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One lost fish. Which one single lost fish experience haunts you the most?

7K views 87 replies 63 participants last post by  Dorylf 
#1 · (Edited)
One lost fish. Which one single experience of losing a fish haunts you the most? Even decades later for you "repeat spawners"?

Does everyone have one fish story of a lost monster that still is fresh in memory?

Mine has to be a big Coastal Cutthroat Trout lost two trips in a row on the same small hole decades go on a upper Coastal River trout trib.
First hook up was innocent enough with a large black wollybugger-my fly to match any hatch: )
Instant weight and a feeling of trouble!
I never saw the fish-it created a huge boil next to the cedar stump it called "home".
AND, I know for sure there is a very small run of summer run steelhead there but I feel it was a huge Cutthroat well over 20 inches in summer. Hooked him on two consecutive trips.

I envision he was a big yellow-bellied "native" trout that was gnarly looking!

The feeling of the fish throw it's head side to side like a 3 foot long arm still haunts me!
 
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#60 ·
Fishing from the slewable ramp deck of T-AKR 298 in mid '98, at dusk. I'd tossed about 6 amber jack back in by then and was getting to the point when i'd have to go back inboard anyways ( weren't allowed there after dark for security reasons)
That last cast, hooked a good sized hamoor ( spotted grouper, persian gulf style) and was getting the long gaff ready to bring it onboard for dinner, when i saw this large dark shadow with a dinner plate sized eye cruise by me from right to left, and suddenly my fish just vanished. line popped like a 22 when it parted. no swirl, no loud splash, just gone.

to this day,absolutely no idea what took my grouper, but sometimes in dreamland, that event comes back to replay itself.
 
#62 ·
Try not to let it bother you gldntrt40. Some folks just like to stir up the $#!t. Some folks feel better about themselves by putting others down, rather than refrain from posting. Got to have thick skin on here.
 
#63 ·
This summer at lake lenice, I went out at night and decided to try a mouse pattern. I would cast it out as far as i could, then kick and strip as fast as I could. I tried it for a while and finally I got a huge strike! The moon was in front of me, and I saw what i think was a gigantic brown break the surface of the water and go back down. My line went slack. Dammit! I have yet to catch a brown on a fly, and that would have been a most epic way to do it. Seeing the bastard right before it came unbuttoned was the worst part. If it stayed out of sight it wouldn't have been a big deal
 
#65 ·
I could care less about what I've lost. It's all about the take for me especially when sight fishing. Like when the water is high enough at Chopaka to create a band of clear water between the shore and the tully weeds. Pop a dry damsel in front of a cruising trout. Great fun watching them cruise up and suck it in. Lose them in the weeds have the time.
 
#66 ·
When I was in high school I weasled access to two farm ponds in the lake goodwin area in this nice housing development. Everyone in the community pitched in money to plant the ponds with kamloops rainbows but the true gems in the ponds where the largemouth bass that lurked the reedlines. I fished it fairly regularly in spring and fall for 3 years. I would always catch a few nice trout on dries or streamers, get bored (stupid easy trout) and start after the bass.

Farm ponds where my specialty at that age, having grown up fishing my families ponds in duvall I was pretty dialed into the challenges. Large, seasoned bass in small water are wise. And extremely tough. They are supremely aware of their surroundings and seem to know when to hide. These two ponds where the best i had ever fished. I had a day where I landed 6 bass over 5lbs. A rainy windy shitty post spawn day where the fish were roaming the weedlines and just crushing spinnerbaits ripped as fast as I could move them.

As with any farm pond there is always one grandmother bass that is as old as the pond itself. I heard stories of this bass from one of the homeowners who put them in all those years ago. And after I caught my first fleeting glimpse of this thing it became my mission to catch him. What I remember most about her was the size of her eyeballs they were like marbles. I had spotted her a couple times but it was always as she was hightailing away from me and always in this one little weedy flat and it was ALWAYS as I first approached the pond. I had it decided for quite some time that if I was ever gonna catch this fish it was gonna be on the first cast. Because any disturbance to the pond put this fishes nose in the thickest weeds. So every day that I fished it I really made that first cast count.

One late April afternoon I tried a different approach. I followed the treeline well out of sight and circled around the pond opposite of the reedline where I concentrated my ceremonial first cast. I ducked down beneath the reeds all the way into position. 6 foot medium heavy fenwick HMX spinnig rod, 10# maxima ultragreen, small swivel with 5 feet of 12# flouro. Green pumpkinseed senko. 5". Unweighted. Still ducked down I slung a cast over the reeds and my senko plopped down in the middle of a small 10' x 10' open flat flanked by reeds and a thick band of milfoil spreading out into the depths. The dinnerplate.

