This tale comes from author Perry Jones who spent 14 years working as a guide at Wollaston Lake Lodge in the remote wilderness of northern Saskatchewan. In that time, Perry guided several 49″+ pike yet had never surpassed the truly remarkable 50″ threshold, till the day detailed in the following account.

The fly line sailed forward, flat, smooth and artful, leaving the confines of the long narrow loop it had displayed in the air. Stretched and straight, it landed gently on the surface of the clear, shallow water. It was yet another cast in a series that spanned a gap of seemingly frozen time. Three quick strips positioned the fly in the perfect spot, just a couple of meters from her, and directly in her path. She slowly inched along. Two gentle strips of the line brought her attention again to the supple movements of the fly. She adjusted her course and speed. This time was different though, and she closed that last meter of space with complete acceleration. Her previous caution was abandoned. This time she committed. Her utterly massive gills flared, her enormous mouth opened, and the fly disappeared. She instantly turned, and Ryan straightaway executed a well-practiced strip set. The battle had begun!

The foundation of this memory truly began over a decade earlier. It was in 2001 that I spent my first summer guiding at Wollaston Lake Lodge. This is a memory-making resort I’ve come to often describe as the Disney of Northern Pike adventure destinations. During that first year, and many others since, I was privileged enough to guide numerous guests I instantly knew would become long-term friends. Ryan and his dad, Irv, were two of those people.

Irv and Ryan, longtime guests of Wollaston Lake Lodge

Like many guests at the lodge, after their first visit Ryan and Irv decided to make the trip an annual adventure. Each year this was more than just a few days together for them, it was an escape from their busy lives. It provided them the opportunity to unwind, bond, recall great memories, and create spectacular new ones.

They did however, have somewhat differing personal goals while there. Other than relaxing and enjoying his time with Ryan, Irv placed no additional caveats on what would make the trip a success for him. That is unless you count his strong desire to stay away from rough water and inclement weather. I always appreciated his ability to make me laugh. He’d do something as simple as give me a look, flash a grin, or make a simple comment, and could instantly have me laughing out loud. As a guide, I always appreciated his ability to make every day on the water truly enjoyable.

Ryan shared the same general approach to their holiday, in that his time with Irv was extremely important. However, he was willing to do whatever it took to increase his chances of one day landing a “lifetime” Northern Pike. He had taken up fly-fishing many years earlier, and had put in a ton of work improving his skills. He always hoped that one day his fly rod would give him the edge he needed on a giant fish. Weather or challenging conditions didn’t matter to him. For him, the juice was definitely worth the squeeze when it came to fishing effort and dedication. Nonetheless, every day on the water was a good day for Ryan, no matter what opportunities the fishing gods presented to us.

Ryan and I, in particular, became fast friends.  We stayed in touch beyond his trips to the lodge.  I was always excited to get updates on his personal life at home.  And I genuinely looked forward to his annual arrival at the lodge as though he was part of my family.

It seemed almost every year we had substantive fishing results, partly due to skill, and partly due to luck.  The latter being the one no fisherman ever wants to be without.  We’d had our share of luck, probably more than most in catching some unbelievable monsters. But somehow, in the act of landing truly extraordinary giants, we’d had more than our share of bad luck.  Undeterred though, Ryan never wavered from his desire to pass up “action” locations.  He instead wanted to focus on locations that increased his chances to land his fish of a lifetime.  And year after year, that goal steered our daily activities.

That brings us to June 28, 2015.  There was some cloud cover, more like a thin haze really.  It was comfortably warm, and there was an almost imperceptible gentle breeze in the air.  We slowly and methodically entered a small bay known to regularly hold some big fish.  The water was approximately four feet deep, exquisitely clear, and its surface was nearly like glass.  I was keeping the previous day’s warm breeze in mind, and we quietly worked along the lee half of the inlet.  Ryan and Irv were fanning their casts in the direction of our movement, hoping to catch any fish before they were alerted to our presence.  Ryan was casting a red and yellow bunny fly with his 9-weight rod, while Irv was using traditional gear and was casting a spinner.

