I'm still kicking, though haven't seen much saltwater action outside of work and graduate school. I've gotten a terminal case of "trout bum-itis", and have spent just about every weekend chasing trout everywhere from foothill rivers to high mountain reservoirs. Something that has caught my attention lately are lake trout/mackinaw. Although they seem to be a predominantly deep-water fishery requiring trolling plugs on downriggers or dropping down on them with jigs in 100+ FOW, I'd seen a handful of people catching them from shore. Coupled with some intel from a former colleague on laker feeding habits in shallow water, I dedicated a good chunk of fall to chasing them. I got a couple (two) over like 5 trips targeting them, with a couple painful heartbreaks, so my batting average is Not Great. The two I did get weren't particularly big either, both below 20".
The second, slightly bigger of the two at 19". Note the big signal craw-patterned tube jig in his gob.
Finally getting to the actual fishing, I made plans this past Sunday to hit a high-elevation reservoir for lakers, given that was the one somewhat cloudy day for the next week. But Sunday morning came around, and I could not get myself out of bed by 4 am. When I did jolt awake, it was already 5, far too late to make that drive to high elevation with dawn still cracking. Instead, I shifted gears to a low-mid elevation reservoir (The lowest that I know of that has lakers, that should be a hint as to where), and drove off as soon as I could. Turns out, the cloudy forecast was only good for the valley, as around 2000' of elevation, I hit incredibly dense fog, above which there were bluebird skies; terrible conditions for lakers. I hoofed it out to a stretch of rocky shoreline where I had tried last fall (when I almost got killed by a falling tree branch), and with dawn still in the sky, started casting.
I was throwing a 3.5" baitfish-patterned tube jig, a proven pattern in high-elevation lakes not only for lakers, but also for big browns and greedy rainbows. A couple of casts in, I got my first bump, which was just a short-striking stocker rainbow. I swept up-reservoir, whipping out casts every few paces. At one point, I saw a huge boil within 20 feet of shore, which I thought was a big bass choking down an unfortunate stocker. No luck casting at that. But, halfway into a retrieve on some real nasty steep, jagged rubble, I felt a thump. Not even a thump, just dead weight on the line. I set hard into it, and the fish immediately began dogging me with heavy headshakes and hard runs. I initially thought it was just a fat smallmouth until I got a glimpse of that long, sinuous form flanked by flaming fins and topped with that beastly head—it was a laker, a proper one at over 24". One sweep by the shore, and it powered off before I could get its head in the net. A second sweep, the same. And the third, my stomach sank as I felt that most horrible of feelings as the hook pulled loose and the fish jetted off into the abyss. I was crushed, every trip before I had but one chance to land a laker, and this was looking like the same. But, mama didn't raise no quitter. I got right back at it, and 10 casts in, I felt that same curious weight. Another fish, this one a quite a bit smaller and not nearly as spicy. But it was a laker, and it broke that magical 20" mark. She came to the net without much fuss, and quickly became the world's most photographed small lake trout.
Wasn't lying about that big ole' tube jig...
21". Wasn't lying about her being not particularly big either, especially not compared to that first fish...
Encouraged, I got right back to it. Another 5 casts in, and I felt the most unusual bite, just a slight tick and a mushy sensation, almost reminiscent of a bass delicately sucking down a drop-shotted worm—for those that know the feeling. I set into solid weight and heavy, heavy headshakes. That fish took me for a ride, and I backed down the pressure on this one, making sure not to repeat that morning's mistakes. A moment later, I set eyes on that fish, and it was a beautiful dark buck laker, fired up for the spawn, though again, not quite as big as that first fish. I swept him deftly into the net, and had my second fish of the day in my hands.
23.5", not huge by laker standards, but he was a brute of a fish with that big angry mouth.
Admittedly I didn't get particularly good pictures, but I blame that on the steep and unstable banks...
