Lake Pactola so that I'd have my back to the wind when it picked up. My mixed breed feral dog, Lena, immediately took off for parts unknown. I am not worried. She's turned 13 now and has slowed down just a mite. She no longer chases deer and I know she'll poke her nose out of the woods from time to time just to make sure I am still around.
I baited one line with a nitecrawler and chucked it out into the glass smooth water. The second line I tied on a large red and white spoon since the northern pike are reportedly fired up, too. I think they are absolute fantastic table fare and I'd not cry one bit if I were to snag into one of those freshwater barracuda. I spent maybe half an hour casting with nothing going on whatsoever when I realized the pencil float holding my nitecrawler suspended was nowhere to be seen!
The casting rod set aside, I picked up the other line and began to gently take in slack line until I felt a bit of resistance. I lifted my rod tip and felt the fish realize that they'd made their one and only last mistake in life. I am running ultralight rod/spinning reels with 12 lb superbraid. No worries about a fish breaking off, but plenty of back and forth fight before getting them into the net. This first fish bulldogged for the deeps several times and once lit out for the other side of the lake, spooling me out so deep that I was concerned I would run out of line! Old age and treachery won again as I slipped the net under the flashing silver, pink, and turquoise rainbow trout. A little bigger than 18 inches and over 2 1/2 lbs, a decent start to the day. Once I had her on the stringer and sent out the rebaited hook, I switched up the casting set-up with the spoon to a second nitecrawer rig. I had that second line in the water in quick order and sat back to savor a really nice autumn morning. It was not even 9:00 a.m. yet and I was already shedding my jacket as the sun warmed the rocks around me.
I enjoy audiobooks a great deal these days and today I was listening to one that is a 21+ hour long epic science fiction space opera. Main characters had all been introduced, the horrifying unknown terror had come on the scene to scare everyone and then inexplicably slip away. Now as we were just into the opening salvos of the very first engagement of battling spaceships I see a bobber head for Davy Jones Locker! I picked up the whippy 5 ft ultralight, take up slack, feel resistance and the rod bows in a half circle as something with power behind it sets a course for the old townsite of Pactola, 65 feet down below the surface of the lake!
Good guys and bad guys in space, aliens and Earthers, me and a whole lot of rainbow trout, all locked in struggle. I had this fish close to shore at least five or six times and each time it renewed the fight, making the drag sing it's falsetto aria. I had worked over to where the net rested on the shoreline as I let the fish take more line, line I'd just have to earn back a foot or so at a time. That's when I noticed the other bobber begin to bounce around, then go under like one of the bit players in the Jaws movie. Dag nab it all to flinders, I had a double going on! It was time to quit fooling with the hog on my hands, get it netted, and move on to the next fish! But oh no, this is me we are talking about here. Something has to throw a wrinkle in my petticoats!
Wouldn't you know it, the two fish tangle lines. Well son, we're swimming in the pickle brine now, ain't we? I finally got the big one netted and it looked as thick as my leg. No time to admire the handwork in the landing net, so I whipped out my Kershaw, flipped it open, and cut the line. I got it on the stringer after dropping it several times and nearly losing it back to the gin clear waters. Picking up the second rod, I tried to disentangle the first rod's line, uncharacteristically getting lucky as it all came free. After a few minutes of back and forth battle I had that fish netted, too. Now I am on the scoreboard with three thick-bodied and healthy trout.
I spent a good 20 minutes unknotting things and retying new terminal tackle. Two more dips into the bait can and I was back into the market for whatever came next. It was almost 11:00 a.m. now and with the sun low on the horizon beating down on me I was throwing my hoodie on top of the jacket I had peeled out of an hour earlier. Shirtsleeves in South Dakota in November - blue skies and light breezes, energetic fish biting, and nowhere I had to be other than right where I was. Lena came wandering down out of the pines and nosed around my jacket hoping for a pocket treat. She finally looked me over, gave a small sniff of disappointment for my failure to pack sufficient consumables for her dainty delectation, and trotted down the shore looking for crawfish claws, dead baitfish, dried up worms, or whatever delicious bounty nature would be sure to provide. To say she isn't picky is an understatement. This dog ran in a pack on the reservation when she was young, they hunted, killed, and ate other dogs. Dog eat dog, is not euphemism on the Pine Ridge.
I settled back into a comfy position in the rocks for about half an hour before the next fish came a-courtin'. That put me on the scoreboard with four and only one open slot to fill. I no more got the line back in the water when BOTH bobbers went under like a pair of synchronized swimmers. I took the line on the left, set the hook, and started walking eastward on the shoreline in order to avoid another knotty problem. I had that fish netted and released since it appeared to only be about two pounds. I set that rod aside and pickd up the other. Number six fought bravely and did something none of the others had yet today, she went tailwalking across the surface like a black marlin off the coast of Mexico! The splashing caught my dog's attention and she came down to the water's edge to watch the show and if she got her way, trip me so she could watch me fall arse-end-over-teakettle into the water. She's done it before and it seems to entertain her to no end. Me, not so much.
The last fish on the stringer, I began to gather up gear and organize for the quarter mile walk back to the vehicle. My first trip was fishing gear and shed outwear. My second trip was to come back for the stringer of glorious gemstone-bright fish. When I got back to my spot, recognizable by the litter of hundreds of sunflower seed shells I had spit about me, I was hit with a gutpunch. There was the square rock on the shoreline, but my stringer was not tied to it! I looked out into the perfectly clear blue green waters and searched in vain for the bright yellow stringer. My heart just sank into my belly and I stood there slack jawed and preparing to give myself yet another brutally honest evaluation of my absent mindedness when I spied yellow nylon cordage about 20 feet further down the shore tied around a perfectly duplicate square rock. Three hours spent on this shore and this was the first that I noticed two exactly square stones of almost exact dimensions.
Here's the final tally:
1) 21", 3.92 lbs
2) 19 3/4", 2.74 lbs
3) 19 1/4", 2.72 lbs
4) 18", 2.77 lbs
5) 19 1/4". 3.02 lbs
Total live weight: 15.17 lbs
Total filet weight: 7.8 lbs
Five large trout heads individually bagged and, in the freezer. These I will donate to my old nonprofit, the Black Hills Raptor Center because THEY GOT A BALD EAGLE NOW!!! I am saving trout heads to feed the eagle since the bony heads help the eagle wear down it's beak properly and they happen to love fish.
