The Fish of a Lifetime

It wasn’t much of a fish by Lake Michigan standards. In fact, we were not even sure we had a fish on at all. It was a classic “shaker”. Paul and I were trolling off Baileys Harbor in about seventy feet of water dragging our usually array of lines. We had three planer boards, a Dipsey Diver and two downriggers all dragging various colors and sizes of spoons. We set the depths from twenty to sixty feet to cover the entire water column. We had been fishing for less than an hour when Paul pointed to one of the downrigger lines and calmly queried “Is that a fish?” Now, this is not the typical reaction one has when a decent salmon or steelhead hits your bait. Line screaming off the reel or a silver mass leaping out of the water fifty yards behind the boat leaves little doubt that a fish is on. I turned my attention to the downrigger line and sure enough, there was perceptible quivering of the line and downrigger cable. It was probably a fish too small to free the line from the cable release. I pulled the rod from the holder and gave the rod a sharp tug. The line released and I could feel the pulsations of a fish at the end of the line. It did not take long to reel the fish in. Paul quickly scooped the fish into the landing net and deposited it on the floor of the boat. It was an 18-inch Chinook Salmon. It was the kind of fish that if you decided to keep it, you would sneak to the fish cleaning station so no other anglers would see you. However, at this point time in my life, I might as well have considered it the “fish of a lifetime”.  Allow me to explain.

About two months ago, I was diagnosed with a form a bladder cancer. Not to get into too much of the gory details of the disease, the tumor was rather complex. So much so, that it had intruded into the rectal area and even touched a bit of the small intestine. This caused a bowel blockage, which landed me in St Vincent’s Hospital in Green Bay for three and half weeks. While lying in the bed at St. Vinny’s, IVs and tubes dangling from my body, I was fully aware that I was missing some pretty good fishing. For one of the few times in my life, this was not my highest concern. As the doctors and nurses worked to get me out of this crisis, I wondered if I would ever get back out on the water again and if so, when. It was a dark time. Eventually, my condition improved to the point where I could return to my home in Baileys Harbor. I still had the cancer to deal with, but now it was a fair fight and I had homecourt advantage. 

As I became more comfortable at home and the worst of the symptoms improved, my thoughts naturally turned to getting back to fishing. The salmonid bite was improving on the lake, but the winds laid waste to any plans of getting out on the water. Finally, one afternoon Paul and I spotted a window in the weather. The clouds had parted, and the wind subsided enough to a allow for a comfortable trip out onto Lake Michigan. I smiled and let out a big sigh as Paul navigated his black Lund out of the marina to open water. The lake allowed us several hours of calm water until about an hour before sundown. With little warning, a storm front came barreling out of the north producing winds sufficient to force us to return the marina.  We did not exactly “slay ‘em”. We ended the night with two shakers and we lost one larger fish. Still, as I stared at that small salmon flopping at my feet, I could not think of any fish that I appreciated more than that one. The thrill and satisfaction I felt was equal to any fish I have ever caught.  It was “The Fish of a Lifetime” as far as I was concerned.  

As I reflected on this experience, it got me wondering, what exactly is the fish of a lifetime? You hear that phrase bandied about frequently among anglers. It often refers to the largest fish they ever caught or perhaps a specific fish species they have been pursuing for a long period of time. The 50-inch muskie, a 30-inch walleye, or 6-pound smallmouth. The fish of a lifetime may be associated with a significant event in your life or a special fishing partner. Just like the designation G.O.A.T. (Greatest of all Time), determining what constitutes the Fish of a Lifetime (F.O.A.L) is in the eye or should I say rod, of the beholder.

I guess by many casual anglers’ standards, I have caught many F.O.A.L.  The largest fish I have caught with a rod and reel is one that I will never be able to document. It was a six-foot lake sturgeon caught during the walleye run on the Wolf River. I was fishing alone, at night near the town of Winneconne. I took a risk even trying to get the fish into my 12-foot aluminum boat. This was before the ubiquitous digital cameras we have now, and I did not have any other way to record this event. I did not even have a ruler long enough to measure it. The only way I knew it was at least 6-feet was that I lifted the fish until its snout reached my head.  There was still plenty of tail laying in the bottom of the boat. Of course, I was required to immediately release this protected fish which I did. I had no proof or witnesses, but in my mind’s eye, it was a F.O.A.L. The largest fish I ever “harvested” was witnessed by many people. In the summer of 1999, while at McMurdo Station, Antarctica I worked with a group of researchers from the University of Illinois who were studying a unique fish species, Dissostichus mawsoni. This fish is also known as the Antarctic Toothfish or, more commonly, Antarctic Cod. We pulled several of these huge fish through the Antarctic ice including one that went 61-inches and 80-pounds. You can check out the fish at this link. Granted, I did not catch this fish by myself. Like going on a fishing charter, it was a group effort, but still a potential F.O.A.L.

To me, size is not the main factor in establishing a F.O.A.L. Often, it is the effort made or the distance traveled in pursuit of the fish. I journeyed to the Victora Nile River in northern Uganda to successfully land a 40-pound Nile Perch. I caught a 22-inch Tigerfish on the Zambezi River above Victoria Falls. A fish that size is no trophy as Tigerfish go, but I still think of it as a F.O.A.L. As do the brown trout I caught on the River Spey in Scotland, the white coy near Hiroshima, Japan, or the northern pike I caught with a Swiss guide in County Clare, Ireland. None of these were trophies by any standard but qualify as F.O.A.L. to me. 

First fish can qualify as a F.O.A.L.. My first legal muskie was a mere 31-inches in length (legal in Wisconsin back then). Since then, I have caught muskies much larger, but that first one is still my F.O.A.L. for it represented years of effort. My first bonefish on the flats of the Florida Keys. My first Lake Michigan brown trout caught off Baileys Harbor when I was in high school. My first cutthroat trout out of Yellowstone Lake, Wyoming. I recall each of those like it was yesterday. Each a F.O.A.L. in their own way. 

I have two fish mounted on the walls of my home, a smallmouth bass and a walleye. I consider both F.O.A.L. They are replica mounts, both fish were released. Neither are the largest of their respective species I have caught. The reason I had them immortalized by a taxidermist was not due to the size, but the significance of the fish and who I was with. The walleye was caught while fishing with my son Matthew on one of our trips to Ontario. I treasure that memory of he and I fishing together. The fish mount brings a smile to my face each time I see it. The smallmouth bass was caught on Pelican Lake in near Rhinelander. It was caught on a “boy’s weekend” fishing with good fishing buddy, Terry. It represents to me all the fishing trips I took with various friends throughout the years. Some of my most significant fish are marked by who I was with. I fondly recall landing a beautiful rainbow trout on Lake Superior while on a camping trip with my nephew Tim. That trout, grilled over an open fire, still represents the best fish meal I have ever tasted. A huge walleye caught off Sister Shoal fishing with my late brother-in-law Den qualified as a F.O.A.L. at that point in my young fishing life. And, of course, all the memorable fish I caught with longtime friend Ed, including my largest muskie to date at 46-inches. I don’t think a fish can qualify as a F.O.A L. unless it includes a good story and a good friend. 

The “Fish of a Lifetime” is indeed a moving target. I hope I have not yet caught my ultimate F.O.A L. As a matter of fact, from this point in my life the very next fish I am fortunate enough to catch will be my F.O.A L.

So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish, Bruce

Questions or comments to bsmith733@gmail.com