World Record Holder says “Don’t Fool with Pike” by Peter Dubuc

It was a cool, hazy fall morning, September 15, 1940. I'd been out since daybreak, trolling for pike just outside Benedict Bay on the southeast shore of Sacandaga Reservoir, in upstate New York 40 miles northwest of Albany.

I'd worked back and forth over prime pike grounds for an hour and a half without a strike, something that rarely happened to me in those waters. Now, approaching an area where I knew the bottom was spiked with stumps, I revved the outboard a bit to bring my plug up where it wouldn't snag. The water was only nine or 10 feet deep. The drowned stumps, left when timber was cleared before the reservoir was flooded, were a favorite hangout of big northerns. If I couldn't raise a pike here I might as well quit. But I knew I wouldn't do that for a while, no matter what happened. I've never fished just for what I could catch. I passed over the first of the submerged stumps with 75 yards of line out. When I was about that far beyond them, a fish smashed into my lure like a starved cat taking a mouse. The speed of the boat and the savagery of his rush drove the hooks all the way in, and almost before I knew I had the strike the surface of the water boiled as if some- body had tossed a small grenadelike was using my standard trolling rig, a six-foot rod with enough backbone to handle big ones, and 300 yards of 12-pound-test line mounted on a trolling reel. For a minute the fish fought like a wild steer on a rope. Then he quieted down and came along the way I wanted him to. I brought him within 25 feet of the boat before he changed his mind. He didn't make much fuss about it, just swapped ends and lit out. I could tell from the feel of him that I'd better let him run. I set the drag on the reel up to all I thought the line would stand, and he walked off with 115 feet of it as easy as a breeze carrying thistledown. Then he came to the top. He broke water three times, coming out far enough that I got an eyeful. As near as I could tell, there wasn't less than four feet of him. He was long and streamlined, the way all pike are, but he was hefty as well as long. He took off on a big circle, but I gradually pressured him in close enough for a good look. He was a whopper, sure enough. When he whipped around once more and headed for the far side of the reservoir, I gave him the line he wanted without any argument. The only way I'd win this fight would be by outlasting him. I had a 48-inch bronze leader between plug and line. There was no chance he could sever that. If I could keep him away from stumps and snags, the odds were good I'd come out on top. I set the drag as tight as I dared to keep him working every minute, and edged the boat out toward deeper water. The pike bucked and thrashed and took line, and I won it back only to lose it again. It was 45 minutes before I saw any sign of a let-up. He was beginning to play out at last. Another 10 minutes and I had him close to the boat. But I knew he wasn't quite ready for the kill, for he was still belly-down in the water. You don't make your final pass at a pike of that size until he rolls over. When this fellow moved he moved like forked lightning, flailing end for end and flashing under the boat with a wallop that kicked a bucket of water into my face. But I was ready for him. I gave what I had to, turned him, and made him come into the open. Then I punished him with the rod until I saw his long white belly roll to the top. He was ready now. I never gaff a pike. If you have the patience and know-how to tire your fish you have no need for a gaff. I always release everything but my biggest northerns, so I like to bring them in unhurt. I had no gaff along that morning. I learned a long time ago that when a big pike gives up, you take him right then. Grant him a minute to get his second wind and you'll have half the job to do over again, maybe lose him. There's a last-ditch desperation about his fighting, once he has caved in and then managed a comeback. So the second this lunker turned over I moved fast. I reached for his eye sockets with my thumb and mid- dle finger, the way I always do. Holding the pike-paralyzing grip with all my force, I heaved the great fish aboard. Then I looked at my watch. It had taken me an even hour to turn the trick. He was the biggest pike I'd ever caught, but right then, I didn't realize just exactly how big. Ashore, I located scales and a tape to measure the fish. He was 52 1/2 inches long and had a 25-inch girth. His weight was a record-smashing 46 pounds two ounces. We weighed him twice to make sure, the first time in the town of Broadalbin (Pelchers Store), later in Albany, on beam scales both times. It was soon established that I'd taken the biggest northern pike ever landed on hook and line anywhere on earth, a world record that still stands 19 years later. I don't happen to care much about mounted fish, and at $1 an inch, the rate local taxidermists quoted me, I couldn't see a $52.50 investment in this one. So I gave the fish away. I'd had the fun of catching him and the satisfaction of setting a world record. That was all I wanted and more. I grew up at Winooski, Vermont, on the east side of Lake of Lake Champlain. Champlain crawled with big pike in those days, and it's still about as good for pike and walleyes as any water in that part of the country. I started fishing, under my dad's guidance, as soon as I was big enough to throw a handline with a railroad spike tied on the end. I couldn't have been older than five, and it wasn't too many years before I hung up my first really good pike an pounder. From that day to this (I'm a retired electrical engineer of 67 now) pike fishing has had top billing in my book. I've caught my share of the game-fish that swim in or near the eastern half of the United States, including bass, walleyes, trout, tarpon, marlin, sails, barracuda, and big jewfish. But for me, nothing quite matches the murderous personality of the northern, his