The Tale of a Texan Adventure

Part 2: Longnose Gar

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Gijs fighting a feisty Longsnout

 Gateway Park was only a short drive from Rik’s apartment, and located entirely within the Fort Worth city limits. The idea of such a small patch of green gasping for air in the middle of this sprawling metroplex is not pleasant, but the upper Trinity River flows through Gateway Park, and it goes its own way. The playing fields, parking lots and barbeque areas left no doubt that we were in an urban park, but Rik quickly showed me the way to a very different -and more exciting- world. We walked along the concrete bike path for a short while, but soon strayed from it and clambered down to the muddy river. One look up at the banks revealed that, though encumbered by civilization, the river here was still very much a wild entity. The Texan rains can be positively delugious, causing the river to rise many feet or even yards in a very short time, and turning it into a violent and roaring beast. The debris hanging in the trees was evidence of this, as well as a spot where the raging river had dug away all of the earth under the concrete bike path, which had collapsed and fallen some thirty feet to the gravel below. Although I hoped that the falling slabs of grey had not taken some unfortunate and unsuspecting cyclist with them at the time of their demise, I have to admit I found it a rather pleasing sight.

In addition to occasionally reclaiming chunks of land from us humans, the unpredictable upper Trinity is also continuously rearranging its own bed, bringing all sorts of interesting things to the surface. As we stalked along its gravelly banks and little islands, Rik and I would never fail to (sometimes literally) stumble upon fossilized shells of various shapes and sizes, evidence of the ancient nature of this land. There were so many of them that we had to carefully select which ones were interesting and intact enough to keep. By the time I came over for my visit, Rik already had a very impressive collection in his apartment, including some very large and unusual specimens, as well as the rather intimidating skull of what must once have been a fairly awesome Snapping Turtle. Running into the likes of him whilst unwittingly wading through the murky water would definitely have made for an interesting experience.

The upper Trinity in Gateway Park was indeed a micro-wilderness. As soon as we were out of sight of the path, we were in the company of Lizards, many different (modest sized) Turtles, and even Beavers, though they seldom showed themselves. In the two magical weeks I spent by the Texan waterways, I only saw one, contently lounging under some overhanging branches. I managed to quietly alert Rik, and he too caught a glimpse of our furry visitor, but as soon as I flinched, the Castor flapped his powerful flat tail and disappeared with a mighty splash. Rik told me that the river was also home to a great many snakes, most of them of the unpleasant variety, and that earlier in the year he would nearly always spot at least three of them in a day. However, as the months passed, he would see less and less of them, and by the time I arrived they seemed to all have disappeared. I have to say I didn’t mind. The river had bends, riffling rapids, shallows and gently flowing deeper pools. Striking White Egrets would gracefully wade through the shallows with their large yellow feet, looking like tall narrow sails with no boats beneath them. One time we spotted a juvenile Green Heron positioned in a concentrated crouch on the sloping bank, expertly plucking tiny fish from the water with his dagger-like beak. The river was also brimming with a great variety of fish, and the slow deep pools were home to the weirdest of the weird; the Longnose Gar.

No hooks required!

Truth be told, the Longnose Gar is by no means the most cunning or sophisticated fish that swims, and its inner stirrings are probably as primitive as its outer appearance betrays. As such, they are fairly easy to fool, but that does not mean that they are also easy to catch. There were plenty of them, so finding them was not a problem. The sand colored water offered very little visibility, but the Longsnouts would always betray their presence by regularly coming to the surface for a gulp of air. As these peculiar fish grow to lengths of well over four feet, this could be a rather heart stopping sight, and with the larger specimens the spectacle was sometimes accompanied by a clearly audible “CLOOMP.”

