He hit the topwater buzzbait with gusto. The water exploded around him in a wild spray and for a second, my heart felt as though it had stopped on a dime.
He was a monster by any description and I immediately knew that we (my light/medium-action spinning rod and reel and me) were woefully outmatched. My rod was strung with six-pound test monofilament line, but the beast that had struck my lure easily tipped the scales at 90 pounds.
In an instant, he went on a searing run upstream and began peeling line off my reel, but I didn’t dare set the hook. In fact, I did just the opposite—I flipped open the bail on the reel and gave him all the line he wanted.
And he wanted a lot.
That is, until I screamed, “Come here, boy, c’mon!”
That’s when the golden retriever on the other end of my line did an about-face and began swimming right back toward me with my buzzbait—complete with a trailer hook—in his mouth.
Now, the animal rights activists among you might be wondering just why in the heck I was fishing for golden retrievers. Please allow me to assure you that I was not intentionally fishing for retrievers, or dogs of any sort, really. It just happened. Just like the stories we hear every year about the kid fishing for bluegill and landing a record bass, I was fishing for bass and hooked a golden retriever. Go figure.
The year was 1992, and I was a still-green-behind-the-ears newspaper reporter, just two years removed from college and a recent Kokomo transplant. I didn’t know many people in town, so I started fishing by myself in the evenings.
On this particular day, I had been catching a variety of decent-sized smallmouth bass on an orange buzzbait, which for you non-anglers is one of those lures that looks more like a fish frightener than a fish catcher. It has a long wire arm, a metal or plastic blade, a large hook, and a grassy skirt.
- Rocket cast it to where you want to fish (they’re easy to cast long distances because some of them are as heavy as a keychain full of keys).
- As soon as the lure hits the water, start your retrieve.
- Reel in quickly until the buzzer comes to the surface and then gurgles along, making all kinds of fish-attracting racket.
- Don’t stop reeling or the lure will sink and very likely get hung up in weeds, rocks or on a tree limb (tree limbs are always found where you least want them).
While I was walking along the bank and fishing, a large, wet golden retriever came bounding across the park in my general direction. My mother had a golden retriever named Alex and I knew he was harmless (we always joked that if an intruder broke in, Alex would hold the flashlight for them) but I was wary of this dog because he was a stranger and for all I knew, I might look like a giant chew toy to him.
My initial caution quickly turned to panic when the big dog leaped onto me and drove me to the ground. I am sure I screamed like a little girl until I realized that the dog was playing with me and not trying to eat me. So, we spent some time in the grass – mostly with me trying to get to my feet and the large wet golden retriever standing on me and licking my face.
After I managed to get to my feet, Mr. Retriever decided that he was adopting me. Because I name everything, I decided to call him “Tim.” Tim dutifully followed me back to a picnic table where I had left a cooler bag with my dinner. We shared my ham sandwich and chips. After the food was gone—much of it right into his belly—I decided it was time to get back to fishing.
I walked back down to the water’s edge, drew my rod arm back and fired the buzzbait toward the other side of the creek near some logs that had already given up a couple of decent bass earlier that evening. The moment my buzzbait took flight, so did Tim. By the time the buzzbait hit the water, Tim was already one-third of the way across the creek and paddling madly toward the spot my buzzbait had landed.
Now, you might be thinking that the wisest course of action on my part would’ve been to just let my bait sink to the bottom where Tim couldn’t find it. You’d be right about that except that I knew the area into which I was casting was full of logs, limbs and all matter of other underwater lure stealers. And it was the only buzzbait I had at the time and it was the only lure I had that was catching fish that day.
So, I decided that I could retrieve the lure faster than Tim (the retriever) could swim. Bad idea.
I managed to cover about 20 feet of water, maybe a little more, before Tim snatched the lure right off the surface and began swimming away from me.
Now, you might be able to imagine the feeling of panic that came over me. As a dog lover, I was envisioning the two giant 1/0 hooks (pronounced, “one-ought,” these hooks are about one inch in length) shoved through his lips, tongue or snout.
So, there I was, rod in hand, a look of horror on my face, and Tim swimming away with my lure. I opened the bail and let him have all the line he wanted while I trotted along the edge of the creek, trying not to wet myself while I considered our predicament.
After I had run for at least 100 or so yards along the edge of the creek, I had the bright idea to call out to him. Even though I had named him “Tim,” I figured he didn’t know his name was “Tim,” so I said, “C’mere, boy…c’mon!”
Tim immediately stopped—and I mean with military exactness—did an about-face, and began swimming back to me. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t think to start reeling in the slack line as he swam back toward me (this becomes important later). As he neared me, I could see that he was cradling my buzzbait horizontally in his mouth, with the buzzer blade hanging out one side of his mouth and the two hooks hanging out the other side of his mouth. The only part of the lure actually in his mouth was the lure body, head, and skirt. Unbelievably, he did not appear to be actually hooked.
The overwhelming sense of relief I enjoyed as he bounded up onto the bank was short-lived as he immediately started shaking as wet dogs do, flinging water everywhere. I was certain he was going to hook himself then, but I didn’t hear any yelping, and once he was done shaking, he just stood there looking at me expectantly.
I approached him, hand out, hoping that I could snatch the lure out of his mouth without either of us getting hooked. That’s when he took off running along the creek bank. Remember all of that slack line I mentioned? Well, that meant he had all kinds of spare line available to run and I didn’t dare flip the bail closed for fear that he would be immediately hooked.
So, there I am running behind this wet golden retriever as he zigzagged through trees, bushes, and several picnic tables. Then, I realized that nearly all the line had been taken off my reel and I knew when the last coil of line came off and he pulled against the knot holding the line to the reel, he was very likely to be hooked.
So I did the only thing I could think of and yelled, “SIT!”
Tim immediately—and I mean immediately—sat down. Because he had wound the fishing line around so many trees and so forth, I literally had to step over and duck under the fishing line that was strung all over creation. When I got to him, I held out my hand, placed it under his chin and commanded, “Drop it!”
Without a delay, Tim immediately dropped the spit-covered lure into my hand and waited obediently for another command. As I petted his head, I was busy examining his lips for any sign of damage and I couldn’t see that he’d suffered a scratch.
I spent the next 20 minutes using a knife to cut and gather up all the line so that I could dispose of it properly. The whole time, Tim sat and watched, wagging his tail wildly.
I had another rod and reel with me and I really wanted to fish, but as soon as I picked it up, Tim immediately rushed to the water’s edge, ready to spring. Unless I wanted a repeat performance, I figured I’d be better off calling it a day. As I was packing things back into my car, Tim suddenly perked up, obviously listening to something, and then bolted off in the direction from whence he originally came. I had to assume that his owner was calling to him and my ears just weren’t good enough to hear.
As I was leaving, another angler pulled in and asked me how I’d done. I told him that I just landed “a big’un.” He asked if I kept it, and I for a moment, I thought about telling my story. Then I decided that I just wanted to go home and drink.
So, instead, I said, “Nah, I practice catch and release.”