I inched our boat along, and a couple of average Northern Pike (large by standards in most locations) were caught and quickly released.  Suddenly, from my standing perch on the rear bench, I spotted a large pike-shaped silhouette roughly twenty feet from the boat.  It was of such enormity, that for a second I thought it to be a large log.  However, in a fleeting moment I realized it was indeed a Northern Pike of such size that it was hard to suspend my disbelief.  At that instant I realized Irv’s spinner was coming right past her face.  He hadn’t seen her, but there was no question she saw that spinner, and she didn’t flinch. We needed to get Ryan’s fly in front of her.  Our relaxing day was about to morph into an adventure that few have ever had the opportunity to experience!

I hollered at Ryan to cast at the fish in the direction I was indicating.  He had become very adept at spotting fish in the water, and a swift glance where I was pointing instantly brought her into focus for him.  He casted, landing the fly just a few feet from her.  After a couple of larger strips for positioning, he paused.  Then, he expertly manipulated the fly with some smaller movements and she began to inch forward.  In the meantime, Irv had reeled up his line.  He got his hook in, placed his rod down inside the boat, and took a seat so he could soak up the experience.

The fish deliberately kept pace with the fly as Ryan conducted its movements into a dance of natural elegance.  But she never closed.  She never sped up.  And finally, when there was no room left to effectively continue the retrieve, Ryan had no choice but pull the fly from the water.  She turned away in the direction we expected and Ryan casted again, leading her with a nice cushion of space.

This time she rose a few inches and moved with more intent.  She swam so effortlessly, and with such grace.  She closed more than half the gap on this cast.  But she soon went back to mirroring the fly’s speed.  Eventually Ryan was left with no choice but once again remove his fly from the water.  Then she abruptly made a deliberate wide arc, and hurriedly headed toward the cover of deep open water.

I can’t explain why this surprised me.  It’s what the goliaths of mythical size normally do.  They escape.  Though long years of impeccable behavior that nurtures them to the height of their species, the largest Northern Pike seem to almost always find a way to elude your best efforts.  You’d swear their brains sometimes functioned on a level beyond normality.  But somehow her action took me off guard as she disappeared.

I threw the motor in reverse, and paralleled her last course with more throttle than common sense should have said to use.  Just before reaching the narrowed bay entrance I made an abrupt 90-degree turn toward the middle of the opening.  As luck would have it, it worked.  She gracefully appeared, heading straight towards us just as we got to the middle of the channel.  Hastily, she made an about turn and headed straight back into the bay.  We had cut her off at the pass.  Then we waited a few minutes to give her some time to settle back into the bay’s shallow water.

While re-entering the bay we developed an amended game plan, and made a decision not to blindly cast.  We would wait until we spotted her again.  There were too many other fish in there, and it was virtually guaranteed that we’d hook many others before her.  This would result in endless disturbances in the water, and possibly blowing the opportunity at “the” fish of a lifetime.

Slowly we inched deeper. When we caught sight of her again she was roughly thirty feet away.  Once again she was laying still and soaking up the warmth of the shallow bay.   I carefully positioned the boat, and again we were ready.  Ryan took his time and made another great cast, laying the line out with precision.

As the fly approached the prime zone she again made a move.  I held my breath, as she was more aggressive this time.  Ryan proved clutch and did all the right things with the fly.  Nonetheless, she again bailed at the last moment.  She swam perpendicular to us, providing Ryan yet another opportunity and he casted again. She turned again.  This was a more aggressive turn, and I held my breath again.  But once more the outcome was the same.

Then, she made that same swift arc around the boat she’d made previously.  Once again she headed for deeper water.  And once more, left without another option, I threw the boat in reverse.  The result was identical.  We cut her off at nearly the same spot, and she headed back into the bay.  We were not done yet!

Importantly, with each opportunity she had at the fly, it seemed she was showing just a little more aggression.  It was subtle, but it was definitely there. It was this that kept us from quickly tying on a new fly.  She was undoubtedly interested in the red and yellow bunny leach.  Now entering the bay for the third time, we had very high hopes if we could get just one more opportunity.