tireless appetite, his sullen, wicked way of fighting. I'd rather fish for him than eat, drink, or play stud poker. I know nothing caught in fresh water that puts up a more reckless, slashing battle. You wear him down and kill him, or he smashes you up and goes back home. He never quits as long as there's an ounce of fight left in him. I've heard fishermen argue that a pike never fights at the top, and some are inclined to look down their noses at him for that reason. They should have been fast to a 22-pounder I took one morning in late August. I had exceptional luck that day, landing five pike that ranged from 22 pounds up to almost 35, but it was the smallest of the lot that proved the toughest. I caught him casting. He struck at the start of a long retrieve, and his first dash took him behind a drowned stump. At that point I figured I was whipped, but I kept a tight line and rowed around the stump until I could work him into the clear. He came to the top with a rush and started to jump like a tarpon. He waltzed all over the lake, coming out of water about every 10 feet, skipping and tail dancing, rolling on the leader, trying every trick he knew to throw the hooks. He was still jumping after 30 minutes, but the live steam oozed out of him then and the rest of the scrap was easy. At this point I'm sure somebody is wondering whether I really think the northern pike is a better fish than the muskie, or even as good. I've never caught a muskie, so I'm hardly in position to make comparisons. But I do know one thing. The average muskie fisherman uses a line of at least 18 or 20-pound-test, maybe 30. My pike lines never test heavier than 12 pounds. That way I get all the fight there is out of every fish I hook. I think I have as much sport with my pike as the muskie fisherman does with his fish. I learned an important pike-fishing lesson from an 11-pounder I caught in Lake Champlain years ago. I took him on a baitfish smaller than himself. There lies the key to pike behavior. The northern is born to kill. I challenge anything else in scales to match him for evil looks, and his habits are as vicious as his appearance. He'll attack anything he thinks he can handle, whether he wants food or not. He prefers his meat to be a fish of some kind, but he'll take frogs, leeches, eels, snakes, even a young muskrat or wild duckling if he gets the chance. That predatory urge makes him the fisherman's perfect pushover. My favorite piece of pike water has long been Sacandaga Reservoir, where I caught my world-record fish, mainly because for almost 30 years it has sup- plied me with an abundance of north- erns big enough for excitement. It’s a dragon-shaped impoundment backed up by a 115-foot dam at Conklingville as a Hudson River flood-control project. It has 40 square miles of water and 125 miles of ragged shoreline with plenty of bays and creek water and 125 miles of ragged shore- mouths that make ideal pike grounds. In addition, it provides some of the liveliest bass and walleye fishing in that part of New York State. I moved to Albany in 1922, and during the next eight years I watched the reservoir born. It was quite a development. It required clearing almost 30,000 acres of brush and timber, re-locating 44 miles of road, moving 22 cemeteries, three small villages, and parts of 11 other hamlets. The dam was closed in 1930, and for fishermen things began to pop shortly thereafter. A number of creeks feed into the reservoir, in addition to the Sacandaga River. There's Frenchman, Hans, Kennyetto, Mayfield, and Cranberry, among others. Before the dam was built they came together near what is now the southwest end of the lake, forming a big flooded marsh called the Vlaie (pronounced vly). It was an inaccessible place of bogs, bayous, and open channels, swarming with good pike. But it was hard to get to and never heavily fished. The backing up of the reservoir changed that. Given thousands of acres of new water, submerged lairs past all counting, and more food than they knew what to do with, those northerns from the Vlaie did a man-size job of growing up. Pike in the 20-pound class soon became a dime a dozen. I acquired a resort and boat livery on the reservoir near North Broadalbin in 1935, and ran it until I burned out in 1945. During those 10 years I fished Sacandaga just about every day from spring to fall, either on my own or guiding visitors. I got to know it so well that I used to take bets I could guess the depth at any given spot within two feet, and I rarely lost. I'm convinced that familiarity with the reservoir and its stump-laced bottom had a lot to do with my success. The first rule for fishing any water, in my judgment, is to study it until you know it intimately. Up to the time I moved to Sacandaga, I'd always thought a 20-pound pike was a good one. But as soon as I started fishing the reservoir intensively I had to elevate my sights. In 1936 I took a pike that weighed 36 pounds five ounces, the best for the year in New York. A year later my biggest went 32 pounds 10 ounces. In 1938 I landed one of 35 pounds six ounces. I set no records in 1939, but the following year I came back strong with the world-record northern that tipped the scales at 46 pounds two ounces. I did all right again in 1941. with a 33%-pounder. In September of 1942, two years after I caught the world-record pike, I branched out with a 10 pound six ounce largemouth bass, also from Sacandaga. It tied the New York State record for largemouth bass and still holds that honor. Catching that bass was no accident. I was trolling over a cobblestone bot- tom that morning. The water about seven feet deep, shallow enough that I could see the floor of the lake. In other words I was fishing a bass ground for bass, which is the only way you can expect to take 'em. The largemouth tapped my plug, then made a second pass and latched on hard. It took me half an hour to subdue him, and I didn't hurry. I believe in giving a bass that size all the time he wants.

