Saw a Big Pike

I walked the trail directly to that nice hole I fished last time when wondered why it didn't produce. My first cast resulted in a small pike hitting the plug when I paused it--as it floated towards the surface. Missed it, and the fish wouldn't come back. I decided to keep with that #11 Rapala, because with the river so low, using a plug I can float over sticks in relatively shallow water makes sense. It casts well enough where the river is so small. In the same stretch, a bass whacked it on the retrieve, felt hook, and was gone. 

I began marching further downstream until, finally, the trail veered sharply right and away. I followed it awhile, then decided to go back and bushwhack, which began more of that than I enjoyed. 

When I began feeling dizzy, uncertainty came on. I don't know if it's true, but all I could think is my recent blood pressure medicine wasn't allowing a pressure high enough to match how strenuous the effort. Will speak to my doctor (who might think me a nut for doing it).

I got pretty deep back there, fighting off thick stuff, making sure the plastic bag I used as satchel didn't get ripped to shreds by thorns that made my left arm and hand a bloody mess. I didn't care about the blood; I didn't want to have to try and carry my things without a bag! Next time, I'll wear a backpack.  Along the way, I tried a few nice looking spots--nothing but the missed hit from a smaller pike yet, and a bass, that last fish up top.

Suddenly, I knew it was time to turn and go back. I wasn't thinking of the time, but the situation would prove it had seemed an inner alarm clock went off, when I thought it was just frustration. The sole of my left boot was coming off. My jeans were too damn tight. I would feel, on the way back, as if a hernia was developing just below my crotch on the right side. 

One spot appeared to try yet. I sat down on a rock to relax and take the day in as I cast leisurely and retrieved. And then I told myself I would leave. Aha, I saw opportunity for one last cast. The water looked a little shadowy towards the other side at an angle downstream. Plug touched down. I twitched, retrieved, and then before it came all the way back, I saw a great disturbance where it had touched down. Then I saw, where I could otherwise see bottom, a pike of at least 36 inches, maybe 40--stunning to see in that little river. I immediately inferred that this fish had been alerted from the fallen tree it hurried back to--by that plug. If only I had just twitched it in place a little. It had snuck up stealthily, and seemed to create a roll and shoot back having seen me some 14 or 15 yards away. 

I knew--because there was another fallen tree sticking out into the river immediately to my right--that had I hooked that pike, there was about zero chance of winning the fight. But what the hell. I kept trying to get my plug close to the tree it skooted under, and even worked out a miracle cast when I neither got hung on that tree nor the one close to me.

I got to my car at 7:54 and felt OK. Dusk had come on pretty deep but not too deep. Another 20 minutes, and I'd have been walking the woods in near-darkness. 

Two trips back into the thick, two consecutive Tuesdays, and to think I haven't lost that plug.