Fishing Scott Stevens and the Hog By Scott Stevens. Then on a breezy day at Lac St. Anne in a rented boat, after 11 hours of trolling with Allen and MarSadie, I hooked what for a long moment seemed like bottom. Then the bottom shook its head. While still at trolling speed, the rod was almost jerked from my grip, and for almost 10 minutes the walleye (hereafter referred to as Hog) put up a dogged fight on the bottom without showing herself. It was a long time before Hog sort of popped to the surface and glided to the net all in one swift, smooth motion. Hog never had the chance for the customary two or three runs and flops at the boatside that might have granted her freedom. The successful stinger hook in Hog's jaw snapped at the knot before I pried it from Hog's lip. Hog neither flipped nor flopped, not after she was in the net, or in the boat bottom, or while two barbed hooks were pliered from her jaw, not while she was hefted, passed from person to person and prodded, or while she was held up for a picture. Hog didn't even fidget. We snapped a chain link through her lip without a grimace and then slipped her overboard on the stringer (after we released the smaller walleye Al had caught, as Hog was enough). I was thinking of measuring Hog, but decided that later would be easier and cleaner. Allen was thinking of a friend, who just 5 days prior had lost an 8.3 LB walleye when it broke a chain stringer. Only a second or two had passed when we were both about to check the stringer. We leaned toward it with some strangely perverse sense of deja vu meant to let us see the inevitable up close and helpless. With a mighty swipe of her tail, Hog snapped the chain attached to the boat and disappeared. All we could do was watch her dive deep, and crouch with hands outstretched and mouths agape until reality checked in. I may have the picture of Hog, if the camera worked. Fate may have more to say. For now, karma has shown me how the other fisher felt. |
More Stories!! |