A trip to the other side

[FishAngler]

This is my first report and I have to ask what is up with the forum changing the words I typed? I type in yak and it comes up long haired bovine or KAYAK. I've had to retype this thing a couple times just to figure out what will work so when you see y-ak I hope you'll know I meant yak.

The morning dawned like most mornings that are devoted to the hunt – it hadn’t yet. Dawn was still a couple hours off but, as all fishermen know, the bite is best early so you have to be out there on the spot before the eastern sky starts to brighten. I’d loaded the gear in my truck the night before so with no need for the Triple S morning ritual, I grabbed an energy drink and headed out the door. One of those S’s would come later.

Today’s quarry is very elusive in Florida. I read lots of reports on Facebook from people that have gone after the same quarry but I have never seen an actual picture of any success. There are several websites and equipment companies that are devoted to fishing for this creature. I was beginning to think it was like the fabled snipe hunt from summer camp days but before dismissing it as a cruel joke I thought I must give it a try.

To help insure success I turned to Google and Wikipedia, the source of all truths in the world today. What I learned hardly increased my confidence in a successful outing. My quarry was native to the Tibetan Plateau so I had large doubts that I’d find them in Florida. However, all of the reports I’d read couldn’t be a grand hoax, could they?

So, off I went with my fishing gear in search of a y-ak. Weighing in at 600 – 2,000 pounds, I’d need the big rods if I were to get a shot. My studies had taught me one thing that I felt would give me an advantage, though. Everyone else that goes y-ak fishing always heads to the water. This is a huge mistake. Y-aks do not really like water. They tend to hang around grasslands. I’m a bit surprised that all those other y-ak fishermen hadn’t discovered this fact.

It felt odd to be heading east instead of west but I was in search of grasslands. Dry grasslands, and this is where I think the other y-ak fishermen have failed. They are so accustomed to fishing sea grasses that they simply do not have an understanding of dry land grasses. They’ve heard that y-aks eat grasses so the head to a lush grass covered saltwater flat. Maybe I have found the key to successful y-ak fishing.

I drove for hours through the back roads of Florida slowly scanning thousands of acres for signs of y-aks. I was often fooled by cattle into stopping and beginning the stalk to get close enough. After the first of these excursions I learned that Crocs are not appropriate footwear for stalking fields full of large grass eating animals. Cattle, and I assume y-aks will also, leave large steaming piles of excrement laying around. Google research shows that they are called cow patties. The abundance of open holes in Crocs results in an abundance of cow patty material inside the shoe when you step on one. Thankfully I had my wading boots in the bed of my truck from a previous fish fishing trip so I wore them for the rest of the day.

After 8 hours of driving back roads, some that don’t even exist on Google maps for iPhone, I was beginning to think that I had fallen for the hoax. I was wondering how many other guys had taken the same path and had to return home and drown their embarrassment at the end of a long day. As I sat on the side of a dirt road pondering my iPhone my luck was about to change.

The rumbling sound got to me first and then the truck came into view. It was an old Ford F150 whose tailpipe has disappeared years ago and had not had a bath since the beginning of the drought months before. This was a work truck that had earned its first (of many) dents many years ago. The truck stopped alongside and the two guys looked at me with mild curiosity.

“You lost?” asked a grizzled old Florida cracker with skin like shoe leather.

“Not really”, I answered, “just looking for something.”

“Whatcha lookin fer?” he replied as he slid his cowboy hat back off his forehead.

“Y-aks. I’m looking for y-aks.” I said wondering if he would think I was a crazy man. Instead, I got laughter. Lots of laughter. Oh great, it is a hoax and he’s in on it.

“There ain’t no y-aks out here son”, he said confidently, “you’d have to go to Tibet to find y-aks.”

Wondering how he knew that, I started to speak when the other guy in the truck, as grizzled as the first, spoke up.

“You know, I think ol’ Jim gots himself a couple y-aks. He bought them from the auction a while back. Keeps them around to play y-ak polo, I think.”