Given a choice of methods, I prefer casting to trolling. But I have a silver plate in my right shoulder that handicaps me severely as a caster. I can't manage an overhand cast at all. I do pretty well sidewinding, but even that way my right arm plays out quickly. So I've been forced to do a lot of trolling, and I've come to the conclusion that if you do it right it's as productive a method as any, especially for pike.

For casting I use a 42-foot rod, a good reel, and 100 yards of line, usually 10-pound test. For trolling I want the rod 18 inches longer and the line three times as long. A 48-inch metal leader is a must if you're after pike. They'll bite braided fiber or monofilament lines in two about as easily as a knife cuts through soft butter.

When it comes to baits for northerns, the rule is simple. Anything that looks and acts like a disabled smaller fish will do the trick. The pike is a coward and a bully as well as a murderer, and he takes special delight in pouncing on something that can't get away. I've caught 'em on a bait I made by threading a wire leader through a hotdog, attaching hooks on each side, and adding two yellow thumbtacks for eyes. I've heard of others fooling them with a carrot, a piece of flattened beer can, an empty .30/30 cartridge, and even a discarded toothbrush.

I'm aware that many experienced pike fishermen swear by wobbling spoons, especially those with red and white stripes. I've taken a good many pike that way myself, and on spoons of various other designs and colors. But years of fishing have convinced me that plugs with good wobbling, wiggling actions do better than spoons.

You can't horse a big pike. The whole trick is to set the hooks firmly and then make the fish fight the strain of the rod and the drag of the reel until he's whipped completely. Most good fish lost get away because they aren't played long enough. Once they're thoroughly tamed there's no need for a gaff. A firm, hard grip in the eye sockets will temporarily paralyze the meanest pike that ever struck. You get this grip with your palm over the pike's head, your thumb and finger in the eyes. It's as sure as a gaff or surer, more sporting, and lets you put back any fish you prefer not to keep.

I can't overstress the value of knowing the lake where you fish—its bottom and depths, the location of stumps, rocks, weed beds and sandbars, and the places where fish feed at various times of the year and various hours of the day.

I advise the angler going to a lake he's never fished before to spend one full day studying water and bottom. Get all the information and advice you can from local experts first. Then go look for yourself. Drag an old plug with the hooks removed to find stumps, submerged weeds, and other under-water cover. Study the shoreline. If you're after northerns, stay away from rocky shores and bottoms. Pike have little use for such places or for sandy beaches. They prefer a marshy shore and weedy floors. The mouths of creeks are often prime places to look for them.

