Water Wolves of the Sandhills

"Holy Moly! Did you see that? A monster pike just followed my bait right up to the boat!" I smiled as my fishing partner dropped his pole to the floor and sat down to catch his breath. A pike follow never fails to convert the casual soul into a bumbling ball of nerves. I liken it to a near miss from a gator attack.

"Next time he does that, lower your lure to the bottom of the lake and he will usually follow it down to eat it," I said.

"Do you think he will come back?"

"Probably not, as loud as you just screamed," I replied.

The northern pike is at the top of the food chain in the Sandhill lakes where it swims. It will eat everything from carp to ducks. When they are really hungry, they will even try to eat each other, no matter how big the other guy is. I've had them latch on to some pretty nice fish on the end of my line. Their teeth are razor-sharp, cutting nearly before they touch anything. Their snouts are shaped like a shovel to root in the lake bottom muck for winter hibernating frogs. Their bodies are shaped like a torpedo, chasing down prey from a distance. They are the ultimate predator, the wolves of the water.

I remember as a child, listening to adult anglers talk about pike fishing in the Sandhills. They told of early spring days, fishing in chest waders, and casting red and white Dardevles out into the open water. The heavy spoons cast like bullets way out to where the big ones roamed. They didn't argue about the lure of choice, but they did get into some serious discussions about the best rods and reels. Spinning reels allowed for the longest cast, no doubt, but the debates were about who of the big two, Abu Garcia and Berkley, made the best outfits. At the time, I was still using a cane pole and dreaming of the day when I could experience the kind of fishing that the grown ups were doing.

Then the day came when my brother and I saved up enough money to place an order to Sports Liquidators. Their offer was twelve assorted spoons for $3.99. They weren't Dardevles but they looked pretty awesome in the picture. Fifty years later, I still have one of these.

My brother and I split the dozen spoons and I clipped a hammered chrome one on my snap swivel one morning at Pibel Lake. The Game and Parks had stocked the lake a year before with pike and I was anxious to hook my first one. It was a calm July morning and I made my way around the west shore of the lake, casting the spoon as far out as my Zebco 202 would allow. On one of the retrieves I felt a jolt and set the hook. The fight was on and I soon beached the flopping pike into the tall brome grass that surrounded the lake. I pounced on the slimy fish, widely avoiding its teeth and slid a stringer through its gill and out the mouth to carry my prize catch back to camp to show everyone. The fish measured 17 3/4 inches long, which I now consider a hammer handle, but at the time was a real monster. I was hooked!

As I gained angling experience through high school and beyond, I discovered that I could catch pike on more than just spoons. One of the deadliest pike lures of all time was a Lil Tubby. I soon knew if there was a pike in the area casting this interesting lure. It was a plastic crankbait with a twisty tail attached. Regretfully, the lure went out of production sometime in the 80's.

I will never forget my first serious day of pike fishing in the Sandhills. It was a cool, rainy Saturday in September, 1985. My brother-in-law and I loaded a canoe on top of my Chevy S-10 and we headed for Dewey lake on the Valentine National Wildlife Refuge. I heard reports that the perch were hitting so we dug a bunch of worms and drove north. We paddled around the main lake, dragging worms to no avail. We noticed some rigs parked at the west boat ramp so we decided to load up and head that direction. What we found there changed my idea of fishing for the rest of my life. Pike were attacking our spinnerbaits, sometimes three at a time. We sat in the canoe for hours, soaking wet in a driving rain, and caught pike on nearly every cast. We thought that we had died and gone to fishing heaven. We had discovered the ultimate rush in fishing.

Since that day I have guided dozens of men and lady anglers in the Sandhills, targeting the voracious northern pike. I've heard comments like "I have fished for pike in Canada and Alaska and have never seen anything like this. I had no idea Nebraska had this kind of fishing." In twenty-seven years of guiding, we have boated an estimated 10,000 pike. We caught and released at least ninety-eight percent of these fish.

I've had the privilege to fish for almost every species in the central part of North America and every one of them has its unique quality. Perch and walleyes are known for their table fare. White bass and wipers fight like the dickens. Trout are a blast on a flyrod. Catfish grow to enormous size. Carp never give up the fight. Bluegills and crappies provide fast action. Largemouth and smallmouth bass provide great sport. But number one on my list is the fish that has all these qualities plus the one that is hard on the old ticker. No other fish will follow your lure to within arms-reach, then threaten to jump in your lap to eat it. No other fish will be called the water wolf.