For some, fishing for the elusive monsters may seem crazy,
but for others, muskellunge are an obsession
Friday, March 22, 2013
BUCHANAN - Fishing is supposed to be fun, not work.
But this felt a lot like work.
And, really, that's what fishing for muskellunge is.
Work.
We had been at it for three hours.
My buddy Kevin Meeks had it the toughest.
Standing in the bow of the drift boat, he was using a 10-weight fly rod to cast a massive fly into the murky green waters of the James River.
He waited as the fly sank, then pulled in the garish offering with steady strips. When the 15-inch-long fly got close to the boat Meeks would whip it around in a figure eight, just in case an unseen muskie was following.
Then he would repeat the process.
It was not only monotonous, but physically tough.
I knew, because I'd been working the fly rod earlier until giving up after less than an hour of casting.
I'd picked up a casting outfit rigged with a 3-ounce swimbait. Casting and reeling the massive lure wasn't exactly easy, either.
"The fish are here," said Matt Miles, who was at the oars. "We are going to pound this hole."
A moment later the swimbait hesitated.
Encounters with the river's rocky bottom had gotten me momentarily excited a couple times already, but this was different.
The rod bounced.
"Bottom or fish?" Miles asked.
"Fish," I said.
The muskie flashed, and that's when Miles got excited.
"That's a good one!" he yelled. "Reel in, Kevin!"
"And get the net!"
Chaos ensued, which is the norm when a 3-foot-long toothy torpedo smacks a fishing lure 20 feet from your boat.
It's that appealing chaos that has caused some hearty, dedicated - and possibly slightly crazy - fishermen to all but forget about chasing anything else.
Muskellunge aren't thought to be native to Virginia, but they are well established in a number of rivers and lakes.
The New River is generally considered to be the state's best muskie fishery. In fact, the fish are plentiful enough that angler encounters with the toothy beasts are relatively common.
The downside?
Many of those anglers aren't targeting muskies. They're fishing for smallmouth bass.
Often, those surprise muskies accomplish a couple of things, the first being giving the surprised angler a momentary thrill. The second being swimming off with angler's lure after cutting the bass-specific line with those razor sharp teeth.
When the tackle is designed to handle muskies, they are less likely to swim away with expensive lures and plugs.
Another downside?
Actually targeting muskies is work, and can be maddeningly slow.
The fish have sometimes been called the "fish of 10,000 casts" or, by the more optimistic, "the fish of 1,000 casts."
As we headed out in the morning, Miles told of a friend who had not had a follow in eight trips in a row this winter.
But when the fish are on, they can be really on.
During a trip a few weeks earlier Miles' clients had three followers, and put one fish in the boat.
"But the next time we went we didn't see a fish," he said.
Again, that's eight hours of fishing and not one sniff.
That can be hard to bear when fishing somewhere such as the James or New where a switch to bass tackle would likely bring quick and fun action.
And then there's the cost.
While heavy-duty bass tackle will work for muskie fishing, casting huge lures and flies is best done using appropriate gear. Because you'll be making thousands of casts, the fishing is best done with light, well-made rods and reels, which are not inexpensive.
Neither are the lures.
At $16.99, the Musky Innovations Bull Dawg swimbait I was casting was on the cheap side.
Muskie hunters think nothing of dropping $20 and $30 on specialty muskie plugs, or spending hours making their own. Muskie-sized, bucktail-dressed spinners run $15 or so and up.
The idea of spending big bucks and lots of fishless hours is one that can be hard to comprehend.
Until you're standing there with a big muskie on the line.
Muskies tend not to make long runs. They just dog it out, and twist, often within sight.
That's what this one did until Miles deftly slid the net under the 40-incher, a move followed immediately by loud whoops of excitement and high-fives as the fish rested in the net, still in the water.
The whole fight probably didn't last longer than 90 seconds.
But as muskie fanatics know, that's all it takes to create an obsession.