‘Toad’ hunting as good as it gets in Autumn

A fishing buddy of mine calls them “toads,” but they’ve got other names as well: hogs (or pigs), lunkers, fatties, big ‘uns, whales.

They’re monster rainbow trout, and when the leaves begin to turn from green to gold, there’s no better time to go hunting for them.

As Alaskan salmon go through their annual spawning orgy, the trout that gorge on the eggs and rotting flesh commence a gluttonous feeding frenzy that has few rivals in the animal kingdom. Like competitive eaters gulping down hot dogs two at a time, these fish grab and swallow as much food as they can, as fast as they can, for as long as the eating’s good.

And as they do, anglers reap the rewards.

It’s no secret that Alaska’s salmon are most definitely king of the rivers. Fishermen flock by the thousands to drag in monster kings and plentiful sockeye all summer long in a mad rush to fill freezers and digital camera memories with their haul.

But when it comes to pure fishing bliss, even a 70-pound king can’t compare to the spine chill one gets when a big rainbow comes calling.

The thrill of seeking these beautiful and powerful fish comes both from the chase itself as well as the setting in which it’s carried out.

Clear, cold rivers and creeks lined with dazzling foliage in full Autumn splendor; mountains touched with the first caress of winter’s embrace; the sound of a rushing river tugging at leaky chest waders — these are the sensations only Autumn fishing can bring.

And then there’s the fight. Battling a big rainbow on a skinny fly rod is as fair a fight fishing can offer. More often than not, the best tales brought home from a rainbow trip don’t involve landing one of these perfect fish, but how some leviathan bested the angler by outlasting him in an epic battle of wills.

As it should be. As any fisherman knows, it’s the stories of the one that got away that bring us back for more. The idea that there are more monsters out there, waiting like aging heavyweights for one last bout, is what carries us though the days when the leaves have all fallen and time has once again cast our favorite fishing holes into winter’s icy sleep.

Matt Tunseth is a reporter for the Mat-Su Frontiersman.