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Sight Fishing for Roundtail Chub By Gijs van Straten (Hengelaar)
Standing on an elevated boulder, pretending to be a Saguaro and baking in the Arizona sunshine one November day, I gazed into the gin-clear water of the Salt River and marvelled at what I saw. There were several Common Carp milling about in the shallows, the biggest of whom looked to be a good twenty-pounder. Good fish, but I wasn’t after them; we have Carp in my home country (the Netherlands) too, though they are much more difficult to catch. A group of smallish Largemouth Bass was hanging around near the reeds, but I wasn’t really interested in them either. The strangest sight were the dozens of Desert Suckers (Catostomus (Pantosteus) clarki) lounging at a depth of around four to six feet in the deepest part of the pool, which bottomed out at about seventeen feet. Every once in a while, one would flash its flank, and sometimes one of them even broke surface in a surprisingly energetic leap, but for the most part they looked comatose. They were fascinating fish, but I knew them to be uncatchable when they were in this mood. My buddy Rik and I had managed to catch several specimens in the previous days, but all of them took baits we had presented (as delicately as possible) on the bottom. Rik especially had developed a knack for this, besting me by a ratio of about seven to one. The Suckers then, were wonderful, but I was waiting for a very different type of fish to materialize. No more than a handful of them would ever show themselves in any pool, and usually we would only glimpse about one or two. They weren't huge fish; at 20.5 inches, the biggest specimens we caught didn’t really come close to the carp and catfish that shared their watery habitat. Nonetheless, they always swam around looking like they owned the place, and to Rik and me they were the greatest prize. I am talking about Gila robusta, the Roundtail Chub.
With their exquisite markings of white, silver, gold, bronze and black, no two Roundtails are ever alike, and all look like the work of a master painter. Their powerful tail and broad-shouldered but streamlined body show them to be true fish of the current, and their stern expression and Perch-like mouth reveal that they can hunt if they choose to. Rik and I had learned that a size 8 hook crammed with the meat of five to seven little mystery-mollusks was just about the best bait for almost all of the fish that inhabited the pools of the Salt River. We could harvest these critters by the bucketful in the riffles, and have enough for a day or two of fishing. Presented on a delicate and transparent line (Berkley Sensithin for me), with as little weight as possible, these little marvels had helped us catch Common Carp, Bluegill, Green Sunfish, Desert Suckers, Yellow Bullheads, Channel Catfish and even the occasional Roundtail Chub. The brutish Bass left them alone, which also pleased us. It was clear though, that the Roundtails we caught on the bottom were mostly flukes. Rik first got the idea of more actively pursuing the specimens we would often see cruising around the pools of this gorgeous river. The water was so clear that it looked as if the fish were two feet below the surface at most, when in fact they were patrolling at around five or six feet. Rik used a transparent bubble-bobber he had filled with water and a few sinkers to keep his little baitfish (a mosquitofish) at the desired depth. After about thirty minutes of intensely focused fish-watching, he let out a jubilant cry of “Roundtail!!” I went over for a closer look, and saw him land a tough looking Roundtail Chub of 49 centimetres (19.3 inches). The fish had a slightly frayed tail, but aside from that it was a pristine specimen. Rik posed for a few pictures and then quickly released his prize. I congratulated him and we were both very pleased about this new discovery. Rik had taken the first step, but we had yet to discover an even more successful method to entice this exciting species.
 The mosquitofish had done the trick for Rik on his first attempt, but these little guys were tough to catch, which meant that valuable fishing time was lost going after bait. Also, they were very fragile and would easily fly off the hook. Worst of all, it turned out to be almost impossible to keep them away from those pesky largemouths. The solution though, was right there in our bucket. A hookful of mystery mollusks turned out to be it. They would hold up for many casts, the Bass left them alone, and they wavered so enticingly in the gentle current that the Roundtail Chub would swim over from yards away to see what was what. A subtle cast in the vicinity of a patrolling Roundtail would usually bring an instant response. The little splash of the bait would attract the attention and the fish would shoot over from quite a distance. Often, the Roundtail would suck the bait in on the drop, only to spit it out again within an instant. Then, the fish would follow the bait down and inspect it more closely at the depth we had set the bobber to. The suck-and-spit ritual would be repeated for about four or five more times, all right before our polarized eyes. Needless to say that this was tremendously exciting, and the temptation to try and time a strike just so that it coincided with one of the "sucks" could almost be too much. Of course, the Angler’s Instinct told us that this could never work, and that the best thing was to keep as still as possible and wait for the right moment, which usually came a little later. After several suck-and-spits, and one or two circlings to inspect our offering from every angle, the Roundtail Chub would more often than not take the bait in one final decisive “gulp, ” and swim off with it. The bobber would slowly follow along on the surface, and that was the time to set the hook. The typical strong and thumping Roundtail fight would ensue, with our very light rods bending beautifully into each lunge of the fish. After a minute or so we could cradle one of these unique fish in our wet hands for a picture or two, feeling the muscles flexing in its long tail root. We could stare at these fish for hours, but of course we let them go as quickly as we could. This method brought us many moments of excitement and several supreme Roundtail Chub. Typically though, the best Roundtail we saw eluded us. He was the ruler of one particular pool, clearly recognizable due to a very distinctive large yellow blotch on one of his sides, as well as his size. Unlike most Roundtails, he was never alone, always being in the company of one or two “lesser” specimens. I came closest to catching this lord of the pool when I cast for him and he went into the suck-and-spit routine, only to swim off with a look of disdain, leaving me standing on the rocks like a fool.
But so it was that I was waiting for another very distinctive Roundtail Chub to swim into casting range in another pool. We had dubbed this the “Disaster Pool,” after I had lost what felt like a very big Channel Catfish when it snapped my line on the rocks. The Roundtail in question looked so different from his brothers, that at first we thought that there was something wrong with him. He was smaller than all the others we had caught and he didn’t have the same confident swagger in his swim. What set him apart most of all was his colour. All Roundtails display many colours, but most are mainly dark bronze with some lighter gold or even yellowish accents. This specimen however, was almost entirely clad in yellowish gold, with just a few dark accents, like the negative of a photograph. We had seen him around for a week or two, but he had never shown any interest in our baits. Once when I cast for him, another Roundtail came in from a much greater distance, and gobbled up my bait before my intended quarry had even had a glance. I couldn’t complain though; the “impostor” was a very heavy specimen of 52 centimetres (20.5 inches), equalling my personal best. Some days later, I got my first real chance at the “Negative Roundtail.” Both Rik and I had been after him for at least an hour that day, and the fish hadn’t even come close to taking one of our baits. Rik had just given up, when I noticed that the Roundtail made a slight adjustment in his swimming depth. Then he hung about motionlessly again, doing an impression of a Desert Sucker. However, I sensed that this slight shift meant something. I adjusted my bobber accordingly, and tried to position my bait as close to the fish as possible. Somehow, it ended up at its tail, but then the fish turned and I knew I had him. He went into the suck-and-spit routine just like a regular Roundtail, and then he really took the bait. Though we had clearly seen it happen, both Rik and I were so stunned that it's a miracle I didn't miss on the strike. It wasn't much of a fight, but that didn't matter in this case. Moments later, I could carefully land, at 43 centimetres (16.9 inches), the smallest but most special Roundtail Chub I had ever caught.
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