The eagle is a great predator; there’s much to learn from it.

Eagles are great fishers. And from the look in the eye of this one that our friend, Theo Baakelar photographed in Holland, it’s certainly the Angler as Predator.

Our Book, The Angler as Predator, is racing ever forward toward the presses. Jason is putting the last touches on the layout and design. Watch for a notice of a pre-release special coming soon.

The story below is from Chapter Three, “The Hunter.”

A Wrinkle in the Water

John Beth and I were on a high stream bank, standing behind a couple of large green ash trees and watching a favorite riffle for big browns and coho salmon. We had started earlier that day without much success, but a day’s fishing isn’t over until it’s over, and so we watched and waited, scanning every inch of the water below us for any indication of fish. I noticed a wrinkle in the water near the opposite bank that didn’t look like it was caused by a rock. It seemed to move a bit, which no rock would ever do; but then again, I’ve watched a wrinkle caused by a rock for so long that I’ve become convinced it was moving. I shifted my gaze a couple of feet upstream so that the wrinkle was more in my peripheral vision. This way, I could still see any movement with ease, while not letting my imagination run wild by staring directly at the movement in the water.

As I watched, the tip of tail stuck out and then disappeared. It was a fish, and not a rock! Glare from the overcast sky prevented me from seeing the fish in the shallow water, even with polarizing sunglasses firmly in place, but the tail told me it was not a brown. The browns have a distinctly black band at the end of the tail. This was a salmon-probably a coho, but its size said it could be a king. I decided to have a try at it.

I crossed well above the fish and on hands and knees crept slowly into casting position about 30 feet up and across from it. I knew my gray-green jacket, brown sweater, and dark tan hat and waders were the perfect colors to blend me into the grasses and background vegetation. Curling my legs under me and sitting back ever so slowly to get comfortable and not spook the fish, I watched the curl in the water for a while. Suddenly the fish moved up about three feet, and I could see it plainly. It was a coho, and a big one. I used a low Elliptical Cast and dropped the fly in so that it swung directly in front of the fish. Not even a sniff. I tried a big collared Silver Leech, a black Collared Leech, and a scarlet and purple Hot Head Leech. Nothing. I tried the flies on a smooth swing, and I tried jigging them directly in front of the fish’s nose, and yet there it remained, still moving about and looking aggressive. I was convinced the fish did not see me, and had not been spooked by the strange looking things that came swimming by.

I finally changed flies to an Icicle and on the second swing the fish grabbed my offering and tore off downstream, splashing and thrashing on the surface. Then, the hook popped out. I stripped in and checked the hook point. It was fine. And suddenly, there was the fish, too, coming right back to the same spot. I pitched the Icicle back in, and jigged it across the fish’s face-maybe lightning would strike twice. The big coho was obviously agitated by what the fly had just done to him, and he bolted forward a foot or so and grabbed the fly with determination. This time the hook caught firmly, and I eventually got him to net.

Both John and I were surprised at the size of the coho. Many years before, right after they were first introduced in Lake Michigan, we had caught big cohos. But the average size had fallen since then, and now the ones we caught were usually many pounds smaller than the big boys of rivers past. This one, however, was a definite throwback to times gone by; it was handsomely marked and sported tusk-like teeth. It was the biggest fish of the trip, and was certainly worth the time and effort of the hunt.

The coho that was The Wrinkle in the Water.