Monster striper in winter

Here we are entering late January and experiencing unseasonably warm daytime highs, meanwhile hoping that the coldest days of winter are behind us.

Although the temperatures are not conducive to the days of bow hunting I had planned for the late season, I would rather fish than hunt any day of the week. Judging from past experiences, wintertime fishing can prove productive and enjoyable, especially when one isn't forced to bundle up to survive frigid temperatures.

One wintertime fishing trip provided an especially cherished moment. Hugh Demby and I loaded up shortly after daylight one January morning and drove to Lake Greeson. Unlike current readings, the temperature was frigid, the thermometer hovering around 20 degrees when we arrived at Self Creek Landing. The wind was calm.

Bundling up, we slowly motored to a location where days earlier we had boated limits of black bass. With a little luck, we would once again find the fish and be back in the comfort of a heated truck in a couple of hours.

But much to our dismay, the wind picked up soon thereafter. And the wind chill was practically more than we could stand. But we had driven about an hour to get there, and in turn would brave the conditions for as long as we could stand.

We hoped that the increasingly heavy winds would send the bass into a feeding frenzy. It didn't take long, however, to figure out that the conditions had an adverse effect on the fish's willingness to bite.

They were obviously suffering through a severe case of lockjaw. It mattered not what we chose to cast, they had no intentions of biting. Finally stomaching all we could stand, we called it a day, chilled to the bone and eager to thaw out on the way home.

Hugh cast with the wind at his back just as I pulled the trolling motor from the water. "Let me straighten my line out before we leave," he said. That was fine with me, as he would likely have it retrieved before I had my rods secured and was situated in the passenger seat.

"Corbet, I think I just got hung up," he said with disgust just about the time I got situated. But his tone immediately changed when his drag began to sing. "Hey, I've got a fish," he explained, "And it's a big one."

I rushed to the front of the boat and hastily dropped the trolling motor back into the water, as the line continued to peel from his spool.

"Follow him," Hugh screamed. "I don't think this 8-pound test (line) is going to hold him."

Kicking the motor into high gear, I chased the fish into the main channel, where the water was 70 feet deep. Following the fish as it lunged forward in spurts, I was relieved when it finally showed a lull in its fight.

Slowly working her to the surface, Hugh finally coaxed her close enough to see. It was a monster, a huge striper larger then either of us had imagined. It was much too large to fit in the net, but he finally worked it close enough so I could lean over the boat and lip it enough to grab it by the gill plate.

Dragging the 38-pounder into the boat I was amazed at what my fishing partner had managed to boat with 8-pound test line. It was a catch that has not been exceeded. But this winter might just be when we catch something even bigger.

Sports on 01/22/2017

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