There is simply no more exciting way to take pike than by using surface lures. More productive methods exist--and there are tactics that will net larger fish on the average--but for sheer angling excitement, give me a topwater bait within range of a resident pike and I'll shun all other strategies until I catch that fish or wear my arm out trying.
Pike are designed for topwater action--eyes located on top of the head, a sleek body shape, and a propulsion design that evens the odds when pursuing quick, surface-dwelling snacks. Pike like to hang out in the shallows and are usually found in lakes and river systems with clear water; they can see shallow offerings from afar--and get there in a hurry.
My first experience with surface plugging for pike came on a trip to a Canadian Shield lake in northern Ontario. After spending three days of my week trolling traditional spoons and crankbaits without result, I ambled over to the lodge's fish cleaning station one evening. Having no reason to visit the place up to that point, I was amazed to see a number of pike on the cleaning tables. I had assumed that everyone was having the same poor luck I had experienced.
Talk was that these fish were the smallest of the day, and were kept for the freezer, and that several guests had been spending their days pulling pike left and right.
The week was still too young--and I too proud--to ask what hot tactic everyone was using to hook into these pike, so I walked out onto the boat docks to watch the setting sun and think about where I might have been going wrong.
Passing the fleet of a dozen cedar-strip skiffs tied to the dock, I noticed that several displayed identical, gawky-looking plugs, either dangling from their gunnels, stacked on the bench seats, or still tied to fishing lines ready for the following day's fishing.
I was scheduled to fish with a guide the next day, so I hoped to pick up a few tips without having to admit my ignorance. Heading out early, my young host said very little as we headed across the lake for the weedbeds that had claimed more than a few of my sub-surface lures over the past few days.
Directing the skiff upwind of the long patch of weeds that barely reached the water's surface from the eight-foot depths, the guide cut the engine and pulled a single, battered plug from a plastic case in his shirt pocket. You guessed it--it was identical, if a little "rougher," to those that had festooned the craft back at the dock.
"I made this myself," the guide noted as he tied it to the 10-pound-test mono that topped my seven-foot spinning rig. "Darn things cost an arm an' a leg up here."
The lure was a full eight inches long and painted jet black. An inch wide and about half that thick, it had a scooped out face and a horizontal tin tail that looked to be freshly snipped from a can of Campbell's.
It was my first face-to-face introduction to what is called a jerk bait--and this was a rough interpretation of one of the most famous, the Suick.
Sensing my apprehension, the guide volunteered a strategy that was to become one of my favorites. Standing in the boat and casting downwind into the heart of the weedbed, we worked the patch from the drifting boat. Once the lure landed, long, sweeping strokes--with the rod tip moving anywhere from two to 12 feet with each pull--worked the bait through the maze of weeds and back to the boat.
Each pull would submerge the bait a foot or two as the scooped face dug into the water with the shiny tail flashing a come-on to any fish lurking in the area. At the end of each pull, slack line gave the plug a chance to wobble slowly to the surface. The longer and steadier the pull, the deeper the plug dove. Short jerks splashed the lure to shallow dives, creating a lot of surface commotion. A combination of the two retrieves brought the lure through thick weeds with amazingly few hang-ups, and the lure would usually bob to the surface free of weeds after each dive. That's where the first fish connected with the hand-hewn chunk of cedar, and where most strikes still come when using the addicting jerk bait tactic.
That morning was memorable, both for the angling itself and for the method of fishing I learned. Back at the dock, I knew better than to make a bid for my host's lure, which sported the slashes of a dozen pike we had hooked that morning. Instead, I made a beeline for the camp commissary, and happily paid a premium price for the last remaining Suick in camp.
Suicks are only one brand of more than a dozen that call themselves jerk baits. Since that trip several years ago, I have found many adaptations and homemade versions of these baits in fishing camps across Canada and the northern Midwest. All share the basic slender design, and all are fished nearly identically, with long, steady jerks and a jumble of nerves in anticipation of the pike attack that may follow.
Copyright (c) 1996 Dan Armitage. All rights reserved.
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