The water depth they frequent depends on weather, time of day, and season of year. In New York they spawn in late April, and when pike season opens May 1 they're still up in shallow water along shore. In early May they even like to lie at the top and sun themselves, and I have often taken them on surface plugs at such times.

With the arrival of warmer weather in June and July they move into deeper water, although they still come in close to shore mornings and evenings to prowl for food. I've made fine catches early and late in the day in June in the same places where I found pike weeks earlier, in water less than 10 feet deep. In early morning I especially like to spot drowned stumps along shore and cast around 'em.

One thing I have never done, and that is to take a northern pike after dark. They hunt every hour from dawn to dusk but I'm convinced they don't feed at night. At least I've never uncovered any evidence of it.

It makes little difference how you present your lure to a pike, so long as you put it within his reach. I know muskie fishermen who say it's important to offer your plug or spoon from the direction where the fish usually gets his food, taking weeds, currents, and other factors into account. That certainly isn't true in pike fishing. The northern is too excited at the chance to kill something to be finicky about how it comes toward him.

One thing is important, however. You have to put your lure within easy reach. For all their assassin's ways, they won't make long stalks. I've watched pike prowling a shallow bay on windless evenings when the water was like glass. They were merciless and deadly, but they were also lazy. Anything that came close enough for a sudden, swift pounce they took, including my plug if I dragged it past within a yard of them. But as long as I kept it 12 to 15 feet away they ignored it. Near sighted? I don't think so. Just lazy.

So the rule is to go to the pike, not expect them to come to you. For mid- day fishing in summer, after the pike have quit the shallows, I've had my best luck at 15 to 20 feet. To get down I where they are, I use either a deep-running plug or a surface plug with a dipsey sinker of the desired weight tied to the line about eight feet ahead of the lure. Deep or shallow, the pike is lurking killer that likes to attack without warning from a hiding place. The best place to find him, spring, summer, or fall, is around stumps or weeds, drowned treetops, submerged brush, under clumps of lily pads, and in similar shelters. And the nearer your lure passes to his lair, the better. Over sandbars, I bump bottom. Casting to weeds or drowned trees, I get as close as I can. You lose plugs by sweeping stumps, but you also take pike. Casting or trolling, I never hurry my lure. That means a slow retrieve in casting, slow speed in trolling. Crippled minnows don't move fast, and that's what you're trying to mimic. Give a lurking fish time to see your plug and grab it. One of my favorite methods is to drift troll with the wind, using neither oars nor motor. On any large lake there's sufficient breeze most days to push you along plenty fast enough. Sacandaga has bars where old roads used to run before the reservoir was flooded. There are pike hideouts along the banks of those bars, and I've taken some very good fish by drifting over them and letting my plug bump bottom.

Where I find one pike I usually find more in the immediate neighborhood, probably because they all like the same conditions and food supply. I've even gone so far as to paint discarded light bulbs red, attach 40 feet of line and a sinker to 'em, and toss one out the instant I got a strike. That enables me to go back to the same area and try again after my fish is landed. On good days I've had as many as half a dozen of those little red buoys overboard at one time, and many times the trick paid off.

Pike move back into shallower water in the fall, as the water cools and heavy weed growth of summer dies is down. I've had my best fishing and caught my biggest fish-including my record pike and bass in September. Late August, after the hot weather is over, is also very good. Next to that season, I'll take early May for northerns. July is at the bottom of my list. I believe pike get sore mouths then (I think they shed their small teeth, in spite of what the experts say) and go off their feed. That's about the only time of the whole year when they sulk, too. The other 11 months, including winter, if you put live food in front of them they'll kill it.

As for weather, I could never see that it had a great deal to do with pike behavior. They strike rain or shine. But I prefer good weather because I enjoy being out on the water when things are fine. And although pike don't feed at night, I happen to think that daylight hours during the dark of the moon period produce peak activity. The pike that taught me my most unforgettable lesson about his kind was a 28-pounder that wasn't exactly starving when he took my plug. He had a 10-inch walleye in his stomach, another eight-inch walleye halfway down, and a six-inch shiner in his gullet. The tail of the shiner was still sticking out of the pike's mouth; there wasn't room for it to go any farther. Yet he walloped my lure as if he'd been fasting for a week. What more can a man ask? Any fish willing to do business with me under those conditions get my vote. THE END.