So close and yet so far -
ëthe one that got awayí
Posted 1/23/03

Fishing, whether in open water or through the ice, provides the angler with many memorable moments. Some of those memories, no doubt, pertain to a special fish that was caught and kept or, perhaps, caught, photographed and carefully released. But it is the ones that get away that are truly special and especially memorable.

The reminiscent angler may not recall all of the fish he or she has ever caught, but I guarantee they will always remember the details of the one that got away.

Anyone who has ever fished from a boat, waded a stream or has spent some time in an ice fishing shack, probably has a story about the fish that got away. It is just inherent to the sport. If you have fished long enough, sooner or later you discover that the fish do not always stay on your line, for one reason or another. Perhaps the line broke or, worse yet, the rod or reel fell apart. The fish might have just let go as you tried to get it into the net or maybe your net knocked the hook out of its mouth. Another plausible scenario is that you watched as a huge fish followed your lure back to the boat but wouldn't strike. Any number of factors come into play at these times and it's these special details that make the event a memorable one.

Circumstances around my special event are as fresh in my mind today as they were when it happened. The one that got away from me occurred several years ago while winter fishing on Mille Lacs. Oh, I have other assorted stories, all true of course, about many fish that were lucky enough to get away from me but this one sticks out in my memory because the fish was a real trophy.

My nephew Steve Banks and I were catching perch through the ice on the north shore of Mille Lacs Lake out from the Wealthwood public access. We were fishing in about 20 feet of water and the perch bite had been very, very good that day. So good, in fact, that we had enough for a good meal and by early afternoon were ready to call it quits. Since the temp had stayed well below zero throughout that cold January day, Steve had volunteered to walk back to shore to warm up the truck while I stayed behind and packed up the gear. I kept one line in the water while I stowed the rest of the gear on the sled, in hopes of catching just one more fish.

Well, my hopes were soon realized as I turned around and noticed that my bobber was down. Way down. Down so far that it was no longer visible. So I grabbed the ice rod, set the hook and felt a pretty good tug on the line. I quickly realized that this was no perch!

Each time I reeled in a little line, the fish peeled as much or more off my reel. Bear in mind that we had been using small perch jigs and four-pound test line, so there was no horsing this guy in. So, I finessed it, up to where I could just about see it, only to have it angrily fight back by pulling a bunch of line off the low set drag on the reel. This fish won this ice hole tug of war three times before it tired enough for me to reel it up to get a look at it.

It was a huge walleye! Bigger than the 30-incher I have on my wall. My first glance at it took my breath away and made my heart beat like a rabbit. What a fish!

Gingerly, I slowly tried to work its nose up to the bottom of the hole but each attempt was unsuccessful because this fish would not have any part of it. The more I tried to get that walleye vertical, the more it fought to stay horizontal.

Steve had yet to return from the truck so I decided to go it alone and reached for the gaff hook in my bucket. As if in slow motion, I carefully and slowly lifted the rod with one hand and lowered the gaff hook into the water with the other.

As soon as the hook touched the fish, it was all over. The provoked and angry walleye rudely flipped its white-tipped tail and with a loud splash was gone, just like that! I was flabbergasted. All I had to show for my close encounter with the trophy walleye was a now-deformed jig that was dangling harmlessly at the end of my line. At the moment of truth, when the big fish bolted away, the little hook had straightened out and slipped easily out of the fish's jaw.

When Steve finally entered the fish house I was standing over the hole in the ice with that jig in my hand, my mouth open and a dumb look on my face. I then recounted the events for him. As I told him how the walleye got away, the look in his eye told me that he wasn't buying any of it.

Be that as it may, I will always remember that moment when the huge walleye was so close, yet so far away, and to this very day I still see that big fish swimming down the hole.

For me, that is indeed, the one that got away...