11-30-2008, 10:04 PM
I posted this on the Utah Forum then as an afterthought I am placing it here as well. Thought that some of you Pikers might like to read about some of the good northern fishing we have here in the desert. The reservoir mentioned is about 1100 acres when it is full as has very little structure. Hope you enjoy the tale. Best of regards, Pez Vela
Yuba 28 November 08
Spent Thanksgiving and Saturday at home behaving myself. When I saw the weather prognosticators predicting inclemate weather with a falling barometer, Knew I had better take advantage of the situation and prepare the boat for a trip
Up at 4:00am, as I couldn’t sleep. Coffee burned the sleep from my tired body. I took my time loading the boat insuring that I didn’t forget anything. At 5:30 I was rolling through the quiet streets of Spanish Fork on the way to pick up my fishing’ partner, Wrong Way Johnson. His daughters boyfriend was at his house and was joining us. Our destination had not been predetermined. It was to be either Starvation or Yuba. It didn’t matter much to me. I was sure the fishing was going to be good with the localized bad weather and the dark of the moon which rising coincided with the sunrise I told them didn’t care but that I believed we had a decent shot at a Yuba trophy, so the decision was made and we headed south.
We launched at 6:15 the air temp was 32 and the water temp was 39. Skies were dark and threatening rain or sleet as we set off. No other trucks or boat trailers were at the ramp. Too early. Too cold. Too miserable for any other anglers. Perfect for the three of us.
By 7:00 we had our first northern in the net. A small 28” that took a crank bait tight to the shore in about 6 feet of water. It resisted valiantly as pike are prone to do, but was quickly brought to the net, measured, photographed and released to tell all of its friends that we were in the house and caution was needed as we were determined.
It wasn’t long until a second northern, twin to the first, was in the boat. The taping and photographing ritual preceded the release. “you were warned”, I chided the beautiful little fish as Wrong Way release it.
“Two fish in under an hour, albeit small ones. It’s going to be a great morning” I thought to myself or spoke aloud to no one in particular. The other two in the boat murmured in agreement and went back to casting with renewed fervor.
At 10:15 a chartreuse backed YoZuri crank bait was detained midway through its journey from the bank to the boat in the maw of a 37” northern who fought like Smokin Joe Frazer.
It too, was returned to the cold, off colored water , hopefully wiser for its ordeal.
We continued to move west up the lake as huge rafts of mallards tipped their wings as they sped down the lake as shots reined up at them from unseen hunters. The electric motor hummed as minutes turned into hours and we continued to cast. We joked about muskies being the fish of 1,000 cast and Northern only 999 casts.
We carefully worked the painted rocks area and circumvented the island with scorned casts. We awaited the hour of the moon in late afternoon, but still continued to cast in spite of the predicted hours of success.
The weather threatened then cleared and two other boats joined us or nearby.They searched for walleye and perch and paid us little attention as they went about their business. As long as Northern pike were our quarry and walleye theirs, we could tolerate their trespass.
It was after four when we returned to the point I affectionately call “Wrong Way Point” in honor of his losing an absolute giant of a pike only weeks before. A fish so grand and powerful that we had it captured in the net TWICE and it escaped. A fish of broad shoulders and thick body that approached 47 inches and wou ld surely have been a new state record had it not regained its freedom, A fish that would have collapsed metal spring scales with a mere 25 pound capacity. The fish was a monster of dreams and both Wrong Way and I searched for its twin, cousin or brother. We were in search of a monster.
“My fish is right on the rocky point” He bragged as he cast the lure. The lure hit and I saw the swirl before he could react or even protest. “CHRIST!” I heard him exclaim as he set the hooks. The reel protested and I feared that the light braid without shock leader would be frayed or surgically severed by the giant Pikes razor teeth.
I was frantic as I cleared lines from the water, raised the outboard and electric motors from the arena. Nothing could be in the way as the battle continued. As Minutes past the big fish finally came to the surface long yards from the boat. Even at 25 yards I could see it was a huge fish, but not the Goliath we sought.
“How big?” He questioned as he circled around the boat preventing a break off.
“Somewhere between 15 and 20”, I answered as I grabbed the net. “ I
didn’t get a good look. but she is not the record fish, simply a Yuba giant. Loosen your drag a little and wear her out and then I’ll net her.”
No steel leader or even a mono shock leader. I was sure that the line would part any second and every minute the fight took only increased those odds. I was filled with trepidation, but Wrong Way continued the battle with the steely calm that many years with rod in hand battling fish brings. The excitement comes later.
After 10 minutes it was done. The big fish was in the net. 42 1/2 inches. Estimated weight 18 pounds. Not the state record we were searching for, but a fine trophy never the less.
It was after dark when we returned to the ramp. The water temperature had risen to 45 degrees, We had been on the water for 12 hours. As we readied the boat for the trip home we reminiced over the days event and I thought about the year. 25 trophy northern pike were boated, 8 of them over 15 pounds. To me, it is an extraordinary feat. These magnificent trophies didn’t come from a huge lake in Canada, europe or the midwest, but rather a small desert reservoir, unnoticed amongst the storied great fisheries of Utah; Powell, Flaming Gorge, Strawberry, Fish Lake and others.
All of these fish, save 3 were returned to the water for others to catch. Granted, the fishing isn’t easy. I average 3 days of fishing for each fish. Three days without a bite until a monster will rise from the depths and destroy a lure.