Cautiously wading in and checking my leg to make sure it wasn’t being pulled, I asked, “Where might I find this Jim?” After a few minutes of listening to the two of them discuss conflicting directions they wished me well and drove off with a roar leaving a choking dust cloud in their place. I headed with new vigor to find Jim’s ranch.

As it turned out, neither of the directions was entirely correct but a good combination of the two got me to a dirt drive that led to an old farmhouse out in a pasture. While I didn’t see any y-aks there were plenty of cows, a couple ostriches and a pen of mini horses. This Jim was turning out to be an interesting guy. I could only hope he was also friendly. I was going to get my answer pretty quick as a giant of a man came around the corner of the house before I’d put my truck in park. I checked the weapon he had in his hand and could only hope that he wouldn’t assault me with it.

“You Jim?” I asked as I climbed out of my truck.

“Who’s askin?” came the reply I should have expected.

“My names FishAngler and I was talking to a couple older guys I met on the side of the road and they said that you might have some y-aks.” I blurted out.

This got me a long look and a few twitches of the finger on his trigger hand.

“You see, Jim, I’ve been driving all over the damn place looking for y-aks. Seems there’s a bunch of guys that go y-ak fishing and I wanted to give it a try and after driving around looking for y-aks all day I ran into those guys and they told me you got some y-aks and I really wanted to see if I could fish for them and I promise I’ll mash down the barbs so they’ll release nicely cuz I’m a catch and release fisherman.” This, I realized later, was a nervous “please don’t twitch that finger anymore” response.

Jim’s entire demeanor changed as he asked, “You want to FISH for my y-aks?”

“Uhhhh, yeah.” I replied hopefully.

Picture a 6’ 10”, 450 pound man laughing so hard he was almost falling over. That was Jim. The laugh was so deep and loud it was making the shutters on the house rattle. Hell, it was making me rattle.

When he had laughed out enough to talk again, he said with the tone of one talking to an idiot who is about to do something really stupid, “Y-ak fishing……….sure, son, grab your stuff and follow me. Y-ak fishing………. This I gotta see.”

With excitement peaking I rushed to get my gear from the truck and then catch up with Jim who was still suffering from minor laughter convulsions. He did lean that weapon on the front porch as he walked by which, in the middle of cattle country Florida, means acceptance though I suspect he thought me a few quarters short of a dollar bill.

On we walked past a couple seasoned pickup trucks, a hound dog that couldn’t be bothered with any of this and a skinning rack that looked as if it had seen hundreds of hogs. As we walked around the barn I got my first glimpse. Y-aks! There are y-aks in Florida!

Well, there are two y-aks in Florida anyway. They weren’t the 2,000 pound behemoths that I had seen in my dreams but they were easily over 1,000 pounds each. They had their own 3 acre plot that looked to be surrounded by heavily reinforced fencing. This had me concerned but I didn’t say anything that may prevent me from getting a shot at hooking up with one of those y-aks.

Jim unshackled the gate and, with a worried glance at the y-aks that should have told me something, said “Here ya go, FishAngler, don’t get yourself knocked out.” Without sorting out that particular wording, I charged in with my fishing gear and prepared to do battle.

My lure of choice today was a hand tied 1 ounce red jighead with plenty of green feathers, mylar, craft fur and Super Hair. I have no idea what I was trying to imitate but it was the best grass looking thing I could come up with.

Okay, it was now time to y-ak fish. As I unhooked the jig from the keeper on the rod, I turned to face the y-aks and suddenly this wasn’t feeling like such a great idea. A little voice in the back of my head was telling me that I should be asking someone to hold my beer. Undaunted and willing to stare fear in the face, I stepped forward to make my first cast. With a mighty swing of the rod, I threw that big jig out with amazing accuracy, considering the flow of adrenaline in my body, hitting the big y-ak square in the middle of its head.

“Son, you sure you want to be doing this?” said Jim with a cautionary tone.

