Early on I learned the northern pike is not only willing to strike, they often do so with gusto, ambushing their prey in a quick and vicious manner. This, combined with their toothy, menacing appearance easily captures a young angler’s imagination.

In the first Pike Dreams segment I briefly mentioned my uncle, Jim Nigro, who first introduced me to fishing before he moved away. I was in high school when another uncle, Jim Soccio, visited from his home in Coral Gables, Fla. He invited me for a days fishing on Seneca Lake. I was told I need bring only a lunch. My grandmother made me a bag full of sandwiches – pepper & egg, steak & peppers – lots of them.   

Our quarry would be lake trout and we would be fishing with Bob Cass, then the Chief of the Geneva, NY Police Dept. and a part time guide on Seneca Lake. We boarded Cass’ boat before dawn and motored down the lake to a small bay where Cass dropped anchor. He rigged five poles with sawbellies, large minnow-like baits favored by lake trout anglers.  

I was about to discover my uncle was not a fan of northern pike.

The sun was barely above the horizon, the lake was flat calm and my uncle and Bob Cass were making small talk when the drag on the bow reel started screaming. Cass scurried along the gunwale and the cabin, grabbed the rod out of the holder and set the hook- or tried to. A moment later the line snapped, sounding like a .22 being fired.        

“Wow. What was that,” I shouted.

“Probably a big pike,” replied Bob Cass.

I looked at my uncle.   “We gonna fish for pike now, Uncle Jim?” I was no doubt bug-eyed, the adrenaline pumping.   

“What are we going to do with pike? They’re no good,” he said with disdain.

“Too many bones” chimed in Cass.

Later Bob Cass showed us an article in an Outdoor Life magazine. The story was about a pair of young men from New York City who had ventured to Seneca Lake for a day’s fishing. The photos depicted two smiling anglers holding numerous northern pike, every one of them much larger than any I had caught up to that time. Their guide had been none other than Bob Cass. I couldn’t help but wonder if he bothered to mention all those pike bones.

It was about that time I reached into the bag of sandwiches. The bag would be empty before we returned to the dock.

We caught two lake trout that day, the first came in the morning while still-fishing sawbellies. Afterward the day basically turned into a long boat ride. The second lake trout was the bigger of the two, weighing 6 lbs. and was caught while trolling Seth Green rigs, the forerunner of today’s downrigger.

I came away from that outing unimpressed with lake trout. No small wonder, as I couldn’t forget the sound of the drag singing out early that morning as a big northern ran with the bait. It was but another moment which fueled my pike dreams in a big way.

And dream I did, one of which I remember quite well.  I was in a boat, stream fishing in a place much like Whiskey Run, a noted stretch of Tonawanda Creek. Obviously the fish on the end of my line was a large northern pike. One moment I was able to see it below the surface, its white belly clearly visible as it twisted and turned in the depths. The next moment I was holding it aloft in the boat. It was absolutely huge! It was longer than I was tall with a girth to match its length. It was the pike I had long sought, the trophy for the wall. But as dreamscapes are so often surreal, there was one minor glitch - the pike had a gaudy silver zipper running the entire length of its belly.  

Strange dreams aside, the pursuit for big pike continued, years later leading to some memorable adventures in the Canadian far north. And it was in those sub-artic waters where my perception of the lake trout took a drastic, yet positive change. I’m looking forward to sharing those experiences with readers soon.