We had figured out a technique with the three
‘skies we’d landed the day before. We figured landing a muskie in fishing kayaks is a two- person job, much the same as the one Vic and Rhino used to land the shark, without beating it upside the head. Te assistant floats up beside the fisher with a net or just a spare set of hands and gently scoops the fish out of the water for a quick photograph and release.
Six inches from my leg was my Rapala, snagged inside a mouth full of daggers, and one dark, spooky eye.
With my fish now at the surface and my helpers
paddling like mad, but still hundreds of yards away, I was faced with landing this monster myself. I’d read that muskie teeth aren’t like those
of sharks or piranhas, the purpose of which is shearing flesh. Muskie teeth are extremely sharp and numerous but used only for holding on to their slippery prey. Knowing this didn’t make me any more enthusiastic about grabbing the leader and dragging the meanest of all freshwater fish into my lap. I had him to the surface beside the kayak a
couple of times. He was easily the length of my 36-inch inseam, which I figured I’d use to pin him to the deck. Grabbing the leader I liſted his flat, ugly head out of the water. Te look in his dark, evil muskie eyes seemed
to be saying, “Go ahead, punk, make my day.” I considered my options. Landing the largest fish out of the Petawawa
River would certainly increase my macho angling status in tackle shops around the world and doing so in a fishing kayak would be good for the editor-in-chief of Kayak Angler. I’d never have to buy drinks in marina bars; I’d go on to have my own TV show and people would read about me online, like I had read about Vic Van Wie and his world-record thresher. On the other hand, I thought of poor Dan
Droessler and his leg with 60 stitches. His muskie hangs in the hospital ER reception area in Dodgeville, Wisconsin, with a sign under it that says, “Man-eating fish.” I realized that being admitted to the hospital with a pissed off muskellunge latched to my genitals would also make me famous but do nothing for my angling (or manly) reputation. I gently lowered my muskie back into the
water and opened the bail on my reel, giving him all the line he wanted. About 30 feet away he shook the hook at me and was gone. When the guys finally arrived with the net,
I was reeling in the last few feet of line and my trashed Rapala. Tey asked what happened. “Sorry, just snagged on a log,” I lied.
SCOTT MACGREGOR is the publisher and editor-in-chief of Kayak Angler, as well as Rapid, Adventure Kayak and Canoeroots and Family Camping magazines.
32 … KAYAK ANGLER summer/fall 2008
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