Wishing I had that beer for him to hold, I gave the jig one jerk and that y-ak pounced on it with a mighty snort and proceeded to grind it into the dirt. I waited for the feel of the take with absolutely no idea what that would feel like but betting I’d know it when I felt it. And then I felt it.

My line came tight and I was now hooked up to a y-ak! I was going to reel this bad boy in and get that hero shot to splash all over Facebook. I’d be a y-ak fishing god to all those other y-ak fishers who brag a lot but never put up any pictures of the y-aks they supposedly catch when they go y-ak fishing.

My inflating ego and visions of stardom were suddenly replaced by visions of a really pissed off y-ak charging right towards me. What do you do when a fish runs at you? Well, you reel as fast as possible so that’s what I did with the y-ak. For about 3 seconds until I realized that I’d better start running instead of reeling. Damn, they are a lot faster than they look.

As I managed to avoid a collision with him on that pass, he stopped to try and grind the lure out of his mouth by rubbing it on a fence post. I used the time to gain some line and get him back on the reel. Figuring that it was time to stop playing and get serious, I pulled hard and put a serious bend in the rod. I was going to wear him out before he had a chance to catch his breath from that charge. He pulled back and for a couple minutes we were in an epic tug of war. Y-ak versus man, neither one gaining, the ultimate battle.

Then I was hit by a train.

“Son, you okay?” I faintly hear in the fluffy clouds.

“Son, can you hear me?” I hear a bit louder as I realize that my body is now a bag of pain.

After being nearly drowned by a bucket of water poured over my face, I come to and saw Jim leaning over looking at me. There isn’t an ounce of sympathy in his eyes so I figure I’m not in too bad a shape. Then I try to move.

“Son, you might want to just lay there a spell. That mean ass y-ak done blasted you right out of the pen. While you was fighting the other one, he snuck up behind you and hit you at a full run. Hell, if you hadn’t smacked up on the side of the barn you’d probably have flown 100 feet. I’ll go get you some of my cane liquor. That’ll fix you up.”

As he walked off I went through an inventory of body parts testing each one to see if it would still function. Everything seemed to function though nothing did so without pain. I also noticed an overpowering smell. I’d had one of the Triple S’s knocked out of me right into my pants and it wasn’t the shower or shave S’s. As I managed to get myself to my feet I looked over at the two y-aks standing at the edge of the pen looking at me. Just then the big one spit out the lure. Hell, he wasn’t hooked, he was holding on to it.

Jim came back with a bottle of gold colored liquid in an unmarked bottle and handed it to me. Still not thinking clearly I took a mighty swig and found as I swallowed that this stuff was about 500% alcohol and 1% gold colored something.

“It’s a might strong this batch. Make it in my bathtub from sugar cane.” Jim said as an explanation for my not being able to breath for several minutes. As my breath returned I glanced at the two y-aks. As our eyes met, they both turned their back ends towards me and made prodigious y-ak patties before walking away.

With the sun setting and a long drive home that was going to be many painful miles, I thanked Jim for letting his y-ak knock the crap out of me. I hobbled to my truck as he chuckled not quite under his breath.

“Y’all come back anytime you want. That was kinda fun to watch. Maybe next time we can play some y-ak polo.”

Yeah, I bet it was but I am done with y-ak fishing. And I have no interest in yak polo either. One thing I do know is that none of those guys on Facebook that crow about going y-ak fishing have ever actually caught one. I think I may just post Jim’s address. I’m betting I could get some darn good YouTube videos.

After I heal up for a couple days I’m going back to kay-ak fishing. While a redfish doesn’t fight near as hard as a y-ak, at least his buddies don’t gang up on you.

[Rik]

FishAngler - since this is a fishing story, of sorts, I moved it from the General section to the Fishing Reports section.

btw, welcome to Paddle-Fishing.com. You're certainly starting out with a bang.

[BigFlyReel]

Rik - you must be overjoyed to have found a kindred spirit...

[Rik]

I thought I had all versions covered in word replacement. Might leave his version since he's actually writing about the animal.