As can be deduced from their elongated beaks, filled with hundreds of needle-like teeth sticking out every which way, Longnose Gar are predators, and they will take just about anything that dangles in front of them. Rik and I had no difficulty in getting plenty of bites on little baitfish we presented beneath a modest sized bobber, but the trouble would start after a Longnose had taken the bait. The beaks of these fish are teeth and bone and nothing else, which makes setting the hook an impossibility. An early strike would result in either a few seconds of (sometimes very exciting) contact, or the bare hook and bobber flying towards you at great pace. Waiting on the strike would bring more possibilities, though none of them good. The bobber could plop back to the surface after a good while, a bare hook beneath it. You could still miss on the strike, and have to dodge your airborne terminal tackle. The fish could take the bait and swim dozens of yards downstream, so that the strike when it came would scarcely be a strike at all. And finally, you could connect and catch a fish that was almost impossible to unhook. Fishing with live bait was not the way to go.

On our American angling adventures, Rik and I have learned that the species we find to be the most thrilling are usually among the “Rough Fish.” The upside of this is that there are usually plenty of them about, and they are not accustomed to being fished for. However, this also means that there is no vast arsenal of established techniques that a couple of visiting novices like us can draw upon. Of course we welcome this challenge, as it is immensely more satisfying to study and adapt to ones surroundings, and use the Angler’s Instinct to pursue your quarry, than it is to blindly follow some instructions. After all, we are Angling here, not installing a stereo. However, it can never hurt to study up on a bit of the local knowledge, and in doing so we found the way.

One inventive soul, though I don’t know who or when, came up with the “Rope Lure,” also known as the “Hookless Lure,” an invention so glorious in its simplicity, it is almost a work of art. The name says it all; the “Rope Lure” is nothing more than about eight or nine inches of frayed nylon rope in whichever color takes your fancy, bunched up to give it some body, and held together and attached to the snap swivel by means of some wire. As the name also suggests, there is no hook; when a Longnose takes this lure, its hundreds of tiny teeth immediately become entangled in the nylon, and the fight is on. You really have to experience this to believe it, and so it was for me.

Photo 3: Rik fishing the Fallen Tree Pool

One day in the first week of my visit, Rik and I were fishing an attractive pool of the upper Trinity, next to a strong riffle with a fallen tree in it. I was still using a baitfish and losing confidence, not even getting any bites, when Rik decided he might as well give it a whirl and took out a “Rope Lure” he had made some weeks earlier, but never really given a chance. He began fishing it in earnest, and within a few minutes he entangled and landed a smallish Longnose Gar. I was amazed. “One-nil to the lure!” Rik announced, half jokingly, for we both still believed that this must have been a fluke. A fluke it most definitely was not. After untangling and releasing his fish (and cleaning his lure), Rik went at it again, this time with a decidedly added air of confidence and concentration. I sort of half-watched him from the corner of my eye, and after only a few casts there was a tremendous swirl, and Rik was attached to something far more substantial. He had seen the fish come to the surface, expertly cast in the direction he figured it was headed, and received an immediate response. Rik was standing at the shallow end of the pool, and his long nosed adversary dashed about at great pace just below the surface. Rik’s reel let out some wonderful squeals, and his light spinning rod was in a constant and thumping curve. As Rik was having his tangle in the shallows, the fish would regularly reveal itself by breaking surface, sending great sparkling curtains of spray flying. We were very impressed. After a heated battle, Rik was ready to land this ancient looking creature, so he donned his gardening glove and grabbed it by the snout. It seems somewhat undignified, but it is the only way; the gill plates, fins and scales of these fish are all of the skin slashing kind, and the bony beak is really something of a natural “handle,” though not to be grabbed with bare hands. Actually reaching for all those teeth does give one pause at the first attempt, but once you get the hang of it, you really can’t go wrong. The key is not to hesitate. We quickly measured the bony beast: 51.6 inches! A new personal best for Rik. We took several pictures, and Rik untangled and released the strange critter, which swam off none the worse for wear. That evening I was tying some “Rope Lures” of my own.