I let the senko settle to the bottom under no tension. All the ripples disappeared and still I let it sit. I imagined that bass hearing the splash from inside her den. And lookin out and seeing this worm flutter to the bottom. I imagined her curiously gliding over and having a staredown. "Really guy? This is my box buddy? You're just gonna sit there?"

No exaggeration I let that senko just sit there for the better part of two minutes. My slack line draped over the reeds leading back to my position crouched down behind a wall of vegetation I reeled up some slack and gave the worm the SLIGHTEST of nudges with the rod tip. Almost instantaneously I felt the tiniest tap like a raindrop hitting the end of my rod. The line started to swim back towards the reeds. I counted to 2 reeled down on the slack and set as hard as I could. As I stood up and my head cleared the top of the reeds I could clearly see that the fish shaking its head and winding up for the jump was sure enough the megladon I was after. She tilted back and jumped shaking her head so hard her gill plates rattled like a kids toy. The moment she landed she beelined straight to the reeds. I put the full brakes on her, hand clamped to the reel and without any hesitation my 10# maxima blew up and the fish disappeared in the jungle. Honest 10# bass. Enormous fish.

I've lost lots of good fish but fishing for steelhead and salmon and even trout is different because size can be a function of luck. You never know when a big fish could grab on which is part of the allure but also makes it easier to shrug off sometimes. But there was something really heartbreaking about losing that bass that I had been after for so long in a pond about half an acre in size. The next year the pond choked out by unhindered weed growth and oxygen levels dropped low enough to kill off the whole pond. RIP megladon.
 
#69 ·
Great story! It brings back memories of fishing lakes as a kid in the mid-west. Although I cannot lay claim to ever hooking or catching a bass such as the one you described, I occasionally glimpsed trophy size bass fleeing to the depths like some ghostly apparition. To say the least, those fish are indeed haunting!
 
#72 ·
Most recent haunting was the loss of a rod and fish. This weekend on the Upper Bogey hooked something large on the swing, set the hook and snap. Line straightened and broke off the intruder taking 3 of the four sections of my switch rod with it. The worst part is I just got the thing back from a repair the night before!!
 
#73 ·
ouch!!!! Sorry to hear that. I hope you at least had a spare and could salvage the trip
 
#74 ·
21 years ago, on the Lower American. I hooked a beautiful steelie on a 6 wt. rod and never saw it. A guy on the other bank was ecstatic, saw the fish the whole time, said it was a good 10 lbs. It got into water I couldn't but it was a memorable 10 minutes.
 
#75 ·
There are more than a few fish in my past that haunt me, here is but one. It was around 1993, on the east coast, western Long Island Sound, October. I had gotten into a nice groove of living like a Vampire as I was fishing for the fall Striped Bass run down the New England coast; fishing all night and sleeping all day, and living in my Plymouth Voyager. One night I was on the jetty wall between Sherwood Island and Burying Hill, at the mouth of the tidal creek, fishing the outgoing tide. At about 3 a.m. I got an enormous, heavy pull on my line, and the fish immediately ran down the rip, downcurrent out into the Sound. The fish was a heavy, bruising fighter that chugged it's mouth along the bottom, shaking the fly like a Bulldog, running about 100 yards, then easing up, I put the wood to em' and worked the fish back almost to my feet... ZZZOOOMMM!!! and away she ran again, (the really big ones are often hens), down the outgoing tidewater again, chugging and thrumming the fly and line, yanking like hell all the way, back out to the 100 yards mark again, and easing off again... I worked the fish back, pumping, winding, lifting, a constant moderate pressure all the while. This well might be the biggest fish I had ever caught and I was really wanting to get it in to see and release. Just as the fish got to within a dozen yards or so of me I felt a disheartening "PING!" as the line poped back slack a few feet, the hook was out and the fish was gone. I stared off into the blackness of night, out over the dark waters into an inscrutable void. I looked at my fly, the hook was almost straightened out completely.

I walked back to the van, tucked in my gear, warmed up a can of soup and pouted. It was almost 5 a.m. before I drove home in a distracted muddle of mental images. I knew I had not done anything especially wrong, that a fish can be lost even when we do it right... Yet still I doubted. I got home by six and went straight to bed, slept fitfully all day, and then got up about four in the efternoon. I began a new; I changed the flys and leader; I checked all of my knots right back to the spool; I checked all of the rod connections; checked the reel and seat, the drag etc, all of the guides... I filled the thermos and made sandwiches, loaded up the van and drove back to the shore an hour away. It was sunset by the time I got to the parking lot, a clear starry night of cool crisp air awaited me, there was a moon coming on, the water looked good. I took a walk, had some coffee and a sandwich, checked all of my gear again, and I waited. And I waited some more. By midnight I was fishing again, in the same exact spot as the night before. I knew it might be a few hours off, but you dont soon forget something like the last fish you caught, especially when it is that big and that tough. I fished into the small hours of the morning, half embarrassed at the idea of hoping to meet up with anything that good two nights in a row. But the fall Striper run there is only weeks long some years, and so when you know there are BIG fish around you shut up and you fish. By 3 a.m. I was feeling like a fool... But then I remembered that the tides advance by 50 minutes each day... At almost four I was so tired I was just lobbing the big white Deceiver fly out there into the darkness, "Cast and Hope" Joan Wulff called it.

