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My first northern pike came from the waters of Tonawanda Creek where it flows past Kibbe Park. That was in 1962, and while the fish wasn’t of legal size, it conjured memories of fishing trips to Ontario’s Kawartha Lakes region with my Aunt Faith and Uncle Jim. 

That pike, while miniscule in comparison, bore a strong resemblance to the muskies I watched my uncle battle up north. 

For the first eight years of my life my world evolved around my Aunt Faith and Uncle Jim. In 1958 they moved to my aunt’s hometown in rural Georgia and I missed them a great deal. Staring at that first pike and thinking of the muskies Uncle Jim caught, something clicked then and there. Strange as it may seem, somehow the northern became a link to my aunt and uncle.  

Not long after catching my first northern, Elmwood Avenue friends Donny Joy and Frank “Junior” Ficarella were fishing the Tonawanda from a row boat. They were located along the creek bank opposite the dike on Jackson Avenue. Junior was standing up in the boat, using an oar to shake loose lures that were caught in the trees. While Junior was trying to extract the lures, something took his bait. It turned out to be a rockbass. Junior reeled it in, then, deciding to have some fun, gave it some line. The fish promptly headed for the bottom. As he attempted to reel it back in, Junior discovered the fish was stuck fast.       

“See what I get for messin’ around”, he said. “Now I’m snagged.”

Still keeping his line taut, Junior felt it slowly coming toward the surface. Looking down into the murky water he saw a long, dark object. His first thought was he had snagged a railroad tie that had fallen from one of the train bridges upstream. Then his brain registered just what he was looking at. Much to Junior’s surprise, directly alongside the boat was a very dark colored, very long and hefty northern pike. The rockbass was clamped firmly in its toothy maw. The fish was apparently taking stock of the situation as it was lying just beneath the surface, moving only its pectoral fins. The big fish then opened its mouth, releasing the rockbass before drifting back into the murky depths from whence it came.

That same summer I was catching crayfish a few yards downstream from the dike. A blackbird, maybe a grackle, was perched atop a small tree branch on the opposite shore.         

I was aware of the blackbird, yet not paying it any mind – not until the water directly beneath it exploded. An obviously very big fish tried to eat that blackbird and to this day I’d always assumed it was a pike. Admittedly, I didn’t see the fish, just a lot of frothy white water. That incident shed some light on the pike’s nickname, “waterwolf. “ 

Time spent with my Aunt Faith and Uncle Jim, in addition to the above mentioned events on the banks of the Tonawanda were but a few of the catalysts leading not only to a lifelong infatuation with northern pike, they also paved the way for a series of fly-in fishing trips into the Canadian far north in search of Esox lucius, the “waterwolf.”

I’ll keep you posted.