Landon and I could have walked across the backs of the mosquitos swarming around us as we slipped our kayaks into the tranquil river. The fishing wasn't supposed to be great this late summer morning, and the lack of other anglers on the river showed as the sun began to paint the September sky captivating oranges, pinks, and yellows.
I've lost count of the times I've kayak fished this stretch of the Lower Illinois River near Gore, OK. The ice-cold, clear water emerging from the bottom of Tenkiller Lake is an ideal habitat for the stocked rainbow and brown trout, but on this trip, we were after the monsters of the river: striped bass.
Landon and I were about to commit a trout angler's unpardonable sin: use freshly caught trout as bait. Our goal was to catch a few trout before we made it too far downriver. This wouldn’t have been a problem most days, but we struggled to get a bite in holes that typically produced, and unlike a good angler, I began obsessing over all the negative possibilities of getting skunked.
“If we don’t catch a trout, we won’t have bait to catch a big striper, and if we don’t catch a big striper, this trip will be a failure, and if this trip is a failure, that means I’m a failure…”
I watched Landon tie on a crappie jig as the current took us downstream. The madness in my head was in stark contrast to the calm, slow-moving waters gently carrying us.
After several missed bites, Landon finally caught a small rainbow trout, the perfect size for our willful sin. We cut the trout into small chunks and tossed it into a deep hole, just as you would for the channel catfish I’d caught in this river. But we weren’t after a plate of fried catfish. We were targeting the hard-fighting striped bass.
The Lower Illinois produced the last state record striper, a 47 lbs 8 oz behemoth, and I’d seen dozens of giants on previous trips, but I’d never tried to catch a big one from my kayak until today.
A few small stripers decided to peck our trout chunks at the first spot we hit, so Landon downsized his bait and reeled in a little one before we moved. Skunk avoided. But, I still had to prove my skills as an angler. I’d only caught one-pounders, so it was time to prove to Landon and myself that I could land a colossal striper in my kayak. However, I knew the likelihood of hooking a giant was minimal with the time of year and conditions working against us.
Nonetheless, we paddled on, arriving at a hole Landon had promised would be our best shot at catching a biggun’. I was well acquainted with the spot. I’d reeled in countless trout and many other fish throughout the years there. I’d even given it a nickname, ”The Junkyard,” in honor of the cars someone had dumped over the ledge to help prevent erosion.
As I stared at all the old cars scattered down the bank, I almost didn’t notice my rod tip bounce and line begin to move upriver. Slipping my rod out of the rod holder to avoid spooking the fish, I reeled up the slack and set the hook.
The chaos that had been in my head all day erupted on the river. I knew this fish was big, and Landon, the striper expert, agreed. The river monster swam upriver, making my reel sing. The battle raged for minutes that felt like hours as the fish zig-zagged up and down the river—slowly inching closer with each hard-fought turn of the reel, only to take off on another drag-stripping run.
Adrenaline and nerves took over when the fish surfaced fifteen yards out; with a glimpse of the river monster, I knew a state record wasn’t off the table.
When the massive fish finally decided it had had enough, I boated it next to my kayak, snapped a few pictures, and watched it swim off.
Whether or not it was my ticket into the record books ceased to matter; holding that fish for a brief moment calmed the madness in my head just long enough to realize the chaos had ended, and it was time to chase another.
About the Author
Wes is a freelance writer and avid outdoorsman, always chasing the next high, whether sitting in the duck blind laughing with his daughter and buddies or attempting to trick a small-brained fish into biting his hook. When forced indoors, he’s probably thinking about his next adventure, writing about his last one, or excitedly annoying his wife. You can follow his adventures on YouTube and LinkedIn.