Fishing with the “Hookless Lure” was some of the most fun I’ve had by the waterside. The method was simple; simply soak the lure in the water to give it some weight for casting, then launch it into a likely looking spot and retrieve it with jerks and and jolts, so that it dances and wavers enticingly in the murky water. Once in a while, stop the retrieve and let the lure sink for a few seconds, quite often a take will come on the drop. You can fish the lure at any depth you like, and you don’t have to worry about snags; after all, there is no hook! Sometimes a take will come as a sharp tug, but mostly the Gar will take the lure when the line is slack, and the fish is already on when you next jerk the rod. Naturally, no strike is required, just tighten up and hold on to the rod, for the Longnose is a fast fighter. The other great thing about the “Hookless Lure” is that it never causes any damage to the fish, which is my main quarrel with the lure fishing I’m accustomed to doing for Pike and such in my home country. Once a Longnose is on, it will stay on, and when you have fought, photographed and measured your toothy prize, you can just hold him steady in the water at your feet, while he regains his strength and you untangle him with some forceps, being careful to keep your fingers clear of those many tiny teeth.

The untangling could take a while

One week after Rik's groundbreaking catch, we were fishing a large deep pool, some way upstream οf the Fallen Tree Pool, and just upstream οf the fallen bike path. Both of us were using “Rope Lures” and by now we had really gotten the hang of it. We had both caught a good number of Longnose Gar, several of which passed the four foot mark, we were casting with confidence now. We were also casting with added anticipation, for we had come to realize that this pool held the largest Longsnouts in the area. Some of the things that would on occasion break through the surface were almost frightening. I was baking in the Texan sun and casting my piece of rope, generally feeling very pleased about the whole thing, when the Banded Kingfisher who made his home here came by to see how we were getting on. The Banded Kingfisher is much larger and not as brilliantly colored as the Kingfisher we know in Europe, but his posture and demeanor clearly betray his relation. The Banded Kingfisher always looked like he was enjoying himself, or maybe he was just having a good laugh at us humans, using a rod and line to catch our fish, when all he needed was his deadly accurate beak. I stopped my retrieve, and let the lure sink for a few ticks. There came a sharp JOLT that went up the braided line, through the ten guides of my rod, through the cogs of my baitcasting reel, up my right arm and into my heart, making it skip two beats. I tightened, and my delightful, locally bought 8'6" baitcasting rod bent fully into something heavy that stayed down, down, down in the muddy deep. This was a good one. Rik noticed this too, all the really good Longnose Gar would always stay deep for the first few minutes of the fight, using their weight and every so often ripping line from the reel in a turn of speed one would not expect from a fish that normally hangs about so lazily in the slowest parts of the river. This fish did exactly that, and I knew I had a fifty-incher, maybe even something better. After the first few minutes, I got this Longsnout to the surface, but the fight was only half over. However, we could see him now, and I am ashamed to say that I felt a slight twinge of disappointment. A fifty-incher he was, but probably no more, see how quickly we become spoiled! It was a very fat fish though, in as much as these extremely lean fish can ever be called fat, and easily the strongest and prettiest Longnose of my vacation. It thrashed about on the surface like an out of control power boat, sending spray flying as I stepped into the water and slowly sank into the mud. I put on the gardening glove and was about to land him, when he set of on one final skating surge, showering me in tepid droplets of Trinity. I welcomed this, as it brought some relief, however brief, from the heat. I managed to land him on the next attempt, and the tape measure showed him to be 50.8 inches, equaling my personal best, which I had caught a few days earlier. However, this fish was much heavier, and had an especially silvery-greenish hue about him that made him stand out. I released him and enjoyed some refreshments in the shade of a tree.

Your humble correspondent with his best Longnose of the trip

I spotted an elongated shape, moving slowly just below the surface, and pointed it out to Rik. He cast and brought in another great specimen of 49.2 inches. It was almost too easy. But of course it wasn’t. After this, we cast and cast, but our rods did not bend for a long while. I finally connected again, and was rewarded with a very slender Longnose of 47.2 inches. Not long after this, Rik, Master of the “Rope Lure,” topped everything and rounded off the day with an absolute beast of 56.3 inches. I don’t know how he managed it on his little rod, but he did, and I couldn't believe what I was seeing as he dragged it ashore. As Rik sat in the warm water, cradling this armor plated giant, the biggest grin I have ever seen appeared on his face. When he released the beast, it shot away with a great swirl and almost took Rik with it. This was about all the excitement we could stand, and the day was drawing to a close, so we trudged back through the bootsucking mud, climbed up the steep bank, and drove home for a well deserved meal.

Rik and his mighty Beast!