292
04-03-2013, 05:52 AM
This was sent to me by a retired charter boat captain, so I'm pretty sure its true.
Fished for about 1 hour. Had 1 bite.
Put my kayak in under the bridge and paddled up to the run past the RR tracks, anchored near a big rock and fished the eddy downstream. After about 30 minutes, a pontoon boat came upriver and anchored right beside me, which I thought was terribly rude. The boat had about a dozen young women in it, I presume from a sorority or something. They all started taking off their clothes, revealing bikinis underneath; I guess they wanted to get a suntan. The girls were laughing and giggling, glancing at me. I cleared my throat and said I was trying to fish, could they please try to hold the noise down. They said they didn't realize they had been too loud and apologized, then asked if I could paddle over and rub suntan lotion on their backs. I explained that shad are anadromous fish and would only be in the river a short while, so I couldn't really spare the time. The girls got all pouty and turned on the stereo and started slow dancing. That was the last straw. I pulled anchor and paddled upstream through a set of rapids I knew the pontoon boat couldn't follow.
It proved to be a wise move. My first cast was with a silver nunguesser, and I got a solid hookup- I mean real solid. The fish moved upstream in a slow, unstoppable run. It felt so big, I was sure it had to be a big, big striper. Suddenly the fish turned and came back right at the boat, with me reeling in line furiously trying to keep it tight. Right under the boat the fish rolled on it's side and I saw it was an unbelievably huge American shad. It was so big, I thought a Tarpon must have swam upriver, but the jaw was not a Tarpon's. We made eye-contact, and I could see the anger in the fish. It spurted across the river so fast, the drag on my reel got hot and I could smell the oil burning. It jumped, and the water level in the river dropped, like when you stand up in the bathtub. It smacked back into the water, and the wave rocked my kayak dangerously. This did not go unnoticed by the killer shad, so it darted back near the kayak and jumped three times in quick succession. The first wave rocked the kayak, but I was OK, till the second wave hit. I shipped some water over the gunwale, and the kayak tilted so far I had to hold on to the side to prevent being thrown over board. The third wave hit like a tsunami, and rocked the boat backward. This is what the shad had counted on. As the boat rocked backwards, my rod arched away from the fish, and it darted across the river again, the combined speed broke the line easily. I still had to hold on to the sides as the waves reflected off the shore and rocked they kayak nearly to the tipping point. It was like being inside a washing machine. Then the fish slowly swam back to my kayak, rolled on it's side and glared up at me, it's eyes smoldering with hatred. Only then did I see the spoon was in the shad's mouth backwards- the fish had the front of the spoon in it's jaw, and the hook was outside it's mouth. It had never been hooked at all. The fish spat out the spoon making a sound like “puh” and casually turned and swam upstream out of sight. I wasn't sure it had really happened except for the big boils of water that came up behind the shad as it swam off.
And that's the truth.
Fished for about 1 hour. Had 1 bite.
Put my kayak in under the bridge and paddled up to the run past the RR tracks, anchored near a big rock and fished the eddy downstream. After about 30 minutes, a pontoon boat came upriver and anchored right beside me, which I thought was terribly rude. The boat had about a dozen young women in it, I presume from a sorority or something. They all started taking off their clothes, revealing bikinis underneath; I guess they wanted to get a suntan. The girls were laughing and giggling, glancing at me. I cleared my throat and said I was trying to fish, could they please try to hold the noise down. They said they didn't realize they had been too loud and apologized, then asked if I could paddle over and rub suntan lotion on their backs. I explained that shad are anadromous fish and would only be in the river a short while, so I couldn't really spare the time. The girls got all pouty and turned on the stereo and started slow dancing. That was the last straw. I pulled anchor and paddled upstream through a set of rapids I knew the pontoon boat couldn't follow.
It proved to be a wise move. My first cast was with a silver nunguesser, and I got a solid hookup- I mean real solid. The fish moved upstream in a slow, unstoppable run. It felt so big, I was sure it had to be a big, big striper. Suddenly the fish turned and came back right at the boat, with me reeling in line furiously trying to keep it tight. Right under the boat the fish rolled on it's side and I saw it was an unbelievably huge American shad. It was so big, I thought a Tarpon must have swam upriver, but the jaw was not a Tarpon's. We made eye-contact, and I could see the anger in the fish. It spurted across the river so fast, the drag on my reel got hot and I could smell the oil burning. It jumped, and the water level in the river dropped, like when you stand up in the bathtub. It smacked back into the water, and the wave rocked my kayak dangerously. This did not go unnoticed by the killer shad, so it darted back near the kayak and jumped three times in quick succession. The first wave rocked the kayak, but I was OK, till the second wave hit. I shipped some water over the gunwale, and the kayak tilted so far I had to hold on to the side to prevent being thrown over board. The third wave hit like a tsunami, and rocked the boat backward. This is what the shad had counted on. As the boat rocked backwards, my rod arched away from the fish, and it darted across the river again, the combined speed broke the line easily. I still had to hold on to the sides as the waves reflected off the shore and rocked they kayak nearly to the tipping point. It was like being inside a washing machine. Then the fish slowly swam back to my kayak, rolled on it's side and glared up at me, it's eyes smoldering with hatred. Only then did I see the spoon was in the shad's mouth backwards- the fish had the front of the spoon in it's jaw, and the hook was outside it's mouth. It had never been hooked at all. The fish spat out the spoon making a sound like “puh” and casually turned and swam upstream out of sight. I wasn't sure it had really happened except for the big boils of water that came up behind the shad as it swam off.
And that's the truth.