I had decided to end my quest for a record after this trip but maybe, just maybe when a storm approaches and the moon and solar conditions are right, I’ll return one more time before the ice covers the reservoir. Tight lines.
[signature]
Yuba 28 November 08
Spent Thanksgiving and Saturday at home behaving myself. When I saw the weather prognosticators predicting inclemate weather with a falling barometer, Knew I had better take advantage of the situation and prepare the boat for a trip
Up at 4:00am, as I couldn’t sleep. Coffee burned the sleep from my tired body. I took my time loading the boat insuring that I didn’t forget anything. At 5:30 I was rolling through the quiet streets of Spanish Fork on the way to pick up my fishing’ partner, Wrong Way Johnson. His daughters boyfriend was at his house and was joining us. Our destination had not been predetermined. It was to be either Starvation or Yuba. It didn’t matter much to me. I was sure the fishing was going to be good with the localized bad weather and the dark of the moon which rising coincided with the sunrise I told them didn’t care but that I believed we had a decent shot at a Yuba trophy, so the decision was made and we headed south.
We launched at 6:15 the air temp was 32 and the water temp was 39. Skies were dark and threatening rain or sleet as we set off. No other trucks or boat trailers were at the ramp. Too early. Too cold. Too miserable for any other anglers. Perfect for the three of us.
By 7:00 we had our first northern in the net. A small 28” that took a crank bait tight to the shore in about 6 feet of water. It resisted valiantly as pike are prone to do, but was quickly brought to the net, measured, photographed and released to tell all of its friends that we were in the house and caution was needed as we were determined.
It wasn’t long until a second northern, twin to the first, was in the boat. The taping and photographing ritual preceded the release. “you were warned”, I chided the beautiful little fish as Wrong Way release it.
“Two fish in under an hour, albeit small ones. It’s going to be a great morning” I thought to myself or spoke aloud to no one in particular. The other two in the boat murmured in agreement and went back to casting with renewed fervor.
At 10:15 a chartreuse backed YoZuri crank bait was detained midway through its journey from the bank to the boat in the maw of a 37” northern who fought like Smokin Joe Frazer.
It too, was returned to the cold, off colored water , hopefully wiser for its ordeal.
We continued to move west up the lake as huge rafts of mallards tipped their wings as they sped down the lake as shots reined up at them from unseen hunters. The electric motor hummed as minutes turned into hours and we continued to cast. We joked about muskies being the fish of 1,000 cast and Northern only 999 casts.
We carefully worked the painted rocks area and circumvented the island with scorned casts. We awaited the hour of the moon in late afternoon, but still continued to cast in spite of the predicted hours of success.
The weather threatened then cleared and two other boats joined us or nearby.They searched for walleye and perch and paid us little attention as they went about their business. As long as Northern pike were our quarry and walleye theirs, we could tolerate their trespass.
It was after four when we returned to the point I affectionately call “Wrong Way Point” in honor of his losing an absolute giant of a pike only weeks before. A fish so grand and powerful that we had it captured in the net TWICE and it escaped. A fish of broad shoulders and thick body that approached 47 inches and wou ld surely have been a new state record had it not regained its freedom, A fish that would have collapsed metal spring scales with a mere 25 pound capacity. The fish was a monster of dreams and both Wrong Way and I searched for its twin, cousin or brother. We were in search of a monster.
“My fish is right on the rocky point” He bragged as he cast the lure. The lure hit and I saw the swirl before he could react or even protest. “CHRIST!” I heard him exclaim as he set the hooks. The reel protested and I feared that the light braid without shock leader would be frayed or surgically severed by the giant Pikes razor teeth.
I was frantic as I cleared lines from the water, raised the outboard and electric motors from the arena. Nothing could be in the way as the battle continued. As Minutes past the big fish finally came to the surface long yards from the boat. Even at 25 yards I could see it was a huge fish, but not the Goliath we sought.
“How big?” He questioned as he circled around the boat preventing a break off.
“Somewhere between 15 and 20”, I answered as I grabbed the net. “ I
didn’t get a good look. but she is not the record fish, simply a Yuba giant. Loosen your drag a little and wear her out and then I’ll net her.”
No steel leader or even a mono shock leader. I was sure that the line would part any second and every minute the fight took only increased those odds. I was filled with trepidation, but Wrong Way continued the battle with the steely calm that many years with rod in hand battling fish brings. The excitement comes later.
After 10 minutes it was done. The big fish was in the net. 42 1/2 inches. Estimated weight 18 pounds. Not the state record we were searching for, but a fine trophy never the less.
It was after dark when we returned to the ramp. The water temperature had risen to 45 degrees, We had been on the water for 12 hours. As we readied the boat for the trip home we reminiced over the days event and I thought about the year. 25 trophy northern pike were boated, 8 of them over 15 pounds. To me, it is an extraordinary feat. These magnificent trophies didn’t come from a huge lake in Canada, europe or the midwest, but rather a small desert reservoir, unnoticed amongst the storied great fisheries of Utah; Powell, Flaming Gorge, Strawberry, Fish Lake and others.
All of these fish, save 3 were returned to the water for others to catch. Granted, the fishing isn’t easy. I average 3 days of fishing for each fish. Three days without a bite until a monster will rise from the depths and destroy a lure.
I had decided to end my quest for a record after this trip but maybe, just maybe when a storm approaches and the moon and solar conditions are right, I’ll return one more time before the ice covers the reservoir. Tight lines.
[signature]