And somewhere around four thirty a strange thing happened- the line yanked tight with a hard pop, and a big heavy pull drew my flyline out, down the creek, downtide, out into the darkness, headed toward the oyster stakes, and the big fish was solidly on, chugging and wallowing on the bottom, shaking the fly hard and running like hell...all the way out to the 100 yard mark. And once again I turned a big hard fish back as it eased, working it back in almost too my feet, only to have it run back out again, just as hard as the first run, just like the night before... Good God... It can't BE!... And so it went another time, another deep thrashing run, a few tail smashing breaks on the water lent an authority to this fish, it felt angry too. I finally got this fish back in, into the shallows and the wash at the bottom of the jetty wall in about three feet of water, and it popped off- just like the night before- and swam away, off into the night, out there beyond any hope I had of ever casting a fly, back to South Carolina or wherever they all go. I was in shock. It was as if the same fish had come back, thats how it felt anyway. I cranked the fly in and inspected it; there was a tiny patch of white meat attatched to the nearly straightened hook, just behind the barb. I pulled it off the hook and put it into my mouth, It was salty and sweet. "That is a hard way to eat a Striped Bass" I thought. I had some charts of Cape Hatteras in the van.
 
#77 ·
This is a fun thread, some great stories. I've lost my fair share, but two specifically stick out in my head. Oddly enough, both were in the Bahamas.

The first was a 25-30lb permit on Great Inagua. I was fishing the flats with Anil and our Guide, Ezzard. I had my first ever shot at a school of permit, I was shaking and made a terrible cast, probably 10 feet short and a few feet right of the fish. Lucky me, they all changed direction and went right to my fly. I followed up the cast with the worst trout-set you can imagine, pulled the fly right out of the fishes mouth. With most permit, this would spook the fish, this one had to be hungry. He came back and hammered my fly. I spent 45 minutes working the fish towards the the boat. I got it within 10 feet two times, but both times he took off running. After that 2nd time, out of the corner of my eye, I see a 12+ foot lemon shark cruise on in. My fishing buddy, Anil, asks our guide if he's ever had a shark eat a hooked permit before. Our guide said "Nope, and I've been guiding for 40+ years".... Of course within seconds of asking the shark b-lines for my fish. I dropped the drag to nothing hoping the fish would get away. The reel screamed for a couple seconds, then went silent. I'd just fed my un-deserved first permit to an enormous lemon shark.

The second was a year or two later, I was on a sailboat in the bahamas with 5 other anglers (including Brian O'Keefe!) - I managed to hook my first Dorado by a patch of sargasso. I didn't have much big fish fighting experience at the time, especially not with jumpers. I worked the fish right up to the boat, when it decided to take a flying leap and give me some serious head shakes. Being the inexperienced fool I was, I kept the line tight and broke it off right in front of us. The big bull slowly cruised away on the surface with my fly hanging out of the corner of his mouth. I felt like he was giving me the middle finger.

A little redemption on both though. Probably 30 minutes after loosing my would-be first permit I managed to land my first double digit bonefish, an 11 pound behemoth that put a smile right back on my face. As for the dorado, 2 or 3 hours later I hooked and landed my first sailfish. I'd been clowned by my friends, and educated on how to deal with big jumping fish. I used my experience to my advantage, and bowed to the pez bella until I got it in.

Thanks for posting.
 
#81 ·
Years back a BC interior lake that took 4 hrs of 4X4ing to get to was totally worth it when we arrived. The tranquility and the isolation as we set up our float tubes was breathtaking. A quiet troll for most of the day produced a couple of small trouties between the two of us. I changed up to a purple Doc Sprately and continue the troll. A few moments later my line began to scream and rod double over. It did not stop until my line came to an end and the tippet snapped. You could hear my heart echoing its beat across the lake. One day I'll pound my truck back in there to get a second shot at that guy.
 