I continued fishing, and as I continued up-reservoir, I saw more of those mysterious boils. Finally, one jumped right in front of me (giving me a good scare), and I saw the culprit: lakers. Lots of them. Over a dozen had jumped at this point, but they were not interested in biting with the rising sun. I did catch a handful of overzealous rainbows on that big jig, but nothing else of interest for the rest of the morning. I called it by 11, and started the walk back to the car. A long walk, for sure, but a triumphant one. As the sun fully bathed the lake in its light and the surface turned to glass, I couldn't help but wish that some angry clouds and wind would roll in and whip the surface into froth, just so that I could have another shot at these awesome fish.
The second, slightly bigger of the two at 19". Note the big signal craw-patterned tube jig in his gob.
Finally getting to the actual fishing, I made plans this past Sunday to hit a high-elevation reservoir for lakers, given that was the one somewhat cloudy day for the next week. But Sunday morning came around, and I could not get myself out of bed by 4 am. When I did jolt awake, it was already 5, far too late to make that drive to high elevation with dawn still cracking. Instead, I shifted gears to a low-mid elevation reservoir (The lowest that I know of that has lakers, that should be a hint as to where), and drove off as soon as I could. Turns out, the cloudy forecast was only good for the valley, as around 2000' of elevation, I hit incredibly dense fog, above which there were bluebird skies; terrible conditions for lakers. I hoofed it out to a stretch of rocky shoreline where I had tried last fall (when I almost got killed by a falling tree branch), and with dawn still in the sky, started casting.
I was throwing a 3.5" baitfish-patterned tube jig, a proven pattern in high-elevation lakes not only for lakers, but also for big browns and greedy rainbows. A couple of casts in, I got my first bump, which was just a short-striking stocker rainbow. I swept up-reservoir, whipping out casts every few paces. At one point, I saw a huge boil within 20 feet of shore, which I thought was a big bass choking down an unfortunate stocker. No luck casting at that. But, halfway into a retrieve on some real nasty steep, jagged rubble, I felt a thump. Not even a thump, just dead weight on the line. I set hard into it, and the fish immediately began dogging me with heavy headshakes and hard runs. I initially thought it was just a fat smallmouth until I got a glimpse of that long, sinuous form flanked by flaming fins and topped with that beastly head—it was a laker, a proper one at over 24". One sweep by the shore, and it powered off before I could get its head in the net. A second sweep, the same. And the third, my stomach sank as I felt that most horrible of feelings as the hook pulled loose and the fish jetted off into the abyss. I was crushed, every trip before I had but one chance to land a laker, and this was looking like the same. But, mama didn't raise no quitter. I got right back at it, and 10 casts in, I felt that same curious weight. Another fish, this one a quite a bit smaller and not nearly as spicy. But it was a laker, and it broke that magical 20" mark. She came to the net without much fuss, and quickly became the world's most photographed small lake trout.
Wasn't lying about that big ole' tube jig...
21". Wasn't lying about her being not particularly big either, especially not compared to that first fish...
Encouraged, I got right back to it. Another 5 casts in, and I felt the most unusual bite, just a slight tick and a mushy sensation, almost reminiscent of a bass delicately sucking down a drop-shotted worm—for those that know the feeling. I set into solid weight and heavy, heavy headshakes. That fish took me for a ride, and I backed down the pressure on this one, making sure not to repeat that morning's mistakes. A moment later, I set eyes on that fish, and it was a beautiful dark buck laker, fired up for the spawn, though again, not quite as big as that first fish. I swept him deftly into the net, and had my second fish of the day in my hands.
23.5", not huge by laker standards, but he was a brute of a fish with that big angry mouth.
Admittedly I didn't get particularly good pictures, but I blame that on the steep and unstable banks...
I continued fishing, and as I continued up-reservoir, I saw more of those mysterious boils. Finally, one jumped right in front of me (giving me a good scare), and I saw the culprit: lakers. Lots of them. Over a dozen had jumped at this point, but they were not interested in biting with the rising sun. I did catch a handful of overzealous rainbows on that big jig, but nothing else of interest for the rest of the morning. I called it by 11, and started the walk back to the car. A long walk, for sure, but a triumphant one. As the sun fully bathed the lake in its light and the surface turned to glass, I couldn't help but wish that some angry clouds and wind would roll in and whip the surface into froth, just so that I could have another shot at these awesome fish.
