The sun was setting on the Mississippi and we were fishing hard. It was the end of an exciting day of fishing. Sunrise had seen us throwing deerhair bugs for largemouth bass, pumpkinseed sunfish, and hefty bluegills in a small lake mostly covered in lily pads. With those three species under our belt, we moved to the backwaters of the Mississippi, where we picked up a couple of bowfin and a small longnose gar. We ate lunch at a park on a big, deep bend of the Cannon. We switched to slinky-rigged live bait, and more doubled our species count: Golden Redhorse, Shorthead Redhorse, White Bass, Smallmouth Bass, Freshwater Drum, and Walleyes were added to the list, bringing our species total to eleven. It was a banner day already, but we were shooting for 14 species and the day was getting long. A nice sulphur hatch was probably in progress in a nearby trout stream, but with the day winding down we decided to play it safe, hitting the upper Mississippi. Andy stalked the shallows with a four-weight, hoping to finish up the day by catching one of the fat caddis-feeding carp so common on the Mississippi, while I hauled out the spinning tackle to take a shot at the local predators. An large bucktail spinner quickly produced a chunky northern pike. At two pounds, it was hardly a trophy, but it was yet another species, bringing the total to twelve. As I released the pike, Andy was engaged in an epic battle with a ten-pound carp - I switched to my bottom-fishing rig to take a final shot at a fourteenth species. Poised over a European-style bite alarm, I waited for a nibble. Andy carefully released the carp and walked over, exhausted.

"Well, that's thirteen species of fish. Not too bad" he said, breaking down his flyrod.

"We still have fifteen minutes" I replied, watching the line, "Keep casting, you might get a crappie!"

"Nope - too tired. That last one was a beast. We should've gone to Hay Creek last. We could've picked up Brooks, Browns, and White Suckers. That would've made fourteen species."

"C'Mon" I pleaded to the darkening sky. The line twitched. Andy, oblivious, kept packing.

"Or - we could've landed bigmouth buffalo and black crappies on flies down in the slough" he said, "and channel cats just at dark."

I whipped the rod up into a broad arc, and a lively fish leaped and struggled. A few minutes later, Andy netted a fourteen inch fish, pure silver, with sharp teeth and large eyes.

"Mooneye! That's fourteen!"

Relaxing over a pile of grilled venison steaks later, we swapped stories. Andy had spotted some quillback carpsuckers in amongst the carp on the Mississippi, but as usual they refused all his offerings. I hooked a fish on a clouser minnow that I never saw - maybe a musky or a big catfish. We were that close to a fifteen or even sixteen species day. But a few finicky fish and one snapped leader kept us from that lofty goal.

Even so, landing fourteen species in a day is no simple feat. Many skilled fishermen don't land that many in a lifetime. We call it "Roughfishing" because it values all fish, including the rare ones that few people catch, equally. You could also call it "Species Fishing." In either case, it's a great way to have a really fun day of fishing.