Sturgeon Fishing

In Times of Fishing Need

by Rebecca on May 6, 2010

in Sturgeon Fishing

~A Helping Hand Sturgeon Fishing Last Summer~

This may come as a real surprise to all you, but I can be a stubborn little cuss when I’m engaged in Outdoor activities. I know, I know, thats hard to believe, but it’s true. Maybe it’s pride or maybe it’s a good old fashion Outdoor upbringing (as in, don’t be a pain in the ass) or maybe I’m just rough around the edges, but I like to hold my own out there. Period.

Which makes Sturgeon fishing a real hate/love/hate scenario for me. On one side of the experience, it’s exhilarating to hook into a fish that’s older than me, taller than me, and weighs more than I do. However, it’s the only fish I’ve ever hooked into that has the ability to make me want to cry Uncle! I give up!  Not that I would ever give up, hell no.  Stubborn totally supercedes pain and suffering. I’d rather let the fish rip my arms out of the socket and sacrifice them to the bottom feeders before I handed off the rod to another person.

But ~ The last time I went Sturgeon fishing I did discover I’m not opposed to someone reaching out (during a time of dire fishing need and snapping tendons) and with one hand hold the upper rod for a minute, or two, to give my weary arms a much needed break. That minor break in the order of all things stubborn annoys me, but as I head into a weekend with Sturgeon on the menu I think I’ll accept another helping hand if the mood strikes. I haven’t clarified the rules with anyone, but I don’t think that sort of help would negate my official Sturgeon catch.

A Score To Settle

The last sturgeon I suffered through and landed, thrashed me on the riverbank (mid-photo op) so I enter this weekend with a renewed stubborn mindset and a score to settle. If I never come back here and write another blog entry you all know why.

I ended up armless…..can’t type anymore.


p.s. thank you everyone for the Bass advice here and on Facebook! I’ve made a list, took out a bank loan to buy it all and will do my best to make you all proud. See, I’m not always stubborn. I asked for help here ~ See ya next week…..


~Rebecca, big fish ON~

~Rebecca, big fish ON~

I know what people think when I tell them I live in Idaho. Visions of potato farms and cow tipping swirl in a cloud of presumption above their heads. Outsider minds will probably throw in a four door diesel truck with a large rifle duct tapped to the back window along with a ‘I heart Pres. Bush’ bumper sticker plus his and her name emblems on each side window. Is that about right? Be honest beyond Idaho border dwellers…..

Today I thought I’d enhance the vision and give you dinosaurs as well. Recently I discovered free time on my hands and the Hubs and I opted to go fishing. We flipped a coin which means if I win, we go flyfishing, if he wins, we go bait (ack) fishing.

He won.

Cue the Snake River and the all mighty Sturgeon fish. There’s a huge difference between flyfishing in a softly moving river for trout, size 12 to 20 inches vs. taking on the black swirling vortex of potential death called the Snake River and all that lives out in those evil waters. Hooking a 9 foot monster sturgeon that becomes instantly and irrationally pissed is on a level that does not coincide with the tranquility of say…..”A River Runs through It” ……

When you catch one it’s instant buckle down and hold on for your life. You strap on a hip belt so the end of the pole doesn’t, in a females case, crush an ovary or puncture a uterus and in the case of men, they strap on the belt so they can still claim fully intact Male after the ordeal.

I’ll admit……It isn’t even a pleasant time, not in a ‘I derived pure joy’ sort of way. Sure we have the first 5 minutes of excitement, the initial call out, “Fish On” usually followed by an impressive set of sturgeon aerial stunt work, but after a few minutes it becomes a test of strength and mental will power. Fighting a 200 lb fish that is using the current to it’s advantage makes for numb hands and jello arms. It’s pure pain actually.

Freshwater Jaws

Freshwater Jaws

After 15, 20, 30 minutes of that sort of fun, the experience (and back pain) reminds me of childbirth. I have no idea what men compare the experience to…..a 40 minute episode on the throne in the bathroom?? Anyway, I become silent and focused. I can hear people encouraging me along, but all I really want is a safe cozy blanket and some apple juice. It becomes, she who talks first, loses all sense of sanity and cries Uncle. But, the last thing I would ever, ever, do, is admit defeat to the male egos around me who constantly ask if I’m doing ok…. No freakin way. I’d let the pole and fish rip my arms out and sacrifice them both to the river Gods before I asked for relief or help. No stubborn pride in me, nope, none…….

The finale, and fisherman are stubborn about this, is once the fish is at the bank and wore out, the exhausted fisherman is forced to relinquish their pole to another and slide their hand inside the Dinosaurs mouth for a quick picture and release. If you don’t do this official rite of passage your entire torture experience is null and void. You’ll get zero credit for pain and suffering. Fisherman’s rules.(Men must come up with these notions)

Fish Splash Down

Fish Splash Down

So after giving birth to this monster (actually getting it to the bank) I climbed down the rocks and attempted to perform the obligatory tasks. Well, let me tell ya, I put my hand in that vile toothless mouth (task and credit complete, yay me), started to flip it over and that fish had the audacity to beat the crap out of me before a good picture could be taken. Instantly soaked through and through.

Good times, good times………