#83 ·
Teaching my then 5-year old son to flyfish in Newfoundland, Canada on the Waterford River not far from our house. Great concentration of sea-run browns. Had caught several nice 10-12 inch fish, taking turns with my son letting a woolly bugger drift into the current and dark holes by large stones. Then helping him work the fish in before releasing them. Hooked into a huge one on his "turn" and said, "son, this is a big one, Dad better take him on." Landed a nice 18-inch fish. My son seemed okay with Dad taking his turn. Then we let the fly drift down into the same hole and the water exploded as a HUGE trout slammed onto the fly. Excited I said again, "Son, should Dad take this one on?" "No, Daddy, you took two turns already. This one's mine." Even though only 5-years old, he fought that fish pretty well as Dad hung onto his belt to steady him in the stream. Held onto the bottom of the rod as he got tired well into the fight. The line would sing down the current, then the reel would click, click, click as he fought the fish back upstream. We got him close enough my son could look that fish nearly in the eye. Well, at five years old he was a lot closer to the water surface than I was! :eek:) After what seemed like half-an hour my son was tired and so was the fish. He took one more look at us and shook his head for one more surge....snapping the tippet. That fish would have gone many pounds. The next week there was a story in the paper that a teenager had caught a 15-pound brown in that same spot. Makes one wonder.
 
#84 ·
Thanksgiving, 1995 or 1996. I am in town visting the future outlaws with my Fiance. Figure I would take a stab at fly fishing for steelhead. By this time I had caught plenty of fish, but none on a bug rod. In fact I think this is the first time I could realistically say I was trying to angle for steelhead on a fly. I had a plan anyway and no backup gear rod.

Water was low, so I did my best "fat ninja" impression sneaking from place to place on the river where I could not see bottom. These long dark holes held fish (I was sure). I would cast upstream and mend like mad (I may or may not have learned about sink tip lines yet...) to get the fly down where I could no longer see it and then let it swing/dead drift.

Cast, mend, mend, mend...daydream. "Huh?" Hung up. Reel. Rod begins to buck lightly. Heart flutters. I gently keep reeling. Big buck emerges from the bottom of the hole, fly in his snout like a trained dog on a leash. Just rises up, no fuss. Big ass red stripe and huge. Heart pounding now.

Eyes transfixed on Mr. Steelhead. Mr. Steelhead thrashes once and is gone.

Out comes the fly, and Mr. Steelhead goes back into his hidy-hole. Thought briefly about diving in after him.

I never set the hook. Not even a litte. So completely caught off guard at hooking one, I just froze. When I play the tape in my head, I am sure that Mr. Steelhead was probably only vaguely aware something was pulling him up until the very end. One hookset and he would have been mine.

Sigh. A year later I would hook and land my first steel on the fly.
 
#86 ·
At fifteen on a small stream in south west Colorado, the Piedra river. The water was a bit murky for flies so I threw on a black and yellow panther martin on my fly rod. I hooked a brown on a spinner in a deep hole. He surfaced two or three times and went deep. I figured about 24 inches at the time. All of a sudden it felt like he had wrapped me around a log and pulled tight and stiff. The spinner came free and shot up to the surface. All tolled I think I fought it for about 8-10 minutes.
A few days later my dad and I went fishing on the same stretch and he hooked into a huge brown with a grass hopper fly as soon as we got to MY HOLE! With my begrudgingly help we landed a 28 inch brown with his jaw split right up the middle through his lip and I just knew it! Best catch and release I ever saw!
 
#88 ·
Sheesh! How do you pick one?

By species:
Chinook - Three Rivers. Broke one off after a 40 minute battle that was 70+ pounds
Spring Chinook - Three Rivers. Jumped once and snapped my leader to let me know line ages into worthlessness and needs to be tossed. Was 15 pounds
Steelhead - Zipperlip River. Hook pulled out of a downstream freight train of 20+ pounds
Bull - Metolius. Ate whole the 11-inch rainbow I was fighting and swam under a log jam and wouldn't come out. Was about 15 pounds
Rainbow - Metolius. Ran downstream. I couldn't follow. Sorta played out, it turned on its side and skipped on the surface a couple of times before hook straightened (20+ inches)
LMB - Willamette slough. Went airborne with the surface plug I was fishing and snapped the leader right at the wind knot I convinced myself I didn't need to fix. Was 8-ish pounds
Yellowstone Cutthroat - Yellowstone River. Took a size 18 mosquito on 2.5 pound tippet. The only Yellowstone Cutt I've ever hooked that jumped. Then it ran at a 45-degree angle across and down and into my backing before snapping off. Was easily over 22 inches.
Brown - Madison. Fall-run fish out of a lake took me downstream deep into a seam between two currents and finally broke me off. Never saw him, so he musta been at least 17 pounds ;)
Oncorhynchus clarkii clarkia - Siletz River. Only 16 inches or so, but one of the first trout I ever hooked as a kid and probably responsible for my addiction ever since.

Lots more but they'd repeat a species.

Ah, well. "Better to have loved and lost than to have never..."
 
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