A simple, weightless red and yellow bunny leech

About two thirds of the way in, we spotted a giant silhouette in the distance.  I positioned the boat, and just as Ryan shot his fly backward I shouted “No, that’s not her.”  I had re-evaluated its size and guessed it to be a 46 incher. Ryan, without hesitation, instantaneously dropped his fly in the water nowhere near the fish, and quickly stripped it back to the boat.  Any other time we’d be more than thrilled for that fish.  But even through the adrenaline-fueled rollercoaster of the last few minutes, Ryan knew he’d never have an opportunity like this again, and he never blinked.  As a guide, I also knew I too would likely never have this opportunity again!

Fittingly, we didn’t have to wait long to be rewarded.  It was surely no more than 30 seconds after Ryan bailed on the previous fish, that we again spotted our “white whale.”  It was at that moment Ryan made his definitive cast, which brings us full circle to the beginning of our story… Her massive gills flared, and the fly disappeared.  She instantly turned, and Ryan straightaway executed a well-practiced strip set.  The battle had begun!

The line screamed off Ryan’s reel as she again bolted towards the mouth of the bay.  Before she slowed on that first run, she had taken Ryan well into his backing.  She paused.  Then, upon bolting again, she exploded from the water, tail-walking like a giant sturgeon.  She was truly magnificent!   Ryan swung his rod to the side, back and low, keeping tension on his line.  She ran again and again, demanding all of Ryan’s skill for every second of the fight.

Neither of us really knows how long the fight went on, but it seemed like forever.  It was as though we were all in some amazing utopia, where time itself was suspended, and we savored every moment!  With a fish of this power, the numbers of things that can go wrong are endless.  A momentary lapse in focus, a split second of slack line with a barbless hook, the sharp edge of an embedded boulder, a single branch on a submerged log, or the tiniest rub of the tippet on her massive gill-plate are just a few things on a long list of possible escape avenues.  All you can do is play them properly, which Ryan did, and hope lady luck smiles upon you for the rest.

With the fight winding down, Ryan led her toward me as I leaned over the side of the boat.  He slowly guided her to my outstretched arms.  To this point he had upheld his end of the task.  Now it was on me.  In my head I prayed I get her up on the first try.  Please, please don’t let this fish get away after I touch her!  My face was only two feet from hers.  To slightly reposition her angle, I softly placed my left hand on top of her back, just behind her head.  In comparison to any other Northern Pike I’d ever touched, she made my hand feel utterly small.  I slid my right hand up and into her gill plate.  She cooperated, and for this I couldn’t have ever been more grateful.  Although the next minute would be brief, it would likely be the greatest single fishing moment of each of our lives.  I stood up.  She was ours!

As I lifted her over the boat’s gunnel, the reality of her size truly set in.  There was unrestrained celebration for a few seconds.  A round of high fives and triumphant roars filled the air.  Tears of joy ran down our cheeks.  Quickly though, we snapped back to the task at hand.  We grabbed the measuring tape.  Carefully, Ryan brought it to the tip of her tail.  She measured an astounding 52 inches in length!  Ryan stood next to me and Irv snapped a few quick photos.  Then, I got her back into the water as quickly as possible.

Guide Perry Jones and Ryan with the 52″ Pike of a lifetime

The high fives continued as I held her by her tail in the water.  After a while, Ryan came down next to me and took over supporting her by her tail, helping her recuperate.  I watched him holding her with tears in his eyes, while Irv stood there watching him, delighted as a dad could be.  He had just witnessed the culmination of his son’s years of fly-fishing.  That is truly one of the best memories of my guiding career!

Ryan after a long and successful battle with a 52″ monster pike on the fly

In the end, the fish swam away tired but healthy.  Watching her gracefully disappear from my sight was surreal.  We sat in the boat and recounted the details over and over.  Then, we sat there in silence for long moments, soaking it all in.  The rest of the day didn’t matter.  We had just experienced an adventure so rare, so amazing, that we never, ever, wanted to forget how we felt.  And to this day, I still remember it like it was yesterday.

Guide and author Perry Jones, smiling after landing and releasing, the biggest pike of his career